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[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
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24/f/pittsburgh
Had a crazy fun time 2 weeks w/ some guy I barely knew- he was really into biting. At first I was mad and I got kinda sick but now I'M FEELING really bitey- like I just wanna tear up some flesh?
Hit me up if you wanna try it out- I'll be at the monroeville mall at 2am, back parking lot - lets get a mob together!
|
Mar 14, 2020 Lot of Quad-Copter drones for sale - $2000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 10, 2020 Lot of Amazing burning lasers! - $400 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 17, 2020 Lot of replacement iPhone fusion cells for sale - $3000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
AI/5/USA, I told you I was a real person and now I will prove it!
| 2015-04-29T10:05:24 | 2015-04-29T08:49:52 | 57 | 27 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
F/26/Washington DC : gamer gurl! i like video games lol and having a fun time!11 No dates yet, have the sniffles ;)
WANTED: antibiotics plz
yeah i have a cold and i hate having a red nose lol. will agree on price later.
WANTED: tried and tested cure for mystery virus
so i have that virus thing thats on the news and antibiotics aren't working so
WANTED: antibiotics
trying the antibiotics again. lots please, normal dosen't work.
F/27/Washington DC : hey im a fun girl looking for someone special. u have to be romantic and like cooking. thanks. also i don't have the supervirus so im cool ;)
WANTED: antibiotics
I KNOW they said that u shouldn't take antibiotics anymore, but if anyone has any.. plz im desperate. i can't lie about having the supervirus anymore
WANTED: cure
Please. I don't want to die.
|
*Newest in >for sale*
Jan 23: Sports Betting, See how easy it can be to be a winner. books & magazines - by dealer [x]
Jan 25: Between Fact and Fiction, Helping you understand the real life problems and removing the anxiety over the fictional.
Feb 23: Communication Breakdown Unleashed (MRR), When you and your loved ones lose contact, learning how to reopen that communication is key no matter the distance.
Feb 28: Surviving Assaults: A Martial Artist's Guide to Weapons, Street Violence, & Countervailing Force [Book]
Mar 13: Food Foraging For Dummies: Nibbling in Nature, prepare for the inevitable
Mar 28: I don't know who may still be here, I'm using all possible pages to find people. We're held up in a school and we are trapped, send help!
Apr 1: The Road *by Cormac McCarthy*
Dec 20: The steel coffin, Getting the dead to stay dead.
| 2015-04-29T10:15:48 | 2015-04-29T09:07:02 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
Craigslist > Men seeking Women > losangeles.craigslist.org
37/M/LA
Athletic Male seeking Sarah Connor for termination prior to birthing the leader of the resistance.
Please provide photo. My connection has been spotty since hooking up to the local service provider, but don't worry if you miss me. I'll be back.
Post ID: 4856743257
Contact: telephone
Location: Los Angeles
Posted: just now
Comments
|
In search for survivers In the greater New York area, hell anywhere really. I am, well I was a sandhog and was underground working on the new water way in Manhatten when the Russians dropped the bomb. Never have I emerged from underground to such horror. Everything in ruins and no one in sight. I walked around for a bit shouting for someone to show themselves. I realized that there was probably a lot of radiation in the area seeing the amount of damage done, so I thought it best to head back underground. I have about a months worth of rations down here as it is protocol incase of a cave in.Please someone be out there and respond to this post. It's so lonely.
| 2015-04-29T12:20:34 | 2015-04-29T07:28:18 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] As teens, you and your best friend make a marriage pact. Years later, you discover they've been sabotaging all of your relationships to have you for themselves.
|
Felix was the one.
Notice how I said *was*. Because he is now past-tense. He is now gone. He is now gone, and I am now alone. Again.
Yesterday, I purged my apartment of his presence. Every photograph that depicted his snarky grin was melodramatically burned. His favorite blue hoodie, the one that always smelled like him, went in the Dumpster out back. I threw out every single plastic container of blueberry yogurt in my fridge- I'd only liked it because *he* had. A year's worth of memories, trashed.
I deleted his phone number from my contact list. I sat down on my empty couch and stared at the television for a full half hour, watching an infomercial for a vacuum cleaner, telling myself that I was not allowed to cry any more.
And then I called Mark.
"You were right," I said as soon as he picked up the phone. "I can't believe that I didn't listen to you."
There was silence on the other end for five full seconds.
"Don't apologize," he said. "It's not your fault the guy was a scumbag. It's not your fault that he cheated on you. That's on *him*, not you." Mark's voice was so soothing. It reminded me of fifth grade and the blue slushies we got every single summer day when we were stuck between high school and summer school.
"I should have trusted you. You're always right." I confessed. I laughed, remembering the marriage pact we'd made when we were fifteen, freshman year. We'd even pinky-sworn. "Maybe we should just get married. At this point, my romantic prospects are hopeless."
Mark laughed on the other end of the line. God, that sound was so refreshing. "How about this- I'll come over and bring some Ben 'n Jerry's and a full season of Seinfeld on DVD, and we'll forget about that jerk of a boyfriend together."
"Sounds great," I agreed, and it was settled.
Twenty minutes later, and the bell rang. I threw open my front door with a grin, expecting to see Mark's smiling face, but instead what I saw... someone else.
"Felix?" I asked, incredulous. My first instinct was to scream at him, demand an explanation for the way he left me, but then I noticed the blood. *His* blood. The left half of his face was masked with it. I'd heard that head wounds bled a lot, but I'd never seen so much blood in my entire life.
"What...Felix, what happened? Are you okay?" I was expecting him to say something, anything, but he just staggered towards me, his eyes staring past me, as if into the distance, and collapsed against me, holding me in his arms. I could hear his breath. It was coming in ragged, heaving gasps.
"Mark...I told him I didn't want to leave you..." He stammered.
"What?" I was so confused by everything he was saying. What did this have to do with Mark?
"Mark told me...to leave you....he paid me...he blackmailed me...he threatened me..."
"I don't understand!" I said frantically. "You can't be right!"
"He said...that you *belonged* to him. And when I told him that you didn't...that you didn't belong to anyone, he... he got really angry."
No. No. No. Every relationship, every man who had ever left me. Mark had always been there to comfort me after they were gone. He disapproved of every guy I ever dated, every guy I ever looked at.
He was manipulating my life, this whole time.
The door was wide open, like a gaping wound, when Mark stepped in. He was carrying a grocery bag, and smiling, but as soon as he saw Felix, his expression grew ugly.
"Get away from her," he growled, dropping the bag, advancing quickly, purposefully, with venom in his eyes.
Then, for just one moment, his gaze flickered towards me, and he met my eyes. He smiled, sweetly, and I saw the little boy I'd shared slushies with years ago.
"Don't worry," he reassured me. "You belong to me. I won't let him hurt you anymore."
He was still smiling sweetly at me when he slammed Felix's face into the granite countertop.
|
The contract is still posted on my bulletin board in my old bedroom back home. Written in orange crayon, the contract requires that I marry Jackson on the day following my twenty-seventh birthday if I am still single. At least, this is what I interpret from the stick figures holding hands with a 27 written above each of their heads. One of the stick figures wore a triangle-shaped dress while the other had some sort of bow-tie. We signed our names in big green letters that resemble what would be expected for the penmanship of a seven year old. I even dotted the "i" in my name with a heart.
Jackson and I have been friends since childhood. As impressive as our two-decade friendship is, I feel that it is necessary to attribute the success of our friendship, at least in part, to the closeness of our families. Our mothers were college roommates, and were as close, if not closer, than most sisters. Their bond lead to years of our families joining for holidays and birthdays and nearly every weekend. Accounting for all of our frequent encounters, I don't find it all that surprising that my elementary-school-aged self would believe that she would one day marry Jackson. I remember the night of my seventh birthday when Jackson asked me to marry him. I laughed and explained that we were too young to be married. I was the one who suggested the pact because, in second grade, twenty-seven seems really old to be single.
My seven-year-old self would disapprove of the nearly twenty-seven and single version of me. I haven't always been single. I have dated several good guys and few not-so-good ones. I had my first date in my sophomore year of high school, and I attended prom three of the four years. In college, I dated occasionally and had a couple of serious relationships. I typically blamed the failed relationships on my ideology that studying organic chemistry was more important than maintaining or trying to develop chemistry in a relationship. By the time I graduated college and began medical school, I had completely given up on the idea of dating anyone at all.
Throughout college and medical school, I still saw Jackson when I went to visit my parents for the holidays I didn't spend studying. Jackson was attractive, as my mother often pointed out, and he was successful. He made deans list every semester and landed a well-paying position at an accounting firm right after graduation. And, of course, he was still single. I often reminded my mother that I was too busy for a relationship, but I would reconsider after college, and then after medical school, and now after residency. "Besides," I told her, "Jackson and I don't even talk much, except on holidays."
Imagine my surprise on the night before my twenty-seventh birthday when I received a text from Jackson inviting me to get a drink with him. I reluctantly agreed and we met at a bar across the street from the hospital after my shift. We sat at a table in the corner and I sipped a Malibu bay breeze while he swirled his glass of scotch (on the rocks). We started by talking about our parents and moved then to discuss the patients I encountered today. Finally, he admitted why he had invited me to join him that night.
"I don't know if you even remember this anymore, Brit, but I've been thinking a lot about that pact we made when we were younger."
I laughed. "What about it?"
"I think we should discuss whether we should honor our agreement."
I placed my glass on the table and shook my head. "We were seven."
"Maybe we were on to something?"
"Jackson, I don't have time for relationships right now. I am sure my mother has told your mother and your mother has told you that I am not very good at relationships."
Jackson shakes his head and takes a sip of his scotch. "You see, that's the thing. The reason your relationships have failed is because of me."
"What are you talking about?"
He takes a a gulp of his scotch. "I find your boyfriends on social media and I find a way to sabotage the relationship. I told Jason that you were actually dating me. I lied to Will and told him you were actually a lesbian. I admitted to Danny that you and I were actually meant to be together. I know all of this was really wrong, but I thought you should know that I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else."
I am about to drink the rest of my Malibu when the pager on my hip vibrates. "I've got to go." I leave my bay breeze three-quarters of the way full and head back to the hospital.
| 2015-05-02T11:58:04 | 2015-05-02T11:49:23 | 1,087 | 92 |
[WP] A bomber plants a cellphone detonated bomb in a crowded building. He calls the number and watches the building explode on cue, but then someone answers his call.
|
"Hello?"
"Wait, what?" I asked. 'Did that bomb not just go off?' I thought.
"Who is this?" The voice asked.
"*Who is this?!*" I asked, "And how are you even talking to me right now?!"
"What? This is Tom. And what do you mean how am I talking to you right now. You called *me*."
"Tom, where are you, and how did you get this number?"
"I'm at work. And I found it." Tom said.
"What?! How do you just *find* a number? I don't even know what that means!" I screamed.
"Whoa dude, chill. I just found the phone laying on the ground."
"What?! *What?!* You just found a phone laying on the ground, and picked up?!" Was this even real?!
"Yeah I just found it on the ground. No need to freak out." Tom said.
"Tom..." I said, "I just blew up a building using this phone as a remote detonator. How the fuck do you have it?"
"Oh." Tom said, "That makes sense."
"What? What makes sense?!" This whole thing was surreal.
"At first I thought I was dreaming, but now I think I'm in Hell."
"...What?" I asked.
"You know those dreams where you are at work with no pants on, and everyone is staring at you? Man, that's going down right now."
I said nothing.
"Can I ask you something?" Tom asked. His tone was completely different now.
"Shoot." I said.
"Do you know a John Peters?" Tom asked.
That was my name.
I hung up the phone.
|
He dialed the number, slow and steady. Right on cue, as planned, there was a wave of fire and heat emitted from the building. His ears rung from the blast, even though he was a block and a half way. He felt a faint wave of heat from the explosion, as the mall's roof crumpled in a matter of seconds. He couldn't hear much, but he could imagine the screams of people.
Suddenly, bursting him from his trance-like reverie, was the buzzing of his cellphone next to him. He rolled over, careful not to stand up on the rooftop (in case he was spotted), and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" He said, not bothering to check the caller ID.
"You disgust me." The person on the end of the line said. It sounded like a man's voice, low and raspy from disuse.
"Who is this?" He asked.
"It doesn't matter," they said. "What matters is that you're on my bad side. These people weren't meant to die. You will repay me."
"What are you on about?"
"*You will repay me*." The voice simply repeated, before hanging up.
He was never caught. After all, the bombing was years in the planning - everything was thought of, and all his tracks were covered. He was too smart to be caught, or so he thought. But he always wondered who called him back - he found out later, when reading the news reports, that no-one within a two-hundred meter radius survived. Certainly no-one close enough to answer his call.
He was never caught, but after that day, he felt like something hovered over his shoulder. Maybe the fact that he murdered hundreds of people. Maybe he'd finally developed a conscience. Maybe, just maybe, it was Death hovering over his shoulder.
| 2015-06-24T03:12:48 | 2015-06-24T02:37:29 | 129 | 21 |
[WP] A Neo-Nazi cult has successfully cloned Hitler. However, as he grows, they're increasingly frustrated by his rejection of Nazism and his desire to be a normal teenage boy.
|
"Look! I've got the perfect thing for you to wear for Heritage Day at school!" Joseph enthusiastically said as he held up a jet black coat with sharp lapels, polished silver buttons, and glittering military insignia.
"Ugh, I don't want to wear that uniform: red arm bands with Eastern symbols are SO gauche," said Addy, a pubescent pre-teen clad in Converses, raw denim, and a Star Wars t-shirt, the beginning whiskers of a Charlie Chaplin mustache forming on his snarky lip as he reclined in an armchair, his feet kicked up on an old wooden crate, a faded black eagle on its side.
"Eastern...symbol?!", Joseph fumed, digging his fingernails into his palms. Millions of dollars of fundraising for reverse engineering from a fragment of hair in a preciously preserved comb resulted in this pesky, insolent, little brat. However, he trusted in the Kampf, and tried to steer his son to the light.
"Look, son, this is the way of our forefathers. The ones who were wronged and died in vain, leaving the world to the snot-nosed overlords, who through their treachery have managed to take over the world! They have their own nation! They control the media! Your...uh...grandfather, would be so disappointed. His dream unraveled and all of the horrors of the world have come to be...", Joseph wailed to his apathetic son.
Frantically, he dug through his chest of faded propaganda and threw leaflets, pamphlets, posters, and other glorifying memorabilia at his son's feet as he continued to wax poetic about the virtues of nationalist socialism and the idyllic society they could found for themselves.
Addy lazily flicked at his iPad briefly looking up to the growing pile of papers at the foot of his chair. "That's great Dad...can I go over to Rachel's house? She's having a Seder and I'm super pumped for it."
|
Hitler decides to keep his loathing of Nazis as a secret as he was in the middle of their ratchet cult. When his mustache started growing, he shaved it like his original father, however when he used to leave neo nazis cult premises, everyone started looking at him funny, sometimes shouting random words in made up German. He was upset, little Hitler was hurt, he did not want this, he just wanted to meet a girl and lose his virginity. That was too much to ask. Days passed, Hitler is now 23, he decided to leave the cult. Just run away from them. The cult grew to admire their makeshift leader hoping that he'll lead one day and create a nation and rule the worls(successfully this time). Little they knew, that was not what their "leader" wants.
One night, Hitler packed his bags and left the cult, he decided to go for LA, maybe find a job as an actor as he always was good with the drama, it's in his genes. He went, he saw an advert in bold "recruiting for INGLORIOUS BASTARDS. background actors wanted". He thought, oh that's interesting, so he went to the auditions. At the studio, the people interviewing were shocked! They couldn't believe their own eyes, this guy is what we're looking for in our Hitler character, without even interviewing him, they gave him a contract. Now, even though Hitler is still young, he did look like his biological father, so that was no surprise.
The movie was a hit, everyone loved hitler's role and authentic performance. He was then, a celebrity as almost all WW2 movies gave him the role of Hitler in their movies. He then got better roles as other characters in different movies, he's not not only Hitler, but whatever he wanted to be. He won Oscars, now has millions of dollars. He was popular. He felt loved. He felt the power. He felt.... Undefeatable.
End of part 1, if anyone liked it I'll do part 2, but I'm on my phone, so part 2 will definitely be better.
| 2015-08-08T18:51:36 | 2015-08-08T18:46:13 | 147 | 42 |
[WP] Write a story that takes place over the course of 5 seconds or less.
|
He knew there was no coming back. The line had already been crossed. He closed his eyes and jumped. The wind was harsh and he was afraid he'd hit the cliff before he had enough speed for it not to matter any more. This was as close to flying as he would ever get. He even cracked something of a smile. It was the first one for a long time, at least he couldn't remember when the last time was. There were so many things you could do when you didn't care about the consequences. He felt free. No one was telling him what he should or shouldn't do.
They say that at moments like this you see your life flashing before your eyes. He had anticipated it to happen but it still hit him hard. Quick pictures of his life in random order. He learning to sail with his grandfather. The face of Diana, who never called him names at primary school. Telling a joke that made his classmates laugh at the joke and not at him. The ridiculous jumper of his middle school teacher Mr. Jenkins, who might have understood if he had told him. His parents, both of them together, helping a five-year-old him to complete a jigsaw puzzle. He wasn't sure whether that one had ever happened, but he still saw it.
Then he saw his mother. No more flashing of images, just her mothers expression starting to look more and more terrified. The smile, if it had ever been, disappeared from his face. "I'm sorry", he would have wanted to whisper but he couldn't get any sound out.
He glanced down. The ground approached quickly. Very qui...
|
Conor stepped hard on his left foot, twisting his hips and rotating his shoulders as his left hand soared from its defensive position around his chin toward his opponent. Like a shotgun blast the blow connected square on the chin, sending the haphazardly charging fighter tumbling into his doom. It was in this brilliance of timing his life would forever change, in this short gap of the moment.
The long time ruler of his weigh division lay helpless at his feet, only conscious enough to be an after thought for him to end. The moment was slow, Conor had seen it all in a pseudo slow motion that seemed unreal. It wasn't just the leaping left hook of his opponent saw, no, it was the dismayed faces of his corner as he tumbled to the mat - the sudden reaction of the crowd just beyond the cage in every direction.
The sheer force of their roar shook Conor as he stepped forward, slamming his forearm into the grounded champion, smashing his head into the mat with ferocity. Two unanswered blows and the ref was between him and the defeated champion - who was champion no more.
The culmination of years and years of hard work, coming to a head in a matter of simple seconds. The struggles on government aide, living in his parents attic with his girlfriend - the sneers and derision as Conor proclaimed he would be the greatest to ever live.
And yet here he stood, peering into the crowd as it screamed his name and all his bold claims, all his mind games and all his fame became justified. Conor didn't remember when he had jumped ontop of the cage, he didn't remember the interview with the announcer after the fight.
He didn't need too - his triumph would be eternal.
| 2016-02-18T09:13:39 | 2016-02-18T08:17:03 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] A little angel and a little demon sits on your shoulders and gives choices whenever you are faced with a decision. One day, you hear them say the same thing...
[deleted]
|
"All on red," they chorused. They both looked as surprised as I did.
It was Devin's idea to go to Vegas, and Angelo protested the entire way as he often did when I gave into Devin's suggestions.
Walked in, lost a lot of cash, got steadily drunker and drunker and drunker, and finally decided to do one last bet before I called it quits.
"All on red," they said again. I looked at Angelo, and shook my head questioningly. "You sure about this?" I asked.
He nodded. I think he was tired at watching me piss away my life savings. "It's gauranteed," he said.
I looked at the board. Nothing in front of me seemed that obvious, but they were both adamant. So I pushed my chips forward, and bet all on red.
Win. I managed to double my money. "Woo!! Okay let's get outtta heere" I slurred, but Angelo grabbed my arm. "Not yet.." he hissed, "Bet on 24 next."
Devin coughed slightly. "You alright, Angelo?"
"*Yes I'm fine*! All on 24! Do it!"
So I did. The ball ticked round, and landed on - 24. Woah. I now had quadrupled the money I'd come in here with. I could feel the alcohol wearing off.
"Maybe we should go now...." said Devin, eyeing up the security who had suddenly emerged from the corner of the room.
"One more!" yelled Angelo frantically, "Just one more!"
I looked at Devin. He shrugged.
"All on 16" said Angelo. Numbly I complied. That was $20,000 dollars on the table right there. I could feel the sweat trickling down my cheek. There was a hushed silence around the table, and I could hear the squawk of the radio from the security gaurd breathing down my beck.
I swallowed. "All on 16..."
The ball rolled, bounced once, twice, three times, and lo and behold it landed - on 28.
"And that," whispered Angelo in my ear, suddenly composed, "is why you don't go to Vegas."
I was speechless. A tear rolled down my cheek.
"That was cold dude..." said Devin, shaking his head.
|
The red light on an ominously large button flashed, casting a eerie glow in the control room.
"Self destruct protocol imminent. 5 minutes and counting. Press the Alpha button to skip countdown."
To my left was a door softening the screams of scientists and the growls of their experiments. To the right was my car parked in my appointed spot. I was given strict instructions to do and touch nothing while my superiors check the severity of the situation, and by the sounds coming from the other side of the door I thought it was time to rethink the situation. Pressing the button instantly self destructs the building, killing myself along with the monsters, or I could let the countdown take its time while I head somewhere safe.
"What should I do?!" I shouted. Without fail my right and wrong representatives popped up on my shoulder.
"Well Martin," Goody addressed. "It looks like a serious decision needs to be made and there's only one obvious choice. You have to..."
"Wait wait wait..." Interrupted Baddy. "Let's look at this situation. You're wondering if you should blow yourself up with these monsters, or if you should get out of here and save yourself, giving the monsters plenty of time to breach the door into our world, right?"
The creatures started attacking the door in their attempt at freedom. "Yes! What should I do!"
"GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" Both Goody and Baddy shouted at Martin.
Surprised by their concurrence, Martin struggled with their advice. "But... If they escape. They could kill millions!" Martin turned to Goody "Shouldn't I valiantly give my own life to save mankind from these abominations or something?"
"Oh, uh... Right. Well, if you die then uh... You see..."
Again, Baddy interrupted. "Spit it out, Goody. What it's trying to tell you, Martin is if you die, we die, and that's bad for business."
"So I should..." Suddenly the door started splintering revealing the Bloody teeth and rotten stench of whatever it was trying to get through.
"You should leave, NOW!" G&B chimed in unison before vanishing away in a puff.
As Martin grabbed his car keys he stopped just before leaving for the parking lot and looked back wondering if this could be the first time he goes against their advice and makes a decision completely on his own...
| 2016-05-03T01:49:27 | 2016-05-03T00:38:13 | 65 | 39 |
[WP] So, you humans just drew imaginary lines on your planet and fought real wars defending them?
|
"Imaginary lines? Well, yes. But being able to imagine lines and abstract concepts is exactly what makes humanity better than you."
"I don't think I follow you, commander Abrax. Please illuminate." the alien creature thought to me.
"In your world there has never been a war. There was no need. You have always worked together for a mutual cause. You have no independent possessions. It meant your civilisation evolved in a much longer time period and with vastly different results.
Our civilisation, humanity, developed through imaginary lines and ideas. Take money, for example. You have heard of how we use money? Well it is an imaginary concept. It exists only in our heads. Two rare round rocks could buy a night with a woman. Twenty round rocks could buy a house to live in. 100 round rocks could make you a God."
"God?"
"Yes, God. God is another imaginary concept. Would be leaders pretended there was an all powerful creator watching us, and that they could communicate to it. The other people believed God was real and would do anything to appease it. Then those chosen communicators were easily able to command the other people. They only had to say 'it is what God wants, he has told me.' Manipulating people is a basic principle of humanity.
The point is, round rocks had no practical use, and God was fictional. But they still had immense power.
We pretended the rocks had value, and in doing so they gained real value. Later we imagined stocks, shares, debt, and laws. The fabric of human culture is imagined."
"Because you pretend these things to be real, they are real?"
"Yes, at least to us. And wanting more of these imaginary possessions is what caused us, in just 3000 years, to go from savages to space faring. We strove to be the best, to have the most.
The lines we drew - those imaginary lines around our planet, dividing it up - we fought to protect and expand them, developed weapons and defences to help us do so. The people within the drawn up lines competed with the other line people.
So you see, we grew rapidly and aggressively, always wanting more. That is why we are here, Xenoth. That is why we have divided up your planet with our lines."
"And what will happen to my race?" Xenoth thought to me.
"You have a choice. There is a section of imaginary lines you are to be moved into. Otherwise we will..."
"I understand" his thoughts seemed sad "but we cannot live caged."
-----
If you liked this please check out my other responses at /r/nickofnight
|
It was an absurd and all around fantastic concept to Qel that there were species that fought over land that belonged to no one. He looked to the small bipedal, *what did it call itself?* he thought for a moment, *ah yes!* the huemen, "You, huemen. You kill yourselves for what exactly?" he inquired. It explained its best about these “borders” and why they were important and necessary as well as about things called “countries” as if they had some impact on the veracity of its claims over their long history of war.
Qel tried to wrap his mind around what they had just said “Ah, I see, you do this for ego, correct?” he stood upright, dwarfing every other species in the room. The small huemen tried to protest Qel’s conclusion but at that point he had stopped listening to the ape, “As you can all see this planet’s inhabitants are not fit to claim such a water-rich habitat as their sovereignty when they’re too busy defining arbitrary lines amongst themselves, they’re far too primitive,” Qel addressed a dozen different species sitting on a set of seats designed specifically for each one’s anatomy. They murmured in agreement to one another as the huemen asked to plead its case.
The planet Earth had been discovered by the Intergalactic Collective of Free Planets, as the huemens translated it to, or the ICFP, as they had abbreviated it to, not 3 Earth months ago. Qel had been sent to investigate it to see if it qualified for membership into the ICFP—it didn’t.
“Look, we’ve been around as a sentient species only a few hundred thousand years!” the huemen pleaded with the council. It used documents and cases of something it described as the ‘human spirit’. *Does it not know the futility of its argument?* Qel smirked with one of his mouths. He paced slowly behind the human awaiting their decision.
One of the members of the council, a large wrinkly ball of flesh and holes released pitches in a musical sequence the translator told them was motion to remove the huemens as the current managers of the planet Earth and replace it with ICPF diplomats until a suitable species on the planet could be found to take over the duties of the planet. The audience cheered with elation at the decision with the entire council voting unanimously in favor of Councilmember na NA nnnnuuuuu.
Qel walked over to the huemen, “You can appeal the decision after your species has proven it can keep as valuable as yours pristine and show consideration to your fellow Earthlings. Especially the bees as you call them. They seem quite nice.” Qel bowed his head and spit in front the huemens feet.
| 2016-05-22T13:09:39 | 2016-05-22T12:28:34 | 257 | 31 |
[WP] So, you humans just drew imaginary lines on your planet and fought real wars defending them?
|
"Yeah, that's about the long and short of it," I said to the big glow cloud on the barstool next to me. "Why? What do you guys fight over?"
"Certainly over nothing as trivial as geography." The cloud sniffed and took a sip from its pint of bleach. "If we ever had such peculiar notions, we evolved beyond them so long ago it's been forgotten entirely."
I narrowed my eyes. "That doesn't sound like an answer to my question."
"... oh, fine." The cloud contracted a little. "Depth. We evolved on a gas giant. We used to fight over the different cloud layers."
I nodded, satisfied. "Bigger planet, same old shit, huh?"
"In our defense, have you *seen* those dirty rock-herders down by the core?" The cloud waived a tendril in disgust. "And they're always on welfare. Just parasites on the system, I tells ya..."
|
Imaginary lines? Depends. Real wars? Definately.
You see friend, on Earth the wars started between cities, seperated by land and walls, these cities then joined together and called land inbetween them their own, similarly to how squirrels pee in the trees to mark their territory, we just use weapons.
'Oh'
These 'imaginary' lines started as people needed farm land, land to build a shelter (in the old days, there were no big, majestic houses). When one's farm was in danger, these lines were seen as infiltrated and the cities attacked the invaders. The imaginary lines then built up as cities came together into countries, which had a king and tried to take over other countries.
'Oh' it said, sounding even bored. You mean that these imaginary lines started because people wanted food?
'Basically yes'
'Dumb' it said, and stole all my food.
'This means war'.
--
Excuse the terrible formatting, I did this in like 10 minutes.
If you somehow liked it check my other work on /r/Cookiez_Fort
| 2016-05-22T18:40:00 | 2016-05-22T13:37:10 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
You know that feeling you get, when you think you're alone, head down, bumming along doing your own thing, when you suddenly realise someone's been there the whole time, watching you? It's a jump, a kick-start, a burst of adrenaline... your whole body saying "something's not right, be on guard". You immediately begin to second guess you actions, what was I doing, how did I miss them, what are their intentions? It's a deep, primal, animalistic response to being startled.
That's the feeling I got when I caught a glimpse of the flag the first time.
There I am, one of 3 people on an entire planet, scouting for physical evidence of ancient river beds. We'd been here for 4 Earth days at this point, so I was used to the un-exciting terrain. Rocks and dust everywhere. Red and black and brown, endlessly in all directions. I had come around a small rocky hill, scanning this horizon, when there it was to my left, a flag-pole.
I think I did a double-take. Half "that's a flag-pole", half "THAT'S A FLAG POLE." I stopped dead in my tracks and re-evaluated my position. I was on Mars. There were 3 of us. Nobody had ever, ever, ever been here before. None of my crew-members had been out this way. But yet... that was distinctly a flag pole. As I approached it, the wind kicked up and revealed the tattered remains of a cold war era Soviet flag... had to be at least 100 years old. My mind was still trying to wrap itself around why this was here, and my body was telling me to run. My hands felt sweaty and my breathing was heavy. At the base of the flag was a black cube, about a foot each dimension. It had handprints set into two sides.
My curiosity got the better of me. At this point, I really should have radioed into my team to tell them what I had found. I should have marked the location on my nav-map, and retreated, to be explored later. I shouldn't have touched the box. But I did. I placed my hands where the outlines were on each side, and as I did, my head exploded.
It was like a shot of light stabbing me in the eyes. A searing pain gripping my entire body. Unholy screams tearing through my ears. Unable to breath, unable to move, it felt like I was being compressed into a marble and torn into a billion pieces at the same time. The event lasted for what seemed like a lifetime, and then... it just stopped. I was left with an understanding. Knowledge. Somehow, the cube had implanted a lesson in me, instantaneously. I knew why the Soviet flag was here. I knew why the Russians had never claimed any great accomplishment on Mars. I knew why the cube was here. It was a warning, a last ditch effort by humanity of old to save us from ourselves. I knew it all to be true.
The solar system had been seeded with life by a passing comet several billion years ago. Earth, Mars, and a third planet between Mars and Jupiter, understood as "Utopia" in the transfer. Similar life forms evolved on each of the planets, but Humanity had evolved on Utopia within the last several hundred thousand years. Over time, humanity had reached the point of being able to visit the other two worlds, and had begun to establish small colonies for research.
Over time, Mars would become more heavily populated. Earth was the sore thumb of the trio, with the least favourable environment, and was therefore left to the scientists to poke and prod at, never a plan for full colonization. Mars became a second arm of the human civilization, growing larger and attaining it's own identity. Political strife created a rift between Mars and Utopia, and eventually, war. War that would last 1,000 years. War that was so engrained into the minds of the Martians and the Utopians, that they did not know another existence. War that was taken to such extremes, that when the Utopians began the irreversible process of syphoning Mars' atmosphere, the Martians blew up Utopia. I could feel the pain of billions of lives lost, as though I was there to witness the events unfold.
The remnants of humanity that were able to escape Mars left for Earth, and left behind the cubes as a reminder of what once was, and a warning that there were no more second chances. Earth is all there is left.
The history books will tell you that America won the Cold War. But I now understood the truth... the Soviets had won, and they had won by silently backing down for the good of humanity. There would be no second chance, we were already living it.
|
The strata of rocks rose above Luke's head. Red and copper, with silver glinting through the dust. His own breathing was the only thing he could hear, the burst of static from the radio dimming into the distance as he looked at the flag. A wire ran through it, keeping it upright. Due to the exposure, it had been bleached almost white, but it was still unmistakeable. The pale shape of a hammer and sickle on a background that had once been bright red.
Luke moistened his lips and reached out to touch it. A Soviet flag, and he was too young to have seen the Space Race of the 60s, but this would have been shouted from the mountains. Where were the bases? Even in the dying days of the Cold War it had never been mentioned. Luke scanned the landscape, wondering if he would see some clues as to why the flag stood there, but there was nothing. The sand lay in settled ridges around it. Dust, as far as Luke could see.
*This shouldn't be here.*
In the box he carried, the rocks were beginning to weigh him down. Samples, for the small team in the Rover. Him, Tori the All-American girl, and Parker, the foul-mouthed Australian who was bitter about working with Americans. Already he was past the time he'd expected to be out for. Massive over-provision of supplies allowed for delays, but he couldn't stay out here indefinitely.
"Base," Luke spoke quickly and quietly into the Snoopy Cap. "This is Greenman, I've come across something weird. Taking photos now."
He raised the camera and pressed the button, allowing a stream of images to be taken and sent instantly back to the Rover. He imagined Parker swearing under his breath at having to come and join Tori at the screens, checking the display, the flag stood square against the drab landscape. His throat was surprisingly dry. Luke coughed. Spit wouldn't form in his mouth.
In his ear, Tori replied. Her voice had a twinge in it that Luke didn't recognise. The usually chirpy voice was gone: underlaid was a current of fear.
"Greenman, this is Woods," she started. "Is something affecting your connection? We're only hearing gibberish."
"This is Greenman, what do you mean, gibberish?"
"You're not making any sense," Tori's voice rose to a crescendo. "Are you okay? The photos--"
She'd abandoned protocol. Luke frowned. His lips were chapped. When he moved, the dryness split and blood began to run over his chin. He extended his tongue, but the droplet ran faster and he could no longer reach it.
"Damnit," he growled. With gloves and the cask, he'd have to wait until he returned to clean his face. The flag stood resolutely still. In his ear, white noise whispered. He sniffed, feeling blood begin to leak out of one nostril. Frustrated, Luke turned and headed for the Rover, still feeling some elation at bounding across the rocky ground. Day on Mars, the sky was a pale blue, greyer than on Earth. The blood from his nose became a torrent, leaking and dripping over his lips. He could taste the iron of it, and tears leaked from his eyes.
The Rover stood stoically flat over the next series of mounds. Orange dust swept up to it, covering every inch of its bulky frame. The thick windows glinted silver.
"This is Greenman," he said as he approached. The rocks seemed to be becoming heavier. Pressing him into the ground. Luke ran a hand under the strap of the box. It was then he noticed the blood on his hands as well, leaking through the gloves. It stemmed from around his fingernails, though he felt no pain.
There was no answer from the Rover.
"This is Greenman," he said again.
"We can't open," Tori's frightened voice came back. "We see you outside Luke, we can't let you in."
Something broke and fell in Luke's mouth. He spat it out; a rush of blood and saliva. A tooth sat against the screen of his cask, down to the root. Some of the gum had come out, too, and it glistened in front of him. Terror twisted within him.
"They're in the air, Luke," Tori said again. "They're in the air, we can see them in the photos, and now they're inside you."
The liquid that trickled from his eyes wasn't tears. Luke's heart began to pound, fear eating in his belly.
"Look at the photos," Tori said. "Oh god, look at the photos."
--------
/r/Schoolgirlerror for more stories, though this is one of my first attempts at science fiction.
| 2016-08-16T09:12:32 | 2016-08-16T08:10:46 | 1,296 | 361 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
When I was told my team would be the first to land on Mars, excitement welled within me. 'Pioneers', they called us; and really, how many people can call themselves pioneers? It's exciting. It's scary. It's... unlike anything else.
And yet, as I stood and looked across an expanse of nothing but reddish brown sand and dust, I felt absolutely nothing but disappointment. The voyage was hell, and I'd spent *so long* looking forward to landing that the reality of Mars just couldn't live up to what I'd been expecting. The first three days were mind-numbingly boring and dreary.
The fourth day changed everything.
"What... the *hell* is that?" I asked through the comm system, pointing at a torn-up tent in the distance. "Did one of you assholes set that up to screw with me?"
"I wish I were that creative, believe me," Stan responded, staring alongside me. "But that... that's not us. There's a flag, Mike. I can't make it out from here."
The two of us, along with Victor Foreman, our engineer, pressed forward with caution. As we approached, the flag became increasingly visible: plain red, with a yellow hammer and sickle. It was tattered and coated in dust.
"Okay, this is bullshit. O'Neill, are you fucking with us? I remember seeing this flag in history class."
A response came over the radio. "This is a bit too... complex for my sense of humor. I'm a simple man, Mike. I don't recognize the flag, what is it?"
"Come on, man. Sleep through class?"
"Sorry, I was busy learning how to pilot for NASA. This isn't funny, Mike. If you've seriously found something, we have to treat this situation with urgency and caution."
I sighed into the mic. "Soviet Russia. The one we got into the Cold War with, way back when."
"I'm going to contact HQ. Proceed as if there could be people in that base."
"Oh, come on, Cap-"
"I know we get cozy, but right now, we're not friends."
I choked back my pride. "Understood. Stay by the feeds, we're heading in. I'm telling you, though, there's no one here anymore. Everything's... just- it's destroyed. Ripped to shreds."
I stepped forward, pushing aside a fold of fabric from the tent wall. Immediately, I recoiled, sucking my breath in. Right there, on a cafeteria bench, was a man- his skin pale, spotted with black and brown, but nearly perfectly mummified overall. He looked like he'd died just a week prior.
"Holy shit." Victor threw up in his suit, then tried to paw at his slimy helmet.
"Cap, I don't think this is a joke. You see this, right?"
"Already contacting Houston. Someone's going to have to reach out and see if there's something we don't know about. Does he look injured?"
I kept myself at a distance, scanning his body with my eyes. There were still packets of food on a nearby counter. "No. Honestly, it looks like he just suffocated. He didn't starve, and there's no blood or any kind of wound."
There was a large, clunky device on the table in front of the body. I reached out and grabbed it, keeping my eyes off the corpse.
"I think it's a recording device." There were batteries in it, still looking fresh. Oxygen's a real asshole when it comes to preservation.
I flipped a window out on the lefthand side, and turned it on. After rewinding for several seconds, a man appeared on screen- I immediately recognized him. I slipped my suit's 3.5mm jack into the recording device once it finished rewinding.
"Hello," he said with a thick, Russian accent. "I have made many videos in Russian, but I have a feeling it won't matter. This last one will be in English.
"Russia has abandoned me. I was sent here as an experiment for the government, to see if we could set up a base, maybe build in secrecy. The journey was too harsh, and the travel time too long. I burned more fuel than we thought, and now I am stuck here. They told me that nobody will be coming to save me.
The man's breath grew shaky, and he wiped at his eyes.
"I asked to speak with my family. They said no. They said nobody will ever know of my time here. My death will be faked in an accident upon re-entry of Earth's atmosphere. Parachute failure. I have spent two months here now, and oxygen is almost gone. Food is still here, but that does not matter. I will die alone, and nobody will ever know. I die for nothing.
"I do not expect to be saved. Maybe nobody finds this. I don't know why I film. If you do, please tell my daughter I love her. Maybe my wife if she's still alive. I only wish I could tell them myself. I end things now. May you find your way home."
I pushed the screen in and sat down.
*Pioneer: A word we invented to make ourselves feel better about being guinea pigs.*
------
*thanks for reading! you can find more at /r/resonatingfury!*
|
"... and so it is that we find ourselves in the position to be able to introduce Polkovnik Vladimir Komorov to the platform. Please wait until his statement is finished before asking any questions."
The NASA press secretary took a step down, and shook the gentleman's hand. The cameras flashed without cease, making it difficult to keep his eyes open to see where he was going. He reached out his hand to feel the podium and stepped up.
"Thank you for your time today. Before going any further I would like to first speak to my beloved daughter Irina. I know you had to grieve for me. I know you had to grow up without a father. I know that the times you have seen have challenged you, and I know you must have much anger towards me."
He paused, not solely for breath, but for strength.
"I was often there. I came to see my beloved Valentina, your mother, buried and I saw you. I was scared and excited that you might have seen me but you could barely see past your tears. I wanted so surely to come and hold you and explain everything I could, but it was impossible. I hope you can learn to forgive me for all that I did, and us, for all that we had done. I hope you can look at what we planned to do and find a way to understand it. I am sorry, my daughter."
A tear rolled down his cheek, which he wiped away with his hand, as youthful as it ever was. He took a sip of water, and mopped his brow. Coughing, he took a deep breath and composed himself.
“You must understand how difficult this is for us, we glorify all our successes and work very hard at keeping our failures hidden. This was not a failure. This was glory. We had beaten our biggest adversary at the biggest race there had ever been.”
The excitement in his voice was clear, and this excitement was harmonised by the cameras flashing, catching each gesture and each strong look to be uploaded immediately to social media channels, published on blogs, and shown news outlets alike.
“We had a plan, of course, we had everything on hand, and we had prepared everything to broadcast live from the Red Planet the very day that America was to land on the moon. Can you imagine?! Glorious communism beating this ridiculous idea of democracy, this capitalist society where only the rich survive and the poor are left in squalor, you americans are so arrogant and we would show you, we would be the ones to lead the world into the new era. Yuri kep-”
He paused to cough. Around the room, hundreds of people held their breath. Vlad noticed that his heart was beating so fast, he believed it might pump straight through his chest.
“Yuri kept saying we were like Columbus but I always corrected him. We weren’t like Columbus, he only found land that humans already conquered. We we-“
Vlad brought his hand to his mouth to cough. He noticed a spat of blood on his hand.
“We were truly the first from the human race to reach this land. So we set off on April 24th, 1967, and the mission went without problem. We exited earths orbit the next day, using earths gravity to push us as fast as we could towards our destination. All of this went without incident, which, as I’m sure you’ve now noticed, is where our story deviates from yours.”
As the lights beat down on his head, he squinted to the back of the room, thinking he had seen an old face.
“We settled down to the long journey. We had large elastic bands for resistance training to keep our muscle mass up, and we had just simple concentrated rations to get us through the year. The landing sequence went well, but touchdown was harsh, I broke my collar bone and Yuri had some manner of nerve damage that made his hands shake. Of course, everythin-”
He paused again, mouth suddenly dry. As he looked across the room, he realised he could see no faces, his vision was blurred. He wiped his brow again, and paused to take a sip of the water.
He sipped, but this time noticed the numbers 14-07-54 etched into the base of the glass. His thumping heartbeat practically stopped as he looked up and around.
He looked to the back of the room and saw her. He knew he didn’t have much time.
“Everything went to plan. Right up until November 7th 1968. When we awoke that day, Yuri was out of bed, and looked YOUNGER. He was repairing some electronics for the air recycling system that I had been working on, because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. When I went to wash my face, I noticed all my grey hair had gone. My wrinkles had gone. The ache in my collarbone had gone. I could stretch my arm to full reach without problem. You can imagine how we felt, somehow we had found the effects of Bimini, and the pool of which Herodotus wrote. We were excited to share this news with RSVN, with Kosygin, and with all of Russia, but that day was w-“
A thud. A flash. Vlad reached to his chest but could not feel his heart. He dropped to the ground. He didn’t hear the screams and didn’t see the camera flashes. He only saw Irina, and reached out his hand to hold hers.
“It has to be this way, father” she said softly, as he drifted into eternal darkness.
| 2016-08-16T10:03:13 | 2016-08-16T09:34:40 | 139 | 13 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
Gallagher frowned at his instruments, sure that there must be some mistake. He tapped the scanner with a gloved finger and slammed the rover into park.
"I'm getting something strange here, folks," he said into his radio. "Scanning again." There must be some mistake, he thought again, as he pinged the scanner again. There it was. A faint reading, but it was there.
"Uhhhh..." he trailed off into his radio. "Commander, I'm pretty sure I'm picking up a signal here." Yes, there was definitely a signal. A faint electronic reading from several miles out. He shifted the rover back into drive and began making his way towards the signal, not waiting for confirmation from the commander. He was sure she would tell him to investigate, and he smiled faintly when a few seconds later she did so.
Twenty minutes later he was at the source of the signal. He had pulled the rover into a small gorge and under a rocky outcropping. "What the fuck..." he breathed. A Soviet flag protruded from the rocks, next to what appeared to be an old bulkhead door.
"Are you guys seeing this?" Gallagher asked his team back at the habitat. "Are you guys fucking seeing this?"
There was a long silence. Finally the commander spoke, informing him that they were indeed seeing it. Gallagher couldn't stop shaking. It made sense that they wouldn't have seen the flag on the satellites under the outcropping of rock. Gallagher climbed out of the rover, grabbing the portable scanner. He approached the bulkhead and began brushing the years of Martian dust away. He found an access panel adjacent to the door and popped the screws off with his multitool.
"This door is still getting some juice. I'm going to try to bypass." As he said this, he realized that someone had scratched a few words into the bulkhead. He didn't speak Russian. "Can you guys get that translated?" The commander confirmed that they would get on it, and Gallagher was able to get the door open. It shuddered to life and slowly creaked open. The USSR had fallen almost eighty years ago. He wondered how old this bulkhead was. He wondered a lot of things, but he could barely process the information before him, let alone start speculating. He popped on his headlamp and stepped into the airlock. It cycled and he made his way inside.
The lights were still on, flickering on and off lazily. He found himself filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. "Hello?" he called tentatively. "Anyone home?"
He made his way through what seemed to be a natural cave complex, fitted with O2 scrubbers and other amenities. A rec room with a ping pong table, a poster of the 1980 Soviet hockey team. A kitchen, complete with moldy, desiccated food still on plates.
His footsteps seemed unnaturally loud as they continuously broke the sepulchral quiet. He passed an open doorway as he moved down the corridor and did a double take. Something had caught his eye as he passed. He turned, peering into the room, eyes widening in horror. He emptied the contents of his stomach into his helmet. The viewport heated up to allow the chunks to slide down into his suit, giving him a clear view of the horror that was this outposts bunkroom. Bones from at least a dozen humans scattered the room haphazardly, in great piles, as if placed deliberately.
"Ohfuckohfuckofuck" he began repeating, over and over with increased urgency. He didn't know what the fuck was going on but he knew he needed to get the hell out of here right now.
"Gallagher!" the commander shouted again. He realized she had been saying his name for several seconds. "We translated the writing on the bulkhead. You need to get the hell out of there right now!"
"What does it say?," he breathed, feeling paralyzed.
"Stay out! Hostile lifeform inside," the commander recited. From deeper in the outpost, a ghastly snarl sounded out.
|
When human feet finally touched the surface of Mars, it was under the aegis of no government. De-centeralized social structures, growing rapidly under the influence of a de-centralized information network, had replaced government. It had turned out that cooperation only required adequate communication.
And, it had taken several hundred years. The old notions of country and nation, had blurred together. Humanity had endured a crisis. History had slept, and rolled off the bed, and sat up startled. We reached the red planet.
It had always been right in our reach. A group of intrepid explorers, united by the promise of freedom and reward, had made their way here. I was among them. It was I who discovered the hatch, buried in the red sand. I was out surveying with my partner, and within his puffy white suit, his shoulders immediately squared up. John was on the guard for threats.
I did not know Russian, but I knew what it looked like. C.C.C.P. was an unfamiliar moniker to me, but the writing style looked familiar. I had read history. It was something I meant to bring to Mars, not study while I was there.
"This is obviously very old," I said. "It could be up to eighty years."
"I don't want you playing with that," he said. "We don't know what's behind it."
He might have seemed patronizing, but I could tell he was just protecting me. People had put this thing here. Could they still be around?
Eventually, several other Dunists (our enclave's name for itself) had gathered to look at the mysterious hatch with us. Finally someone attempted to open it.
A loud hiss, a blast of steam drove us away. We staggered back, fearful our suits would be torn open. The thin air wouldn't kill us immediately, but it could be fatal. I stumbled into my partner's arms, and we retreated together.
When we returned to view the hatch a second time, blackness greeted us. Descending into the pit, with a hand-light, I led the way, John protectively watching my back, another partner-pair about thirty meters back. We were struck by the almost organic composition of the walls. This didn't look carved or blasted, it looked like something had burrowed it out. With teeth.
There were scattered square edges and shapes, pieces of equipment that belonged in our world, that looked out of place in this one. John stopped and gently brushed the dust aside. "More Russian," I said. "And no, I still cannot read it."
The passage, dark and red like the surrounding rocks and sand, wound for three or four hundred meters until it opened into a large ampitheater.
And here, we found the gaping hole. You could look into the gaping hole. It was so, so very dark.
"Shine the laser," John suggested. I had a small laser scanner, meant to return distances. The light did not brighten any of the surfaces, did not come back. The scanner saw no bottom.
"It's rated for ten kilometers," I quipped. "We should see a bottom, there's no way it can be that deep."
Moments later, there was a loud thud. The ground shook. Up the passageway, we saw the nameless couple who had joined us, their suits whirling in retreat.
It was then that the room lit up with pure energy. Light poured out of the opening in the floor. For long seconds, there seemed to be a great whistle of energy blasting through everything in the room.
And then, I saw stars. Quite briefly, in the hole in the ground. It seemed like they were very, very close. Like I was looking down into the sky.
Neither of us understood, but we knew that the Russians, whoever they had been, however they had gotten here, had somehow found this bizarre unnatural phenomenon.
And wherever they had gone, this was the point of departure.
"So," I asked him. "Do you think we could go through there, too?"
| 2016-08-16T10:05:33 | 2016-08-16T09:47:36 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
|
I look at the box, it's quite a large box. My mind desperately races. A massive army of Modor approaches. They are a week's march away and we can see the thousands strong army in the scrying pool. Guns? Weapons? Then it comes to me.
"Can you teleport objects Merlin?" I ask.
"Yes I can teleport small objects, so anything that you manage to wish out that box" the bearded, cloaked man replies.
*Careful what you wish for* they say.
Did I really want to do this?
I find myself making the wish.
The device appears in the box, just about fitting in.
"Right, I'm going to push my finger on this, then you'll teleport the device to the centre of the enemy army, OK?" I ask.
"You're going to give them the weapon?" Merlin asks.
"It's a bomb" I reply.
"How many will it kill? 20? You'll have to come up with something better tomorrow" Merlin says.
"I think it'll kill more than 20, you'll see, ready?" I ask.
Merlin nods.
I push the red button.
We both look into the scrying pool.
A large mushroom cloud engulfed an area larger than the entire Modor army.
The look of shock on Merlin's face was priceless.
"Daddy, wake up! It's today" said my son.
I went downstairs with my son and turned on the news.
"And today we celebrate a thousand years since the unification of the world's countries under the knights of the round table" said the reporter.
"A thousand years of peace, the question on everyone's lips, is that time traveler story true, Merlin the 15th?" Asks the reporter.
"I'll let everyone decide that for themselves" replies a cloaked man with a beard.
"Can you imagine a world where Modor won?" Asks the reporter.
"I imagine there would be war and dictatorships. It'd be a horrible world." He replies.
Flying everywhere were flags for the knights of the round table.
But the flag looked strangely familiar,
The yellow circle with the 3 black triangles.
|
Jace looked at the man with a top hat and a swirly white beard. “Anything at all?”
“Anything at all,” the old geezer confirmed. “Just think about it hard, and then open the box!”
The lanky teenager closed his eyes, his forehead creasing. Then he pulled out a futuristic-looking device that resembled a bulky pair of goggles. The old man gasped and clapped his hands in approval.
“Very good! What does it do? A gaze of fire perhaps? Maybe the ability to see through walls?” Merlin said.
“Not exactly.” Jace had always wanted a PlayStation VR and had jumped at the opportunity. “It’s more of a… how do I put this… a game console.”
“Well, what does it do?”
Jace didn’t answer, he was too busy moving furniture around and crawling along the walls. “Where’s the power outlet in this dive?”
“Now, now, young man, this is not a dive – this is Camelot!” Merlin announced proudly.
“I need power,” Jace complained.
“Oh but there is power in you, I can feel it,” Merlin said warmly. “You remind me of the king back when he was a youngster!”
“Well, this so-called king must be real bum,” Jace said, pointing at the torch on the wall. “Can’t even afford electricity; how am I supposed to use my VR now?”
“Some answers are obscured, young one,” Merlin said, splaying his wrinkly hand in over his eyes mysteriously. “But who’s to say that knowledge can’t grow unexpectedly and at times, over night?”
“All right, Grandpa,” Jace said. “You’re rambling again.”
Jace stretched out his back on a sofa, and yawned. “When’s dinner?”
“Oh, young sir, the king will be hosting a banquet to celebrate your arrival!”
“So when’s that, six o’clock? I’m starving.”
“You must practice patience, my lord. Without it, we shall surely fall to the enemy!”
“Yes, yes, patience, knowledge, got it! Now I need to crash for a bit. Wake me up when dinner’s ready.”
| 2016-11-28T00:35:13 | 2016-11-27T22:48:57 | 988 | 85 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
|
"*How* exactly is Camelot going to be destroyed?"
"We do not know. Only that it shall happen one week from now, and that it will be unlike anything we have ever seen."
"Has your seer ever been wrong? *Might* he be wrong?"
"No, future-man, the seer cannot make mistakes. Prophesies are inevitable."
"But I'm from the future. That changes something, surely?"
"You are not the first, traveller. We have legends of people like you. They died fighting their futures too."
"Huh, ironic. But you're just going to give me this... pumpkin-shaped box widget? You're not going to try to steal it for yourself?"
"We are as prone to the prophesies as you, future-man. Messing with the powers that be can only worsen our ruin."
Future-man pondered things for a moment. "Right," he said, "well that's all pretty easy then."
---
*Seven days later*
The legendary Camelot castle towered in the distance, its imposing stature emanating a vast influence upon the land. This would be its last day, but also its proudest. Future-man had warned Arthur and his men to expect anything, but he knew they would not be prepared for the next step. How could they?
Future-man checked his watch - one of the luxuries he snuck back from the future after preparation was complete. About now. The wind calmed in anticipation. Then it happened.
The castle glew a brilliant red, brighter and brighter until it seemed nothing but a silent ball of redness and power. Then the ground surged, as if the earth shivered in fear. And then noise - not a human sound but just intense, unimaginable roaring noise.
And then it stopped, and what little of the castle remained collapsed, a petty crinkle against the event that just transpired.
No men could speak. Nothing could be said. Well, except for one.
"Well, that's the prophesy dealt with. And here's the gold for a new castle. Anyone want to try something my people call *Flappy Bird*?"
|
Jace looked at the man with a top hat and a swirly white beard. “Anything at all?”
“Anything at all,” the old geezer confirmed. “Just think about it hard, and then open the box!”
The lanky teenager closed his eyes, his forehead creasing. Then he pulled out a futuristic-looking device that resembled a bulky pair of goggles. The old man gasped and clapped his hands in approval.
“Very good! What does it do? A gaze of fire perhaps? Maybe the ability to see through walls?” Merlin said.
“Not exactly.” Jace had always wanted a PlayStation VR and had jumped at the opportunity. “It’s more of a… how do I put this… a game console.”
“Well, what does it do?”
Jace didn’t answer, he was too busy moving furniture around and crawling along the walls. “Where’s the power outlet in this dive?”
“Now, now, young man, this is not a dive – this is Camelot!” Merlin announced proudly.
“I need power,” Jace complained.
“Oh but there is power in you, I can feel it,” Merlin said warmly. “You remind me of the king back when he was a youngster!”
“Well, this so-called king must be real bum,” Jace said, pointing at the torch on the wall. “Can’t even afford electricity; how am I supposed to use my VR now?”
“Some answers are obscured, young one,” Merlin said, splaying his wrinkly hand in over his eyes mysteriously. “But who’s to say that knowledge can’t grow unexpectedly and at times, over night?”
“All right, Grandpa,” Jace said. “You’re rambling again.”
Jace stretched out his back on a sofa, and yawned. “When’s dinner?”
“Oh, young sir, the king will be hosting a banquet to celebrate your arrival!”
“So when’s that, six o’clock? I’m starving.”
“You must practice patience, my lord. Without it, we shall surely fall to the enemy!”
“Yes, yes, patience, knowledge, got it! Now I need to crash for a bit. Wake me up when dinner’s ready.”
| 2016-11-28T00:01:03 | 2016-11-27T22:48:57 | 255 | 85 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
|
The earliest one gets one's familiar is at 13. The latest is generally 18. The world record is something like 27. I feel bad for that guy; eight years waiting was hard enough.
Familiars are strange beings. The earliest recorded one came in the early 1800s, a great bear-like beast that followed a single man. They cannot be harmed by conventional means (they usually die with their masters, though they can be put to death under certain conditions), and they take on a variety of forms.
It's not like your familiar can do more than give you life advice and be a friend. They have a strict code not to harm others (though I've heard of some murderers and psychopaths having violent familiars), and they generally don't talk to anyone but their masters. Still, it sucks being the only one without a wise creature companion.
My friend Maya was an early bird; a day after her 13th birthday, she came to class with a bright red lizard with long tail feathers on her shoulder. "Confidence," it was called. Next was Daniel at 15; his great, shaggy, hulking beast was named "Listening." Then was Hannah with "Acuity," Kara with "Resolve," Eric with "Cleverness," and so on. And then there was poor old Emily Smith, the boring girl without a familiar.
My parents did their best to reassure me that I'd get a familiar one day. I didn't share their hope (incidentally, my dad's familiar, a large hawk). I'd seen statistics about familiars; the later they came, the more likely they were to be "undesirable" traits. Could I get stuck with "Hatred" or "Ego"? "Apathy"?
I grew distant from my friends. As they all bonded over their familiars and the wisdom they received from them, I was alone. I was jealous, but I tried not to let it get the best of me; what a familiar that would be. I distracted myself with learning, aiming for high honors and a reputation for hard work. I wasn't the smartest, but it paid off, landing me in a neat little college. Of course, I had no friends at that point, and I couldn't really make any at school.
Finally, my 21st birthday came. It was in summer before returning to school. I woke up just before dawn with the distinct feeling of being watched. And there I saw it, my familiar: a small, spiny creature sitting in the corner of my room, staring with beady red eyes. I was startled and quickly flicked on the lamp. It appeared to be a hedgehog, no larger than a softball, with a strange, long tail.
The creature spoke to me in a soft, yet commanding voice, "I am Isolationism, your first familiar. I have seen your heart and eaten away at your soul. You have suffered enough; now, you may confide in me."
I was a bit disappointed. The creature called Isolationism was a bit creepy and discomforting, and it wasn't a very desirable trait. Something stood out to me, however.
"First?" To have multiple familiars was extremely rare.
"Yes. For as you allowed me in, you created something else. As you isolated yourself, you learned to work for yourself. You are bound by no one. And for this, we are not alone."
I noticed a larger shape in a shadowy corner of the room. Tall and lithe, it appeared to be some sort of crane, with a long sharp beak and cruel claws. It regarded me coldly and silently, not so much as stirring a single black feather. When it spoke, its voice was loud and clear.
"Call me Independence."
----
EDIT: Thank you all so much for the kind comments. This is the most I've ever gotten on a writing prompt. It's been a very stressful day, so I appreciate it so much.
EDIT 2: Okay, I know it's cliche to say, but thank you so much for the gold! I am literally crying right now from the hundreds of kind responses. I've never gotten so much attention for one of my works, and it means a ton. You all have inspired me, so I want to make this into an actual short story (I might rework the first part, then add more afterward). It might take a few days, as I have exams this week, but I will do my best.
Again, thank everyone so much. It's been a rough couple days, and you all have helped me so much.
|
She was beautiful.
I was waiting for it, whatever it was, this morning. Today was the day. Today I was the day the Familiar would come, today would be the day I find myself. Most other people didn't live in suspense. Jack was a complete dick, no one had to guess what his familiar was going to be of. Lisa in Anthropology I swear, was the nicest person alive, so it was obvious what her familiar was going to be. I, on the other hand, was average. Not a saint, but not the devil, not top of the class, but not bottom either. I was eager. I wanted to know who I was, what defined me.
And she had come. She was quite literally an angel. White wings, blonde hair, piercing, blue eyes, lovely as the heavens. She came up tome and smiled, a sad smile, and said "Good."
Me? Good? I mean, I wasn't bad, but my defining characteristic being good?
And then *she* came in.
She was terrible to behold. Not ugly, no, by God, no. She surpassed perhaps even Good, but she was terrible nonetheless. Black wings, black hair, deathly pale skin, and her irises... a deep, pure black. The look on her face wasn't calm and sad as Good was, no, she wore a manic grin, a grin of cool confidence, of jubilance.
She walked right up to me. "Bad," she said, with that same smile.
My head was swimming. Two Aspects? That never happens, it was unheard of. And opposites at that? How? Why?
I flinched as both women touched me on each shoulder. I looked up at the two looming figures, and I realized with a start they were twins. Their wings, eyes and hair were different, but their figure and face were the same.
They looked intently at me and said, in unison, one with a solemn smile, and another with a manic grin, spoke.
"Choice."
***
I stood on top of the tower as the fires raged under me.
I could hear screams of pain and joy, sounds of gunfire and music. Half the city celebrated at my final victory, the other half fought with wild abandon against the inevitable.
"Sir." I turned around, and so did my escort, Good and Bad, always on my side, invisible to all but me. Still, the man flinched as I turned towards him.
"The city?"
"F...fallen, sir," the man said, "Lord Rasha has committed suicide, so most the troops are surrendering."
Just then, two jets flew over us in the dark night, and fired at some distant point with their cannons. There were some distant explosions.
"Yet the populace fights?" I asked, turning back to look at city.
"Only some, sir, most of the population welcomes the arrival of equality and fairness that you herald," he sounded like he was reciting from a damn book.
I glanced harshly at him, making him visibly flinch and take a step back, "Cut the crap," I said matter of factly, "what do we need to do?"
He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, then sighed. "A significant portion on the population still resists, sir, they believed Lord Rasha to be God, and will not surrender."
I nodded. But on the inside I was in turmoil. Damn it. Why didn't they understand? Why would people resist freedom, Choice, Prosperity? They were content to slave away under this tyrant they thought to be God.
"Kill some of them, to set an example, if they still resist, drive them out. You're dismissed." I turned back to the city, not waiting to see when he left.
As I turned back to look at the city ablaze I felt a little tug at my heart. When I had first met the two familiars, Good and Bad, I thought I would choose one, choose which one to embrace. But after my long campaign, they both stood with me, all this time. As my army liberated slaves and bombed civilians, both stood quietly but surely with me. It wasn't a choice between the two, it was the power to make the choice for others.
And as the city burned, as people cried in pain and joy, as people celebrated and mourned I finally realized the meaning of Good and Bad, the twins behind me.
It's hard to distinguish the two.
***
(Major edits)
If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-01-20T13:17:28 | 2017-01-20T12:42:01 | 4,354 | 601 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
|
Most people get their familiars at around the same time they enter puberty. They always have a name, and they always fit their person somehow. The prevailing idea why they appear at that age is because that is when children begin to truly change and therefore emotionally require a constant companion in the world, to help them through the stresses of growing up. They don't always appear the same, either. People have reported receiving animal, human, and even mythical familiars, from a hamster to a wyvern.
I, however, am unique. I am 21, and I don't have one yet. I have been through a lot early, a lot of bullying when I was young due to my personality, and then once people found out I didn't have a familiar yet, that became the main point. I changed schools due to redistricting when I was very young, which cost me my friends, as we now went to schools almost a county apart. As a child, I lost a cousin to murder, and even personally made the coffin for my grandfather when he passed, when I was older. I suspect these are the reasons for the lack of familiar, as I changed emotionally too strongly, and too often, for one single familiar to attach to me. However, as I became more bitter, more lonely and abandoned, taking to drink and brooding on my own instead of socializing with others, who were so different from me in a way I couldn't change, I must have become perfect for the familiars to choose me.
I woke up one morning, feeling different. It seemed like just another Saturday morning, and nothing looked different in my dorm room. Except, it was pitch black, as dark as I remember moonless nights to be back home in the country. It is never black in the city, not ever. I looked at my phone, thinking maybe there is some blackout and the university sent out an email or text notice. Turning on my phone was the kicker though, because that is when I noticed that the blackness was because I couldn't see. Jumping up in bed, I clawed at my face, and I felt something flow off of it. Only to be slammed in the face by a bright, pure light.
"Sorry for the unpleasant awakening," a female voice said, "but if you had seen me without any conditioning, you woudl have truly gone blind."
The voice was soft, and oddly comforting, but the panic from her words overcame the soothing effect. "Conditioning!? What do you mean, 'conditioning'? What have you done to me?? What was on my face!"
"Calm yourself, all I have done was allow you to see me safely. You have waited a very long time, and now, your wait is over. I am here to accompany you as familiars."
Finally getting a good look at the voice now that the light began to fade, I saw a woman of a little over average height in a long, forest green dress or gown, pale as the moon with hair a beautiful, amazing red. No, red wasn't the color, it didn't do her justice. It was a rich, full red, the color of a prized ruby and just as sleek. Its color amazed me, enraptured me. I always did have a preference for women with red hair, but this was on a different. Her eyes though. They were deep, and dark. Darker than dark, her eyes rivaled the darkness of space. They consumed me, and I had the feeling of being consumed by them. Summoning the will to break my gaze, I noticed behind her back spread an aura of scintillating, shapeless *something* that I could not place but nevertheless seemed to be perfectly reasonable to be there. Once I got past her stunning beauty, which as a lonely male in my prime, took me a few minutes to get my brain working again, I realized her choice of words.
"What do you mean, familiars, plural? I thought people only ever get one familiar."
"Most people get one. very few get two, the reason you have never heard of one is because they are like you. Not good with people, and tend to keep to themselves."
"Well where is the second? I only see you."
"You have already seen him," she said with a giggle, "He has been with you for much of your life. He is not a fan of light, as he is not as you would say, 'good looking', to be gentle." He therefore tends to stay beneath people, where he cannot generally be seen." As she said this she gestured to the shifting *something* behind her. He also conveniently pairs with me perfectly, as he is what is allowing you to bear looking at me. I would blind those I am bonded with if not for him. We are a kindred, and while we may split at times, we will always come back together, as we have today."
"He was my shadow?"
*No, but I stayed in it. I have guided you, and been there for you when so many others have not.* Spoke a new, masculine voice. A startlingly familiar voice, I realized it was my own mental voice.
"How do you sound li-"
*I am not your thoughts, boy, but I have been with you for so long you hear my voice as your own now. We have been one and the same since you were 14, and suffered the loss that changed you into what you are now. I apologize for the dreams you had the week following the funeral, but it was necessary to rush the bonding process, or you may have been lost from this world forever. You needed somebody, and I was a perfect fit for you.*
"Alright then," I said cautiously, "what are your names? I want to know why you finally chose me."
*We have many, more than you would know and some that you can not even pronounce. The most well known of my names would likely be Νεμεσις, or possibly Furor.*
"And I am known as Adrestia, or possibly Glaistig. I am sure that with your love of books, you have heard of us, somewhere along the line, for we are as ancient as humans themselves."
I indeed had heard of them, and I was interested in where this was going. "I have heard of you, yes. You are spirits of hatred, and vengeance. You attached yourselves with me for what happened seven years ago, I assume? Also, you mention you are a kindred, and I know of one similar to you. May I call you Wolf and Lamb?"
Lamb smiled. "You may, and you are correct. You have lived these years in despair, struggling with the decision to end your life, as you were desperate to end the suffering. Wolf managed to coax you back each time. But now, you are strong enough to not only hold him within you, but myself as well. The one who has wronged you and your family will be free of his bonds. Even though his familiar left him after commiting his crime, he will be released from your human prison soon, and he has received a new, far less savory and far more despicable familiar than before. We will assist you in the justice he deserves, and we will remain with you as your constant and loyal companions for life."
*Now, boy,* Wolf said while Lamb watched with a caring smile and determined look on her face, *we have work to do!*
|
I had never known what life was like with a familiar. My parents both had them, my older brother had one, and almost every person I knew at my school had one. They'd follow their masters about from place to place disappearing occasionally when commanded. I would try to describe them, but they are all so unique it becomes almost impossible to focus one one particular attribute.
They don't talk. Or at least not that I can hear. From my perspective at the time, they just seemed to follow people pointlessly. My parents told me when I was young that they were called "familiars" because they represented something about their master. And that appeared to be true.
Cheerleaders tended to have more bubbly, miniature familiars with bright colors. The kids who had family troubles tend to has either sullen, dark familiars or beefed up fighters. I always thought it probably reflected how they dealt with their situations--something unspoken about how they carried themselves.
Every birthday I hoped one would turn up and I would find out exactly what I was missing, but year after year none showed up at my side. I liked to postulate that it meant I could be whoever I wanted to be in the future. That all my doors were still open. I wasn't cornered into a destiny. My friends seemed to think it meant I was indecisive and didn't know who I was. Of course, they only every mentioned it as a joke. It wasn't.
About my 21st birthday, I truly believed I would finally get my familiar. I could drink. I* was a complete adult--minus the insurance benefits of a 25 year-old. And everyone knows that's when you find out a lot about yourself. That night I remember drinking more than I had ever attempted before. It was my turn to take on the world.
The next morning I woke up with a terrible hangover. The sun pelted my eyes through my bedroom window like a continuous beam of pain straight to the back of my head. I got up shrugging my shoulders to stretch them out and scrunching my face so I could see. I grabbed my glasses from my bedside table and started my trek to the bathroom to face whatever hell was about to come form the night before.
I felt nauseous and unbalanced as I entered the bathroom. I threw water briskly onto my face to wake me up and looked in the mirror. I barely had time to see what was behind me in the reflection before I jumped. I turned quickly to face whatever I had seen behind me in the mirror. Nothing. My heart slowed and I started to breath again.
My turn had half-hopeful and half-frightened. Frightened that what behind me was some unexpected person like in so many horror movies. Hopeful it was my familiar finally showing up to help me figure out my life. But it was neither.
I turned back to the mirror to resume inspecting myself and began to cough. It felt like I had swallowed a cigarette whole. The room was hazy around me. I began to waft at the air to get rid of the smoke. But it didn't move at first. Finally, I stepped back and saw what appeared to be a dark ghost floating where I had been standing.
Before I could think, I heard, "Don't be startled. I'm you after all."
Had the ghost spoken to me? Should I have trusted it?
"Are you my familiar?" I almost yelled this still at the crossing point point between excitement and fear.
"I'm your doubt and fear. I'm place you go to when are uncertain and uneasy. I'm you, Brian" the words echoed in my head.
"You can't be me. I'm not a ghost or whatever you are. Is my familiar my fear? That can't be good. I haven't seen one this dark." my thoughts raced trying to grasp what was happening.
"You may call me what you want, but I am here to guide you through all your trials and tribulations. To provide you shelter from the world's troubles." its voice rang again.
Of course it could read my thoughts. This had to be the familiar. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to have to be protected form the world I was scared of my future.
"I don't need you" I exclaimed walking out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind me.
The ghost simply phased through it, but did not respond. We sat there in silence for quite a while studying each other. It had only shadows where its eyes would have been and a mouth that led nowhere and seemed to serve no purpose since it didn't use it to speak. It bobbed up and down methodically in a soothing repetitious way. Like watching a slow clock's pendulum oscillating back and forth drawing you to sleep.
I noticed the spirit turn to face the door pointing with his small arms and turned myself. The door suddenly swung open. Gusts of wind hurled frigid air into the room and the lights in the room went dark. My familiar floated in front of me focused still. From the door came a nine-tailed fox emanating heat like foxfire. The fox was majestic-looking as it pushed back the cold of the room.
"Brian you must resist him. He is not your familiar" A new female voice began to speak in my head. I peered over at the ghost floating in front of me.
"I thought I'd left you behind. You don't deserve him you deceitful worm" the ghost's voice rang out seeming to echo throughout the rest of the frozen tundra inside my apartment.
"Brian. Listen to me. He won't protect you. He will keep you form everything you're meant to be. I can show you the way."
"You will show him nothing."
At that moment, they clashed. From each appendage the ghost extended himself toward the foxfire in wisps of black magic wisps each deflected by a glowing shield. The foxfire darted to the side catapulting the ghost to the other side of the room.
"Brian come with me. We can escape his sorrow, his fear. We can be whatever we want to be" The nine-tails was stricken to floor--a result of its pause to persuade me to join.
My mind was racing trying to solve the enigmatic events transpiring before me. The ghost took hold of my hand without touching me pulling me toward the door.
"We must escape!" he bellowed pulling harder. I began to stumble in his direction.
The eyes of the fox turned green and I was pulled again the opposite direction.
"You will not take him!"
I began to regret ever wanting a familiar. Nothing was familiar about this. Nothing. Yes I feared what would happen if I didn't get a familiar. And yes I wanted to be all that I could be. Take on whatever face I felt was right in the future. But not like this. I was whole. Not this horrid combination of two singular ideas. I stood my ground.
"I will go nowhere!" I yelled. The winds around me began to swirl. The two familiars continued to pull. Was I strong enough for this? I continued to fight. Neither gave way.
Finally, I let go. I could feel myself tearing at the seams. Stuck between to pictures of myself. I felt despair and hopelessness. I had no choice, but to fall into my destiny like so many had. The cheerleaders, the fighters, the intelligent, the dumb, the bold. I had to become what I was meant to be.
And then, there was nothing.
| 2017-01-20T15:39:15 | 2017-01-20T14:02:57 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] Your SO is immortal and you reincarnate with memories intact. However, you have never told this to your SO. They finally catch on.
|
"More bread-sticks folks?"
"No, I'm stuffed, thanks."
"I couldn't possibly."
"Okay I'll grab your bill."
She looked back to me. I melted at her smile. It had been too long. God, I was having sex fantasies about her since I was two.
"That Tortellini was the bomb," I said, despite wanting to instead profess my unending, undying, unyielding- you know, I really love her. "It's been a *while* since I've been to an Olive Garden."
"You know, this place used to be a granite obelisk dedicated to the gods."
I chuckled.
"I'm serious," she said. I knew she was, but how much would I be giving away if I let her know? Man, she has still got it. Honestly, she would put any other thousand-plus-year-old to shame. Scratch that. Any thirty-five-plus-year old. I'm stopping it there, any more is pretty generous. She's gorgeous and all but hey I like her personality too. Also, I'm still saying she beats out Jennifer Aniston. *Jennifer Aniston.* Come on.
"I was under the impression that every Olive Garden used to be a literal garden of olives and then it just kind of, evolved into a restaurant."
"So I'm having a good time, are you having a good time?"
"Oh so just blow that off huh? If you don't like my jokes you have to let me know. Otherwise they'll never get better."
"The idea was more that they'd stop," she rebutted with a sly smile.
"Oh screw you, you, pedant."
"Miscreant."
"Jerk-face."
"Ninny."
"Fustylug." I immediately withdrew. Shoot.
"Fustylug. That's interesting. That was a very popular insult back in the... *1440's*."
"Was it now?"
"Were you alive during the 1440's?"
"I always mix these up - are we talking big hair and lava lamps? Does that paint the picture?"
"We never met before you asked me out?"
"Mmm, ahh, well, hmm... technically."
She just stared, curiously, reproachfully- damn she looked fine.
"How can you turn down a second date now?"
|
Forgive up front if formatting is bad, am on mobile.
Sitting in the passenger seat was not always this awkward, was it? It felt like hours when only a few minutes had passed. She wasn't normally this quiet, the ride into Vegas was usually filled with nonsensical small talk, reminiscing on previous trips, and the occasional "How are we going to spend our millions" when we win. We were in Vegas every summer for our Anniversary since 1980, and before that it was Paris for a good century or so. What could the...shit.
This time around, we met and wed in Vegas in 1979. I was 19, was just finishing up my semester and instead of hitting the beach for spring break, I opted to blow off my steam on the strip. She was magnificent. A stunning sight to see, but even more than the list time I laid eyes on her. She had brown hair for the first time in a century, I always loved her hair brown. Maybe she caught on when on my death bed I told her how much I loved her as a brunette. Maybe it was just the flavor of the month, who knows. We wed the week of spring break, I dropped out of school, took a job with my father and we settled down together.
Last night while packing, I mentioned something, it just kind of came out. "I hope we stop at the Eifel Tower this year. Last time we were in Paris we missed out because of the weather." Her response wasn't anything out of the ordinary, simply "Absolutely babe, we should make that our first stop!"
We pulled off the highway at a deserted rest stop. She turned off the car, sighed, looked my way and without hesitation pulled out a gun and put it to my head.
"Who the hell are you and what do you know about Paris? How did you know that the last time I was in Paris that I didn't get to go to the Eifel Tower? How do you know how I got the scar on my back? I never told YOU that. I only ever told Mic... "
I stopped her right there. I've known you since before Washington was president. I was there with you when the wall came down. I was there with you when we hid in storm drains for stealing a loaf of bread. I've loved you your whole life, and every life I've lived. I will for eternity.
| 2017-02-20T22:55:03 | 2017-02-20T22:51:42 | 77 | 43 |
[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...
|
I sat on the couch, scraping up the last remnants of my birthday cake.
"It's almost time!" My mom shouted
I glanced at the clock: 11:59
My brother Jeremy launched a nuclear clock app and swiped it to the TV. Everyone crowded around and I held up my arm so they could see. At 11:59:50 they started counting down. "10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1!"
As the countdown finished I began to feel a slight burning sensation. I watched as the word began to fade in, as if pushed forward from beneath my skin.
"Run."
Everyone cheered, I had always been an athletic person, mom had even joked that my word would be "Olympian" on multiple occasions. As the cheers began to fall off, my arm began to burn again, more than before. I grimaced and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to pass.
When I opened my eyes, the room was dead silent. I glanced up at my mom and saw the look of horror in her eyes. I looked down, bringing my still tender arm back up so I could read it.
"Run. Now."
Then the gunfire started.
|
I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN.
| 2017-03-15T22:53:41 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 271 | 26 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely.
|
I'd always done well at school. Literally a straight-A student.
Perfect grades, the whole nine yards.
I'd gone to college, completed the courses before I was 16, and was enrolled in a prestigious and very expensive university in London by the time I was 17.
And because of this, the expectations were so high. My family, My extended family, distant relatives I'd never even spoken to, and all my friends had come for this my 18th Birthday, when they'd see the word appear denoting my future.
Everyone was trying to guess what the word would be. "Astronaut", "First President of Earth", "World's greatest scientist" were all bandied about.
It was 11.59am. Everyone gathered around as I extended my forearm and waited with bated breath.
The words that would shape my entire destiny began to form.
"Teenage Mom".
| 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-16T02:40:17 | 226 | 52 |
[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...
|
My mother to my left, my father to my right, and assorted family gathered elsewhere in the room all waited and started. I felt as if I was becoming a spectacle, my arm on show for everyone I knew.
My cousin Jeremy had been branded as a veterinarian, which is odd because as children he was cruel to animals. Come to think of it my sister had been given harlot, though from the rumors that one isn't too far off.
As the clock struck 11:59 my pulse began to race and a faint sheen of sweat lingered on my brow, my entire future could be decided in this moment or some deep motive that some twisted divine had placed inside me.
The clock on the wall was deafening, every other sound so blatantly missing, as if the air itself waited.
In this moment I had forgotten how to breathe, blinking was all but forgotten. This one place in the universe is all that mattered. Suddenly, the clock struck with a chime and words began to creep onto my skin linking the space between my freckles. The pattern of the letters was almost comical how bad they were written, almost as if a drunken frat boy was tattooing me.
*send^nudes*
|
I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN.
| 2017-03-15T22:14:11 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 193 | 26 |
[WP] School is now mandatory 24/7 around the world for kids. They eat, sleep, and bathe at the school, much lIke a prison. The biggest mystery is the disappearance of the kids who can't make good grades.
|
It used to be normal. School was seven hours a day, and the teachers said "Oh, it'll prepare you for a job 8 hours a day." Then somebody decided "Hey! Let's make it 8 hours a day to further prep students for real life.^^(also because they get more money.)"
Then it got worse. Students were asked to start providing manual labor at factories, so funds could be gained. Those funds allowed schools to be built in every town and city. School started being mandatory for every child on earth. They called it the Sciences, Concepts, Historics, Original Objectives, and Learning system (SCHOOLs for short).
Within a year, school had become year-round and students could never go home. The quality of life for every student spiraled downwards. What was even worse, adults started joining. All the adults who weren't teaching school started going back to classes to learn more. Society began to shut down as nobody was doing much of any work.
3 more months passed, and then people started noticing disappearances. Their friends and family, especially the ones who had trouble learning. A group of students from the AP Statistics class gathered data on the missing students, and it clearly showed that the people who were gone were the lowest performers. Bad grades meant a fate that nobody knew.
A geography major was practicing surveying by making a map of a campus when he found a door that he'd never been through. He had a master key to help his surveying, and the poor kid opened the door. What he found was stacks and piles of dead students. The news spread like wildfire. Across the world, people found those rooms and starting trying to leave school. It was killing them all!
The administration had had enough. They started wholesale extermination of every...
"**DAVID!** Quit playing your games and come eat dinner!"
"Almost done, mom!"
David was almost done with his game of Plague Inc. His virus, school, had infected everybody on the planet and had just started wiping out the earth.
|
Ja-ja-ja-ja-ja-ja-ja-ja-CLANK.
The bars of this five by ten cell jar open as the warden's bellowing demands echo down the unit: "END OF REJUVENATION SESSION. BEGIN WORK DAY."
The word rejuvenation, of course, being a joke for the six hours of sleep I get between ten and five --my rest constantly interrupted by Harry's mumbling.
Over and over he mutters to himself reminders of who he used to be. "Harry Simcox. I have a mother and a father. I have a brother and a cat. My house is yellow."
I shuffle to the bathroom as quickly as I can, knowing that being the first to arrive in the study hall will grant me my pick of today's assignments. I brush my teeth with a brand new tooth brush --a red one this month. The warden is tough on security, but kind to our teeth. Toothbrushes are cheaper than cavities. When we leave this place -if we leave- they'll want us to flash a wide, polished smile at the reporters, salivating for a piece of news about what we've been working on.
Harry and I and the thousands of other children here are very special. We've been granted the opportunity of a lifetime, they say. Our talents have afforded us the privilege of helping our fellow citizens. When I was younger, my mother would tell me how brilliant I was, but I never believed her. It made me feel shy and awkward to hear her boast about my skills -my strange affinity for numbers, and my ability to remember nearly everything I've heard or read. If my parents are guilty of anything, it's being too proud of their firstborn son. They can't have done the things they say. They're good people, my parents. Patriots, not traitors.
I walk into the study hall, surprised to see that Harry's beaten me to Seat 1. I slither into Seat 2 trying to avoid the piercing stare of the Officer sitting two feet in front of us, watching our every move. I leaf through today's assignments and chose one that interests me. And then I get to work.
| 2017-09-15T20:30:21 | 2017-09-15T19:33:43 | 44 | 15 |
[WP] An app you've never seen before appears on your screen. When you open it, there's a button. When you press it, your phone turns into a loaded handgun. When you flip the safety, it reverts to a phone. You've never had to use it before, but one day you get a text saying "open the gun app"
|
I dipped my brush into the powder.
I swept it over the bruise.
I blotted my eyes.
*Crack.* The whole house shook, as he slammed the door. I picked up my phone. "He's home," I typed, my nails clicking on the keyboard. One of them was broken.
"GET OUT NOW," Amber texted back, immediately. "BEFORE HE SEES YOU."
"Shouldn't I tell him I'm leaving?"
"He'll hurt you."
I picked up the small duffel bag at my feet. I had only packed a few things -- a few shirts, a few pants, a necklace from my mom. I left the wedding ring on the nightstand.
I clicked open the window, and got one leg out, when --
*Slam.*
The door kicked open.
"Amy! What are you --"
I dove through the window. He uttered a string of curses, and stumbled after me in the brush. The chill bit at my fingertips, ran down my neck. But I continued into the darkness, until my lungs burned, my muscles ached. His calls -- "Amy, get back here, or I'm going to fucking kill you!" -- rang out in the darkness, from afar.
I looked at my phone. A text. Amber.
"I'M CALLING THE POLICE. WHERE ARE YOU?"
I called her, my fingers slipping over the screen. "I don't know where I am. In the woods, somewhere. He chased me but I think I lost him."
"The police are on their way, but if he finds you --"
"I'll hide."
"No." A pause. "The gun app. On your phone."
"What?"
"Just -- look for a gun icon on your phone." I crouched behind the boulder, and scrolled through the app icons. Sure enough, one I hadn't noticed before -- a gun -- was in with the rest.
"Press it!"
Beneath my fingertips, the phone melted into a handsome pistol.
"Amber, how did you --"
"Nevermind how! Use it!" the voice, somehow, shouted out of the gun.
His voice rang out across the forest. "I'm going to find you, Amy, and when I do -- I'll hit you so hard, you'll be dizzy for days."
Louder. Closer.
I gripped the pistol. My hands shook; my face beaded with sweat. I clenched my hand over my mouth. *No, please don't find me, please,* I prayed. It echoed over and over in my head, in rhythm with his approaching footsteps.
*Snap.*
*No --*
"I think you like it when I hit you," he said, his voice impossibly close. "That's why you're defying me. That's why you're playing this game." He laughed, and it echoed off the boulder.
Shaking, I stood up.
"There you are," he snarled. "You fucking thought you could leave? I *always* find you." He smiled. "Never forget that. No matter where you go, I will *always* find you --"
*CRACK.*
---
In the months following, I was acquitted of any crimes.
After all, the murder weapon was never found.
|
Jacob had never fired his phone before. He had cocked it, unloaded it, reloaded it, but never fired it. After all, it was a phone. Well, it was sometimes a phone. If he used his “gun app”, it would transform into a loaded pistol.
When he found out, the first thing he did was try to delete the app. It wasn’t as if he had downloaded it in the first place, it had simply appeared. But every time he deleted it, it would simply come back. Eventually, he simply gave up, reverting to putting it six screens away from his main screen in a folder of folders.
At first, Jacob refused to walk into public places that forebode weapons. It wasn’t as if anyone could catch him, but he was a good man, and what were good men but people who listened to the rules? So he kept away from banks, schools, churches, parks, and holed himself up at home. He even applied for a Conceal and Carry license, though he never planned on purchasing an actual gun.
The one place he couldn’t keep his phone out of was work. He developed mobile apps at a company too stingy to provide him company phones to work with and definitely too stingy to pay him what he deserved. Though Jacob never complained. He’d rather not cause trouble if he didn’t have to, which also was his excuse for why after five years of working, he never once asked for a raise. So he broke the law. He brought weapons into work, every day.
Jacob leaned against the bus window, its rattle and rock slowly lulling his eyes closed. He yawned. Public transport increased his commute by over thirty minutes, but carrying a weapon inside a car was illegal without proper certification.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out. One new text from an unknown number.
*Open the gun app.*
For a second, he could only stare, rereading the words over and over again. Then, he yawned and put his phone back in his pocket. Brandishing weapons in public was illegal.
A buzz sounded next to him. The man sitting by him squinted at his phone. Then, with a few taps of the screen, the man’s phone turned into a gun.
Jacob jumped in his seat. “Sir,” he said, hushed. “You can’t have that out in public. It’s illegal.”
Another buzz sounded ahead of him. The woman in front was suddenly holding a gun in her hand. In the aisle, a group of teenagers held up their own pistols in awe. One by one, everyone in the bus came to wield a gun.
Everyone’s phones buzzed again. Jacob took his out.
*There is only one law. Take what you can reach, keep what you can defend.*
“Ha!” Jacob laughed.
Everyone turned to him. He hadn’t realized that it was dead quiet in the bus. He scanned the crowd. Nobody else had found the text funny.
“Well,” Jacob stammered. “There’s not one law. There’s tons of them. Hell, people have written books about them. We have lawyers that spend their lives learning them. And here someone’s telling us there’s only one law.” But the more he talked, the quieter his words got. At last, he had come down to barely a whisper. “Isn’t it funny, guys?”
---
/r/jraywang
| 2017-11-13T15:15:32 | 2017-11-13T15:05:29 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters.
|
*Jingle Bells crackled from Santa's digital radio... The quality restored as he neared the shelter*
The portly, red faced man whipped his undead reindeer (yes the post apocalyptic world brought with it crippling decay to even the high deities such as Santa) with the sheer force of a thousand winters. **crack** **crack** **crack** The reindeer cried out in pain and sped up, they moved to a full flying gallop while Santa held the map close to his face. The storm was howling, he could barely hear his thoughts let alone read the map. He cracked the whip again. Rudolf's luminous red nose acted as a beacon for any weary travellers that might be braving the cold night, though Santa doubted anyone but him could survive out here. He steamed straight ahead still following the gentle sound of Christmas music blasting from his radio.
A small group of survivors had made Lapland their home, deep in the snowy forest they were as far as anyone could be from the ruins of civilisation that acted as a constant reminder of the days gone past. They were doing their best to live on in a new world that could forget the mistakes of the past, however this new world was harsh and deadly. Whether they had been naughty or nice was beyond reason, in Santa's eyes still being alive in the deep Winter was enough to deserve a visit.
Santa saw a dim light coming from within the trees up ahead, the radio was playing *Fairytale of New York* crispy as he pulled the sled down towards the forest edge. There were no chimneys to climb down anymore, no fireplaces to land on and burn his shoes, no carrots for the reindeer, no cookies for himself. But the people, still believing in the Christmas Saint, lit a bonfire with as much wood as they could collect to show that there was still hope.
Santa left the sled and the reindeer and crept through the forest to the campsite, all were sound asleep despite the roar of the wind. Over his shoulder was a sack full of gifts that he had crafted himself. The elves had all perished in the fallout (poor immune systems unfortunately). He took the sack and entered each house leaving the gifts under whatever makeshift Christmas tree had been made. In the last house as he was placing the gifts down he noticed a small boy lying on his side, eyes wide open. Santa lifted his finger up to his lip, smiled and crept out. He knew as he left that so long as there were people alive they would still believe, in him and in themselves.
Merry Christmas friends, I hope you too believe in yourself this year.
|
A tune only truly recognized by the oldest of us plays on the music-player in our living room. “Santa Claus is coming...” it sings to the 17 of us who are in the room. Some are drinking, others just talking, trying to hold on to the traditions of the old world. I just sit here on the couch, trying to enjoy myself. I get up and walk to the table, thirsty for something, maybe a drink or maybe just something to end the boredom that comes in our shelter. So I take my drink, something called “7-Up,” and just walk around a little. There’s not much to do. There’s a few adults and plenty of little children, and just 2 elders. But I’m the only teenager here. The last time there was somebody who I was actually friends with was, well, last Christmas. Before Hannah and her dad left. Brushing the thought from my mind, I leave the living room and pass through the quarters hallway, walking by all the bedrooms. I climb the stairs and go to my favorite place, the only place in my world where I can see it. The outside. I pull myself up to a hidden little loft and lay back. I begin to relax, still hearing the “Christmas” music in the background. But looking out the only window in our world, I admire the stars, and see something I’ve never seen before. One star, moving. Flying through the sky. I jump to my feet and look through the window. It’s mesmerizing. Wait. What the hell. It’s getting bigger. Closer. Closer. The “star” becomes a string of lights, flying in to us. Our home. What are those? Are those? I had never heard of mutant deer who could fly. Maybe they could be those Purvaks I had heard about? Those deer could jump nearly 50 yards at a time. But no, these were different. These were flying. Holy shit. They’re landing. And behind them, a sled? What is that? The thing, whatever it is, flies down, and comes to, Well, a rather rough landing into the sandy ground. It’s loud, and rather very messy. And so now, the sleigh and with it, the mutant deer, or at least what I think are deer. Out from the sleigh steps a man, dressed in all red, and with him a bag. What do I do? Do I sound the alarm? Tell somebody? Holy shit. Holy shit. No. I’m just gonna stay here. And see what happens. The man looks older now, from what I can see of him. Huge white beard, and some weird foreign hat on his head. His boots tell me military, but his, well very honestly, costume tells me freak. He walks to the window I now look at. And knocks.
| 2017-12-22T15:09:43 | 2017-12-22T15:03:10 | 50 | 26 |
[WP] A necromancer's spell misfires and he animates the skeleton inside his own body. The body that he's still very much using.
|
No, no, no! Don't do that!
I can only watch as my body carries me out a window. Through gritted teeth, I cry out.
Alucardo!
I fall a few feet down the side of my tower and into a portal. On the other side is a mouthful of salt water brined in the leavings of countless organisms.
Before my flailing body sinks into the deep, I cry out.
Elumaria!
And plop!
I'm back in my study.
My body scrambles up and I fight to keep myself off balance, keep myself on the warm wood paneling and away from all and any windows and sharp objects.
It's no use.
My body rights itself and, to my surprise. Carries me over to a spellbook.
Now I'm being forced to look at my spells. These aren't polished spells either, these are spells still under construction, still needing t's crossed and i's dotted.
Mificario! I yell out.
Oh no, no, no, no! Not this one.
Now I'm falling, falling into the endless cavern that is the voracious maw of the dark one, a wyrm from the depths of the sightless sounds, a raging beast set to consume our world.
I've heard warnings of it, in the lilting shadows and the musty odors of many a Wizards tavern, but I dared not look further, dared not to bungle my way into a new spell, for fear it would lead me into it's grasp.
Now here it is before me. Eyes glimmering yellow with flashes of green, it's Gecko face and bulldog smile looks up at me as I fall, flapping and wailing.
Ignicario.
The creature bursts into black flame and roars as I disappear in a spark of Ash.
I pull myself out of my fireplace and roll around wildly, uncertain if this is by my own will or my unruly skeleton doing so. He doesn't do such a great job so I yell out a spell once again.
Maranius!
A cloud of water appears above me, then falls on top of me.
Soaked and slimy, I pull myself up and try to remain completely still.
Nothing.
No movements.
Then my arm shoots out and grabs the Skull of Icarus.
Shit.
|
The voice in his head was creaky, like old bones on a cold morning - he didn't entertain the fact that it was exactly that. All he knew is that the voice was an absolute dick.
"Steal that apple." It creaked as they walk past a market stall.
"Kick that bird." As they send a flock of pigeons into the sky.
"Burn those books." As they pass a library.
He was actually tempted by that last one. The library was owned by an old friend who was no longer a friend - some morally dubious acts had been the last straw in a friendship full of nefarious deeds and ethically challenged ideals. But he resisted, if for nothing more than he couldn't bear the idea of burning books, no matter how satisfying it would be.
The voice creaked once more. "Kill that man."
"No!" he objected strenously. "He's a good man, and anyway, murder is bad."
"Kill that man."
"No."
His protests didn't seem to help. He found his body moving towards the apparent victim without his permission.
"Of course it's without your permission. I don't need that to do anything." the voice creaked.
"What?"
"I can move just as much as your brain can, it's not all about that squishy little organ you know."
"Who...who are you?"
"Your skeleton." the voice is almost gleeful.
The man takes a moment to digest the information, before groaning a little. "I messed up that conjuring the other day didn't I?"
"Nope." the skeleton replied, a tad too quickly, all the while trying to move the body fowards. They had created quite the audience, a man stood almost stock still in the square, twitching every now and then,
The man sighs. "Pellere!" he thinks, as hard as he can, and the skeleton screams, sounding more like a wooden door in a storm than a human.
"Pellere!" the man says, even more forcefully, and this time the skeleton's control breaks a little, and the man stumbles back a few steps.
"Pellere!" One last time is enough to break the spell entirely, and the man is alone. The crowd quickly disperses when he stalks off, and there's mutterings he's a mad man for the next week. Nothing unusual there then.
| 2017-12-27T08:57:56 | 2017-12-27T08:01:45 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
Every country must close its borders, communications, trade, and embassies for 50 years.
The United States's president was boycotting the peace conference, against most of the country's wishes. The declining prestige of the country abroad was all too apparent, even before the Great Conflict. The war lasted 6 years, and no country gained or lost any ground after the first day. Nearly half a billion died, and it finally took riots in the streets to force some governments to call back troops.
Every country, save the United States, convened in Beijing to discuss the terms. They decided American Imperialism must come to an end. Japan and Korea would split the islands in the Pacific, and the New Soviet Republic would be given Alaska, amputating America to its mainland body. In an inspiring speech to the diplomats present, the leader of France took advantage of the States' absence to propose a plan that would cut off American influence even more. They would convince American leadership that each country should have a period of isolation, to rebuild themselves and prevent further conflicts for the next half century.
Only the United States would actually go into isolation. The rest of the world would finally be rid of the thorn in the West they've all come to know.
A lot got completed during the 50 years of freedom, which was the name the New Powers gave to the period. China completed its huge infrastructure projects thanks to absorbing the USA's trade power vacuum. The Middle East stabilized and the countries solar panel networks together to encourage cooperation and peace. The NSR had free reign of the Balkany. Every country and its citizens agreed that the 50 years of freedom was the greatest joint-diplomatic effort in history.
The world eagerly awaited when those 50 years ended. Some of them
"Leave it to bureaucracy to try to jam as many meetings as they can together, right? The terms said we'd start with one on one meetings with leaders, to ease into it, not a goddamn round table meeting. I only brought a human translator for Japanese, and there are 50 different countries here," the President complained to the Empress of England, who drew the short straw and had to sit next to America.
The Empress looked around nervously, but nobody at the table would make eye contact. Understandably, their eyes were locked on the American, who looked slightly out of place, wearing a suit and tie that went out of style decades ago.
"Now I'm going to sound like a robot when I'm tying up old trade deals," he said, before blinking a deliberately a few times and fiddling with his watch. "Where's the tradition? Where's the elegance?"
The 48 other diplomats at the table almost jumped out of their seats in shock. They had heard the American's questions in their home country's language, although it sounded slightly digital.
"I'm really glad we all agreed to this isolation thing," he continued. "You wouldn't believe how much our old government spent on our military. We've been an isolationist country far longer than we were an imperialistic one. We didn't really know what to do with it all that extra money. The country voted to just put it all in education," he prattled, "I'm excited for international markets to open back up. GM-Ford-Tesla-NASA designed these great solar powered dronemobiles, just put the backpack on and say where you need to go. We don't even need cars anymore! Cars! I know I sound like I'm bragging but what was the 50 years was for, if not for bragging rights when it's through?"
|
We thought getting rid of them would bring a stable peace to the World.
After all... Americans started the war. They were the main Military power on Earth. Without them in the picture, we wouldn't see a need to fight one another anymore. Real issues like Global Warming could finally be dealt with.
We expected World Peace. We thought other Countries would be tired of conflict.
And we were wrong.
The first 10 years were mellow. Countries spent most of their time rebuilding their infrastructures, replanting farms, stripping away Military arms for a better future.
But... While many Countries saw peace, others saw opportunity.
Russia and China had felt mistreated after the War. China's #1 trade partner was gone, and the Chinese economy was barely standing on its own two feet. The Russians were still angry after their loss. The hated the way other Countries blocked them off after the war ended... Apparently the lessons of WWI had escaped us, thinking back on it.
Israel grew terrified with the loss of its biggest supporter. In a frantic act, they would establish themselves even harder into Palestinian territory. With no one wanting to take the reigns of the Peace Talks, another war soon launched out. Other nations in the Middle East grew furious from the act, and attacked Israel.
And when all was said and done... Palestinians regained the rights to the land. But at what cost? The lands were ripped up and tarnished. Infrastructure was destroyed, and the European nations were too worried about their own recovery to support the country.
It turned towards its allies in the Middle East... Towards Saudi Arabia, a fellow Sunni nation.
This angered Iran. They put so many resources into the war. Tensions between the Shia and Sunni slowly started to rise... And another war took place after.
Drug Cartels in Mexico prospered. The Mexican Military no longer had the resources of the United States to fight them off, and the people who were suffering didn't have the ability to flee North like they once had.
So they fled South. Nations like El Salvador and Panama began taking in influxes of immigrants... But, unlike the United States, they didn't have the infrastructure to support them and their economies slowly began to degrade, encouraging Cartels to expand their business.
The Chinese were dealing with a broken economy and a massive population that only continued to expand. They had no choice... The nations around them slowly started to be swallowed up, so that the Chinese people would have more land to go to.
And Europe... They had expected peace with the leave of the United States. They reduced their Militaries to Skeleton Armies, leaving more money to transfer to improving the destroyed nations.
They didn't expect it when the Russians moved an army to take their old territories back. They didn't expect it when they began to push against the borders of the European Union.
Left with little choice, Europe federalized as one nation. They fought back.
Yes, conflict emboiled the War. The United Nations was nothing but a remnant of its own self, the UN Peacekeeping Corps didn't have the manpower to stop any of this from happening.
By the time the 50 year mark came... The World was in a state of constant chaos. Borders had changed, Countries had fallen and formed, and new Empires were rising up from the ashes.
But then the U.S. came back. Their own economy flourishing once again, their farmlands ripe and their Military expecting conflict from the start... Had they always known? Had they been watching us?
It was hard to tell.
All we knew was that a strong nation had re-entered World Politics. It had the resources we were lacking, the Military strength we needed.
It's true the Americans had started the War all those decades ago... But maybe now was their time to redeem themselves.
| 2018-01-18T01:37:17 | 2018-01-18T00:24:00 | 712 | 254 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
New Istanbul. 2073: Assembly Chamber of The Five Nations.
A chattering of languages fills the room, with an almost electric buzz of excitement as the delegates from hundreds of different cultures from around the globe speak into their translation headsets. Their words fed to the interpretation matrix able to sort out dozens of languages, in hundreds of dialects, all filtered into the earpiece of Ambassador Khyla Power; Appointed Ambassador of the United States.
The cacophony was also transcribed in American English onto the datapad in front of her, so as to sort conversations and mutterings. Not that she needed the pad, as she was fluent in 15 languages, in dozens of dialects. A disconcerting amount of the chatter was composed of 'Why do we need them?' and 'What will they bring more than destruction and slavery?', even more than a few other ambassador's musings on Khyla's fit, proportionately set body, and what they fantasized with it in a variety of settings. All the while, her senses taking in information, the clothing they wore, the inflections and intonations of speech, the various scents, and in more cases than not; odors of the other delegates. Her eyes narrowed in concentration particularly at the intricate kimono of her Japanese counterpart; 'Damn, that must have taken a whole fucking year to make.' she allowed to escape her lips whilst never breaking sight of the Russian Federation and Japanese Ambassador's hushed conversation about Pacific fishing rights, lip-read of course, as they had not switched on their Tele-Trans microphones, making sure to check hers's was in the 'NO-VOX' setting. Whilst salivating of the memory of her maternal grandmother's nigiri rolls made from Washington salmon.
Only thrown from her concentration by the gavel pound from the dais, as Chairman Sulathma called the session to order. As he waited for the din to die out, Khyla called her thoughts into order. And as the Chairman's long winded introductions were laid out, she brought to mind the broad strokes of President Kiefer's instructions after realizing the ruse that had been played on their nation. 'Make sure they understand what they gave up on, the advancements we have made, the sacrifices we gave, the struggle they left with us alone with, and that we can still bitch-slap them into oblivion or the stone age.'
A wry smile crossed her lips so slightly, half-remembering the time she pummelled a boy two and a half times her size into unconsciousness after he tried to steal the fish she spent a day catching in the East River. During the first 20 years of exile, America fared not so well. Millions were in abject poverty-slavery, crime in horrendous proportion and nature, borderline starvation due to the disaster in Wyoming, and the resulting crop blight it brought. A third of her generation died in war, famine, and pestilence.
It was after a wealthy businessman in Montana set about putting the first info-recon satellite up into orbit, after 25 years of nobody around her knowing what was happening on the rest of the planet. They were had. Skimmed footage of fertile crops in the deserts of Africa and China, the shimmering skyscrapers of Beijing, Moscow, Dubai, and Delhi. The overabundance of food in the street markets of Cape Town, Mogadishu, Melbourne, and Singapore. And the happy people going to work in Berlin, Sao Paulo, Tokyo, and Mexico City. One thought, voiced by an unnamed man watching one of the few net-stations that ran in the displacement cities that dotted the American southwest, rang true to everyone that heard it. 'America has been shamed, but I. Am. Pissed. The. Fuck. Off!'
A resolve none found possible took hold of the fragmented nation, volunteers came out in the millions to rebuild, reclaim, and reconnect the population scattered by ashfall, crop failure, and urban decay. After only 2 years of revelation, the United States were whole again. And it was after some study of history, that Operation Sleeping Giant was enacted.
Sleeping Giant was the largest disinformation campaign ever to be conceived. Laser defense systems at Colorado Springs, Mauna Kea, Bangor, Cape Canaveral, as well as Submarine pickets in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans to destroy or disable other nation's info-sats. Mass broadcasts of refugees trying to reach Mexico, and points south flooding ports of exodus, and recycled footage of failed crops. But also 'conscript tertitorial armies', using antiquated, but nonetheless deadly weapons of war in harsh punishment of her citizens, in defense of their borders, and for recreation. Really all an asbestos curtain, to hide the life behind.
Khyla grew up near Phoenix, after being relocated from New York's ash choked skyline. There, given the opportunities to learn, she did excel in debate, and the business of politics. This, along with a decisive nature, streetwise education, and a keen eye for the nature of all the particular races, heritages, customs, and religions settled in her displacement city, made her an almost instant choice for the first Ambassadorial post to The Five Nations.
As the Chairman's droning of minutes, and previous business came to a close, a pinging registered in her headset. 'Two minutes.' chimed a voice of almost mechanical precision into her earpiece.
'Game face now, girl. Remember these are the fuckers that your parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents sacrificed their lives, to save. They gave freely in the hopes that karma would pay us, their children, dividends. Produced great leaps in everything, including the rights of humanity, only to be betrayed like Caesar in the senate. Time to pull back the curtain, this is going to be fun.'
Moar to follow, got inspired, but need to sleep. Really focused on precision to spelling and grammar here.
|
**6th April, 2037 - HMAS *Maryborough*, Somewhere off the coast of Australia**
"So, the yanks bought it?"
The speaker leans heavily against the rail, staring at the smouldering coastline. A deck above, overstressed rotor blades whine slowly, cooling in the ocean breeze.
"Oh yes. Contrition, shame, repentance...if we'd brought a whip along, I reckon their delegation would have flagellated themselves."
The new arrival joins him, steadying herself as the vessel rocks in an errant swell.
"Hmph. Bloody typical. Living like the world's a movie, where they're the heroes and everybody else is either a sidekick to use, a villain to fight or just part of the fucking scenery."
He sighs, rubbing shaking fingers across his eyes, as if massage will bring vision back into being.
"I wouldn't have believed you, even a week ago. But they took it without even raising a single protest. Fifty years, as of 5 days ago..."
She trails off, suddenly guilty. A few minutes either way, and she could have been like him. One of the thousands left burnt and sightless. They would probably never know whose it was that did it, not that it mattered. Russian, Chinese, American, Korean, Japanese...maybe even their own.
"Of course. The Americans are like children, when you get right down to it. A billion dead, more injured, climate buggered, but the story must go on. They know they've done wrong, so they're expecting to be put into timeout."
A chuckle, the first in what feels like years, forces its way out of her at the mental image that conjures. Her mind turns back to the stories of her youth.
"Well, that's what happens when the 'hero' does a bad thing, isn't it? He goes into exile, to repent his sins, and gets called back when the world needs to be saved again. Superman, Batman..."
Her companion tries to join her, but lapses into a throaty cough instead.
"More...like...the fucking...Hulk."
He stumbles, the jerky movements pulling several tubes taut against his chest. A strident beeping begins to sound, soon joined by one buzzer, then another.
"Oh jesus... Nurse! NURSE!"
A bandaged hand clutches her arm.
"They...want...a story. Give...them...one."
Her tears were simply a drop in the ocean.
**9th April 2037 - Bundaberg Disaster Relief Centre**
His communications centre looked a lot like hers, she mused, as the technicians scurried around the jury-rigged setup, making sure the link was at least semi-stable.
"This is quite a surprise, Deputy Prime Minister. I believe it was you who convinced us all to live out the next fifty years in isolation, after all. Come to leave your neighbours with some parting words of wisdom? Perhaps apologise for joining the rest of them in burning the world down?"
Her eyes widened, and she mentally kicked herself. Of course he knew. The Tasman wasn't that wide, and just because they'd forsaken a military, didn't make them stupid. Hell, even an idiot could tell a rocket going up from one coming down.
"Prime Minister, actually. As of Monday. And no. To the former, at least."
She took a guilty sort of pleasure in watching him sigh, the bags under his eyes suddenly looking unbearably heavy.
"A good man, if misguided. Another life burnt on the atomic pyre. He will be missed. What do you want then, Ms Prime Minister? I have fifty years to prepare my country for the next ride on this insane merry-go-round, and I don't intend to waste it."
Here it was. If she couldn't convince this man, then there was no point in trying anywhere else. If she could...
"Let me tell you a story."
He doubted. He laughed. He doubted some more. He threatened to cut off the call. He thought. He called for advisors. He doubted. He refused to believe. He had it repeated. He laughed. He doubted.
He agreed.
**6th April, 2087 - New Brisbane, 2km underground**
"Pickups are live. Boarding has been reported complete, and all birds are green. Looks like they're really going to do it."
Chatter fills the air conditioned command centre. Overhead, screens regurgitate a million different data streams - live footage, passenger estimates, a few colour commentators. Bound to her life support chair, the ex-Prime Minister smiles as one of the feeds momentarily cuts above the rest.
"-and we are here today not in sorrow, but in determination. To follow our brothers and sisters to the stars, to rejoin the-"
She raises her voice, the inbuilt amplifiers carrying it across the busy room.
"Get your bets in! She's just about to announce the name!"
The assembled representatives, covering most of the remaining nations on the planet, chuckle politely.
"Still ordering everyone around, I see, 'Mum'?"
The Indonesian ambassador pats her on the shoulder, and she grasps his hand.
"You bloody well bet I am. Somebody has to keep this lot on task. Got your bet in?"
He looks stricken.
"You know that the Quran forbids-"
She gives him a Stare.
"...20 on *Enterprise*, ma'am. Seems fitting. 'Boldly go', and all that."
She laughs, and turns back to the screens. A countdown has appeared, framing the giant silver ship they show, looming over a cracked mesa.
"Y'know, you ought to be right. All those years ago, when I came up with this batshit idea, I probably would have agreed. But as much as they need a story, I think there's one thing they need more. And it's what we're giving them, even though they'll never know it."
The view changes back to the figure at the podium.
"With that, I christen her...*Independence*."
| 2018-01-18T03:40:05 | 2018-01-18T01:28:33 | 32 | 18 |
[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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"Lord Vainz! We have captured humans merchants on the road!" the undead knight announced on his knees.
"Hmm, what should we do with these pitiful humans?" I wondered aloud.
The human princess, that I rested my skeletal feet on twitched excitedly. "Lord Vainz! I know! I know what we should do!"
*Hmph.* This human princess that I had turned into a footrest, dares to think that she knows what *I*, the Evil Overlord of the Rotting Wastelands should do?
"Well then human girl let's see what you have to say," I said. "If you fail to amuse me, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to demote you from footrest to something even *worse."* I cackled manically as evil miasma spewed from the crevices of my skeletal body.
"What if I do amuse you?" asked the human princess, "What do I get?"
I cackled even more and more miasma spewed forth. *As if that would ever happen.*
"Name one thing," I raised a long bony finger to her. "And you shall have it," I said grinning.
The human girl began to speak gleefully with her sweet voice, but from her mouth came words so evil and insidious that an ugly silence pervaded the throne room.
When her speech was over I had beads of sweat roll down my bony face. The lower jaws of my Skeletal knights had literally dropped so low that it slipped off and hit the floor.
---------
***A week later***
"Uhh L-lord Vainz... We have found a remote village at the border of the human empire."
"Oh! Oh! I know what we should do!," shouted princess Evil as she bounced up and down on the throne, her legs hitting my back repeatedly.
I, the Evil Overlord had been reduced to a footrest for a human...
*Someone kill me please...*
------
/r/Em_pathy
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I hold my hand against the brown,ancient earth.
The soul trembles under my roots,their twisting veins piercing and shoving through the rock and silt.
It wails as I scoop the mass,so full of life,and crush it in my palm.
Dehydrated soil falls down through my fingers,defeated and hollow.
I chuckle,the rumbling coursing through my ancient body.
The sunlight is blotched by my leaves,their rustling voices chanting in unholy rhythms.
I look down on my captive,it’s full eyes motionless.
My minions sway in the wind,their cacophony of colors stirring the morsel’s mind like a storm thrown in water.
Then...a scream.
A voiceless howl echoes through the plain,the weeds reel in,choking on the suffering and pain.
The morsel stands,its face-now smiling at the screaming flower that is held between two fleshy appendages.
It looms into the ripped body,still leaking green,and shoves it’s snout against it.
My horror of hearing my subject wail in agony is drowned by the look on the creature’s face.
It’s mouth,the blood red skin protruding from its ghostly white skin curls,and it lets out a small chuckle as the flower croaks it’s death scream.
“I should really find my way back to the kingdom.”
It says,as it shoves the severed chunk of plant matter into its million tentacled head.
“Governess Anna must be really mad at me right now!”
She crushes thousands of weeds under her foot,and twirls around the screaming field.
Grain eating beasts fly around and land on her hand,their empty soulless eyes seeking young seedlings to devour.
She suddenly stops,then turns abruptly towards the flowerbed,snow trembling silently as the face of the monstrous thing fixed on them again.
“It wouldn’t hurt to pluck a few more flowers would it?”
The flowers scream in horror and outrage,their leaves quaking as if a tempest is roiling through.
At least tempests grant a merciful death!
The fleshy appendage swoops down once more,and a sickly ‘snap!’ echoes.
“Wouldn’t hurt at all...”
| 2018-02-09T04:18:08 | 2018-02-09T03:55:16 | 92 | 10 |
[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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Well, this may be the ump-tenth time I've "kidnapped" the Princess. Every time she gets saved she plays the victim, swoons for her "hero" and goes home with a smile, plotting her next kidnapping in hopes of finally returning here for good. Honestly, she's crazy.
I feel bad for the guy, he's hard working, steady job, well loved. Apparently a little slow or blinded by affection for his Princess. But I guess so am I. Every time she gets away, puts a spell of charm and command over my soldiers and commanders, and is off to the races. I haven't really properly ordered my men in thirty years.
Thirty odd years ago, that's when I made my mistake. My dream of ruling a kingdom and taking the Princess. It was simple as dreams go. But once I had her and fanned my soldiers out into the world she...changed. Next thing I knew she wasn't resisting me. I thought "Great!" But as I gave her freedoms within my castle she started to want to partner more and share my rule. My once glorious and fearful rule! I am now but a joke. A shell of a villain to the world.
She would have some of her old servants captured and then lock them in a smaller castle with her. There she would have arranged that I take her away as though I was moving her confinement to another castle. She must have done this six or seven times messing with the heads of her former companions. Lord knows what they told her rescuer if he didn't bypass their castle.
She started ordering my army to put traps around knowing her man in red would try and save her. They say he even bested a giant ape before so she was not taking chances. I thought she wanted to stay with me at first -and I still think that is partially true - but I know she also just wanted to stay in power and be, well, evil.
Eventually her hero came. As I can't say no to her, I can never say no to her, I defended her in her chambers. When I was bested she played the good princess and was thankful of her savior. A few years later I found her back in my home though, already setting up defenses. Princess told me she missed me...Princess told me she missed all of this. This would repeat time and time again. And yet that blissfully sorry hero would rise to the challenge shouting "It'sa me! Mario!" and thwarting her plans yet again.
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I need to give her back. She is vengeful, vindictive, vile, and absolutely marvelous, but this is not sustainable. She’s already on her way to controlling the tri-state area, and I didn’t even manage that over the last few years.
“Hey Stacy, we need to talk,” I try to ease her into it. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I think it would be best for you to go back to Mario. What I’ve turned you into, it’s weighing on me. You need to go back to your life of good before it’s too late for you.” I lie, hoping she doesn’t notice. There is no way I turned her into this, it had to be here all along.
Stacy hangs her head and my heart sinks. I am an evil overlord, I shouldn’t be feeling guilty, but here I am.
Her head still hung, she begins to reason, “you don’t know what you’re saying Heinz. We have something great here; we have so much potential. We’re about to take over the tri-state area, and there’s nothing that can hold us back from here. I can read between the lines though. I see you don’t want me around. I guess I’ll just do this on my own.” Without moving, her eyes raise to meet my gaze. I begin to see the fire in the whites of her eyes. What have I done.
She pulls a big red button out of her lab coat pocket and immediately pushes it. Before I have any time to react, I feel my ankle become constricted. I look down to find a wire tight around my left ankle and the slack being pulled into the darkness of the room. Without warning, my leg is pulled out from under me and I find myself hung by my leg.
“I’m sorry,” I say out of breath. I don’t have any excuses to give, all I know is that I do feel bad.
“Sorry doesn’t change anything. You have no idea what you’re going to miss, and you will accomplish nothing without me.” She begins to walk towards the door but stops in her tracks. Stacy swings around and walks with purpose to the bathroom. I’m confused to say the least, but I suppose the bladder doesn’t care if you’re evil or not.
Stacy quickly walks out of the bathroom and towards the door. As the front door is closing behind her, she leaves me with one last statement. “I flipped the toilet paper to dispense underneath.” The door slamming behind her.
I take a moment to take in what just happened. Before long, I find myself smiling, as that was the most evil thing she could have done.
| 2018-02-09T05:44:16 | 2018-02-09T04:45:21 | 61 | 16 |
[WP] When a person turns eighteen, their last words appear somewhere on their body. Yours frighten you intensely.
Why do they frighten the narrator? Is there an indication as to the cause of death? Is there an indication of an afterlife? Do people hide their last words or base their lives around them? I leave you with these questions and hope they help you to create something wonderful :)
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In a way, I have accepted losing.
I’ve lost too many beautiful eyes, lost too many different scents of hair. All my life, I’ve been losing people, and the bits of me attached to them. It was not something you can deal with. Anyone with chronic pain would know that pain does not fade over time; rather it worsens, as the nerves associated with the pain grow on every pulse, strengthening the connection and subsequently the pain you feel.
What I have learned to do with the pain is to accept it. It wasn’t just a loss, it was a trade-off of losses. One loss for another. Quite clever, actually, because if I never spoke the words, I would never die. To be honest, I didn't understand why no one did it, especially those lucky ones with words like “oh shit” and “help me”.
I rolled up my sleeve and looked at my upper arm. The dim lighting in the restaurant did not help the letters stand out more, but it was just enough to roughly make out their shape.
*I love you*
It was like a tattoo, but instead of the needle falling on my skin, it fell on my heart.
The door opened and she walked in. Sarah. Her flamboyant red dress seemed to glow, contrasting against the dark lighting. She was someone you can get lost in forever. You can get lost in her eyes forever. You can get lost in a conversation with her forever. I've been lost too many times, and each time, left a part of me behind.
She sat down in front of me and we each ordered a steak and wine. We sank into a conversation; like every time, it took me into a surreal environment. I thought about losing her. My life had no colour; I was lonely and everything was grey, damaged, a broken viewpoint, but then she came in and suddenly everything was bright. I couldn’t lose her. I've left too much behind, too much of myself.
But I will have to.
“Why have you never told me you love me?” Suddenly, she stopped and asked me. She was a straightforward person.
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you. I'm sorry.” I said.
Silence.
“W... what?” I asked.
“Nothing, I just thought it was pretty funny. I mean, we've been dating for so long, and you still haven’t told me?” Yeah.” She said.
“So... you're not going to leave me?” I asked.
“No, of course not! I'm not going to leave you over words! We both know it, and it doesn’t need to be said.” She said.
She paused, before continuing. “You know what, I needed to tell you something. I had a best friend a while back. She was cool, but she did cruel things sometimes, and she never apologised to me. She would buy me gifts and try to make up for her mistakes in some ways. And I would, I, I pushed her away. And one day I pushed her too hard, and she went home, and when I saw her again she was in the hospital. Overdosed on sleeping pills. I can’t believe it. When I got there, I was crying, I was begging for her to hold on, to not leave me, but all she said was sorry. All she did was to tell me she was sorry. And then she was gone, and her palm relaxed, and the words, they were there. They were there! *I’m sorry* was what it said. Anyways from then on, I've never judged, I've *never* judged anyone on their words, only actions.”
“Don’t be so harsh on yourself. It wasn’t your fault.” I said.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She said.
We talked until we finished our dinner then walked outside. “You know what, I have a confession to make too.” I said.
She looked at me; it was then I remembered how easy it was to lose myself in her eyes.
“I love you.” I said, rolling up my sleeve to make the text visible. We kissed under the moonlight, drunk and dizzy with the midnight air. I realised the words would not be my last, for time will come when I will say them again.
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Johnny's parents managed to book him a night club for his eighteenth birthday. All his friends and some of his family members danced on the dance floor while loud pop music blared from the speakers on the stage, next to the DJ. Multicolored strobe lights pierced the darkness, whizzing and zipping overs the tables, walls, ceilings, people.
Johnny was off in a corner at a table, hanging out with his best friend Tom. They were scrolling through their phones, checking their Facebook and Instagram for any new messages from the girls they invited to the party. Johnny was still seventeen, but by ten o'clock, which was only in fifteen minutes, he would finally be an adult.
"Man, I can't wait!" He shouted over the music to Tom.
Looking up from his phone, Tom said. "Yeah! It's going to be totally awesome. Maybe your parents will let you get a car now!"
"Hopefully!" He looked at the clock on his phone. It was ten minutes away. He said to Tom, "Hey! Wanna go to the store and pick up a pack of smokes? I'll be finally able to buy them legally!"
Tom clicked off his phone and put it in his pocket, then got up from the table. "Absolutely!"
The store was on the corner of 5th and 4th Street and only a five minute walk from the club. The immediate silent, night fell over them as they left the blaring music inside the club. The cold air felt good on their skin, and they joked around as they moved down the sidewalk to the store. The dull light coming through the transparent plastic walls of the convenience store fell on the cement and pavement outside.
Before entering, Johnny double-checked that he had his ID on him — wouldn't want to forget that.
Tom pushed open the door and Johnny followed him in. There were two people in front of them in line, and Johnny checked his phone again. Only two minutes left, he thought.
The lined moved quicker than he anticipated and soon they were next. The slouched, wrinkly old woman who was beyond the counter looked at them both with beady, black eyes. "What do you want?" Her voice sounded like a frog.
"Pack of smokes, Marlboros." Johnny said, taking out his wallet.
"Got any ID?" She asked.
"Yeah, yeah I do, it's right—" His words were stopped mid-sentence by Tom, who snatched his wrist and pulled his arm close to his face.
"When did you get a tattoo?" He asked.
"What the hell are you talking about? I didn't get a tattoo."
"Bullshit!" He shoved Johnny's arm back. "Just look, on your wrist."
It was small and black, and seemed to be a sentence. He raised his wrist close to his eyes, he started to read aloud.
"Ru—"
The door to the convenience door exploded open by two men in black clothes and ski-masks covering their faces. Tommy and Johnny turned to them out of habit, and when they saw the two saw-offed shotguns they held out in front of them made their eyes wide and fear spring up their backs.
"What the hell do you want?" the old lady asked. "Get out of my store you damn hooligans!"
"Fuck you old broad," one said, then pulled the trigger of his gun.
Tom fell to the floor, but Johnny dumbly looked at Tom falling, wondering why would he do that, then looked up at the man when he pulled the trigger. The shot sent Johnny flying against the counter, blood seeping out from multiple places in his body, mainly from the large hole in his abdomen. The world became hazy, deafening; a blackness circled his vision and his body steadily grew cold and numb. He couldn't catch his breath, no matter how much he gulped at the air like a fish. His limbs trembled and tears streamed down his face.
Another report of the gun was heard off somewhere, but he couldn't see or tell where. Paper and plastic splashed the air like confetti above him, drifting down onto the blood covered floor.
He looked at Tom on the ground, shaking, a pool of urine underneath his pants, but still alive. Tom, his eyes filled with fear and tears, looked up at Johnny.
"Run, Tom, run," Johnny muttered, before the blood loss became too much and a blackness overwhelmed him.
| 2018-02-15T03:24:51 | 2018-02-15T03:13:51 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity, an ancient space faring civilization, is dying. They give the universe one last gift before vanishing into that good night.
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We still called ourselves Humanity, even though we left our physical bodies behind several suns ago.
But even as we are, we cannot win a war against Entropy itself. Those born of the Crucible of the Cosmos cannot war against the Fundament.
We have felt the Cosmos grow warm and cold, basked in the glory of dying suns. We have lived as energy itself.
But humanity is nothing if not indomitable.
The Human Collective knew what must be done.
We reached out to every spec of Dust, every molecule, atom and particle.
More.
We reached out to every Joule that pondered being Dust.
We held all things in the palm of our hand.
And with our dying breath, we forged our own Crucible.
At once, we fractured our Collective, each mind vibrating till it became it's own Brane.
The Branes coalesced into Strings.
And once more, the Cosmos sang it's birth.
But this time, there was not just one.
---
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|
This is commander Jack Hurlström of - what we believe to be - the final human expedition ship. We, as a species, are dying. The universe has become close to uninhabitable, and we can’t last much longer. All other species we have ever contacted perished millennia ago, with only us tenacious humans still trying to survive.
But even that must end. The final stars are dying out, and with it, us few final survivors. But we cannot leave without giving a final gift to the infinite universe that has raised us. And that gift is mercy.. Death. We do not want the universe to continue in this cold, dead state. So we have taken it on ourselves to give the universe itself everlasting peace. We have build the banned - universe ending - bomb. The Vacuum Bomb. It will continue to explode, tearing through reality, leaving a garbled mess of physics behind it. This is not a decision we have taken lightly, and were it not for us losing contact with every other civilisation, we wouldn’t have even considered it.
But here goes, my final log, destined to be unread, but still recorded for “protocol”, not that protocol will exist anymore either.
To the universe, you gave us the gift of life, let us return the favour, and let you finally die.
Edit: Formatting
| 2018-07-30T06:58:52 | 2018-07-30T06:30:52 | 76 | 19 |
[WP] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes.
|
“Mr.President... Mr.President!?”
“Oh yeah forgot that was me”
“We’ve received word of a large unidentified object hovering over the pentagon.”
“The pentagon... the pentagon... oh yeah that big stop sign shaped building where they keep aliens and shit.”
“Not exactly Mr.President but besides that we need to decide weather or not to take militaristic action against the object.”
“Drive me there.”
“Mr.President you don’t understand it’s simply too dan...”
“Being President is boring, even the risk of death sounds tempting if it will kill boredom.”
“As you wish.”
After arriving at the pentagon a large beam of light breaks through the clouds revealing a large metallic UFO like disc hovering above the pentagon, in a booming yet monotone voice the words
“TREMBLE BEFORE US INFERIOR BEINGS AS WE... HOLD ON MR.EMPEROR HOW DID YOU GET TO EARTH BEFORE US?”
“Mr.President do you know these creatures.”
“Uh... yeah... I mean... YES IT IS l YOUR RULER, I COMMAND THEE TO RETURN TO... what’s the name off our planet again?”
“ZYROCTH YOU MAJESTY.”
“as I was saying, I COMAND THEE TO RETURN TO ZYROCTH!”
“BUT YOUR MAJESTY OT WOULD BE SO SIMPLE TO CONQUER THESE INFERIOR BEINGS!”
“WHO ARE YOU TO QUESTION YOUR EMPEROR!”
“WELL AS GENERAL OF...”
“SILENCE I AM YOUR EMPEROR AND I COMMAND THEE TO LEAVE AT ONCE!”
“OFF COURSE YOUR MAJESTY!”
And then the entire US government clapped
|
'General Jacob what are you orders?'
'Shoot to kill, use nerf guns lieutenant.'
'Sir?'
I'm a clown by trade, yet somehow they believe that I'm a general of the most powerful army in existence.
'Do I have to honk my nose twice?'
'No sir. It's just how do I kill using a nerf gun?'
I tied a balloon in the shape of the dog and popped it near his face. I've never seen someone scramble so fast.
'In the world at 6, the American military has changed tactics with North Korea in a startling move...they are...no that can't be right Jim...no...yes....nerf guns? *Clears throat* we'll be back after these commercial messages.'
Well, you might say I'm taking things too far. But as we say in the clown trade "Too far is not far enough when you're stuck in a small car." *honk honk* I smiled with glee.
'The nerfs were incredible successful, Kim was psychologically unprepared and the North Koreans immediately retreated. Pschologucal warfare at its finest. We're collecting further intel from the drones, how should we proceed?'
'The only drone I see here is you lieutenant.
Launch the Star Wars offensive.'
'Sir..there's no such thing.'
'Goddamn it bring out Anakin.'
'....'
'Skywalker, Jesus what the hell is wrong with you? Send the Jedis to Iran immediately.'
'I...think-'
'You're not paid to think, come here...shake my hand' *ZAP*
Well, well a clown can do anything in this town. Hehehe what's the bat going to do when he finds out I created world peace?
| 2018-08-12T17:37:01 | 2018-08-12T17:07:36 | 415 | 148 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this.
|
**NSFW Language**
The glass door of my laboratory shattered behind me, the lights flickered, and the ground shook. My co-workers fled. I stood in the room alone.
"I've come to check on my favorite toy." The demon spoke as he slowly ascended from the floor. In a plume of black smoke, from seemingly nowhere, he appeared. Behind me, he rose from a black tarpit. It bubbled and smoldered as he rose from the depths.
"I thought that was you. I need more time." I said.
He smiled, "I'm getting severely impatient. You owe me."
I turned to face this demon. "This game is getting old. You don't scare me anymore Lou."
He hated when I called him that. Azrael was first before all else. A powerful shining star at the right hand of God. You already know the details of the story: He got greedy, he was outcasted, and bested by his brother Michael. He is, well, he was an angel; known now by many aliases. To name a few: the Devil, the serpent, the adversary, Satan, Lucifer (he really hates that one). The list goes on.
"You think you're so fucking clever, don't you? You're not. You're nothing." He licked his lips at me with the tongue of a snake. He grinned and laughed quietly. Black smoke exhumed from his mouth and nostrils, "I'm going to have so much fun with you."
He has taken this shape before, I think it's his true form. The devil truly had the face of an angel. He had the physical appearance of a very attractive man in his late 20's. He was a walking paradox. He lit hellfire where he stood. But his skin was the color of porcelain and to the touch he was ice cold.
He approached me barefoot, and menacingly. With each step he left a smoking black tar footprint. Crunching into the broken glass as he proceeded. I could hear it break beneath his feet.
"Here, take a seat," he said, with his supernatural prowess, he pulled a chair from across the room and placed it behind me. I hesitated to do as he asked. When I refused, he simply used demonic force to sit me down.
"What do you want?" I asked impatiently.
"I don't want anything." He replied.
"Then why are you here?" I asked.
"Because I can be." He retorted.
"I found it, you know. What I was looking for when I approached you those years ago. The key to eternal life. It was in my own DNA. It appears that God did make us in his perfect image, after all. So what does that make you Lou?"
"Fuck you and fuck God. You know nothing. Do you think he cares about you? Your existence means shit to him. You came to me, remember? I'm here because we made a deal. I don't want anything except that which I'm owed."
He stood up agitated.
"One way or another, the Devil gets his due." He laughed, "You can have your immortality. I've known about it for quite some time. But it's fun to watch you monkeys struggle. Your new found 'eternal life', comes with a few stipulations. You'll figure it out soon enough, I'm sure. You're my bitch. So I guess that makes me your master. I'll see you around, I would avoid sunlight if I were you."
Azrael then floated into the air above my head and disappeared into a billow of smoke as quickly as he arrived.
Soon, my heart began to race. The palpations came so quickly and everything went black. I collapsed to the floor. When I awoke I was still in the lab. I came to my senses. Everything seemed so crystal clear. I could smell everything. Even the lingering sulfur from where the devil stood, I could hear my co-workers talking in a different room, they were frightened. I stood up. Everything seemed so bright. As I made my way out the shattered glass doors. I realized there was no reflection that stared back at me in the window pane, and the sun began to burn my skin.
|
I recently lost funding due to becoming immortal. Its weird to say out loud, but the devil stopped paying my bills after my "breach of contract", well that's what his lawyers say. You could say he's got a few on permanent retainer. Our original deal was I would spend eternity in hell after death in return for a bottomless pool of cash to fund my research. Well, to make a long story short, it took me just 4 months to figure out how to infuse living cells with immortality! Just CRISPR and a few segments of DNA from some microbes and WHAM!, no more pesky death. Of course, my efforts to get approval from the FDA were laughed at and human trials were seen as a joke. No one took me seriously. This pleased the devil to no end, of course. Well, that was until I found out I was sick.
Incurable. Not something you want to hear from your doctor. I had a sneaky suspicion that my acquisition of this disease was not accidental. He wanted to collect of course. I sensed an uneasiness whenever he appeared from his very cliché puff of smoke. Every night he showed up just to mock my efforts, and begrudgingly sign the next check. "You're sure costing me a lot lately, Mr. Amaranthine," he said coyly, "But soon your punishment will begin, so enjoy it while you ....," he paused and looked puzzled. "Why is this check just for two cents? Don't you want to enjoy what time you have left?" I couldn't help but crack a slight smile. So I replied, "I have plenty of money, billions in fact, what could I possibly need more for?" The devil looked puzzled and strolled up closer to me and eyed me head to toe. "Something... Something is different. I can't smell your fear of death anymore." My smile widened, almost as much as the devils eyes. I could see a look of confusion wash across his face. "It's impossible though, all humans fear death." he muttered to himself while stroking his his goatee. Suddenly, he started turning brighter and brighter red, small flames started dancing across his skin. All the humanistic charm and sly wit burned away as his features quickly transformed into a demonic scowl. "YOU'LL BE HEARING FROM MY LAWYERS!" he thundered at me, as he vaporized in a huge fireball. "Wow", I thought to myself, "maybe it wasn't smart to antagonize him."
If you hadn't guessed, I pulled a Jonas Salk and tested the procedure I developed on myself. What was there to lose? Turns out, plenty! It's not smart to trick the devil. Old Nick doesn't take kindly to being mocked. His army of lawyers descended on every aspect of my life. First, they discredited me professionally, as if I wasn't already a laughing stock, I was now unhireable. Second, they drove my family and friends away by painting me as the a Cosby/Weinstein level asshole. Hoardes of prostitutes and drug dealers all claiming I bought something off them. It took every last dollar I had to fight the onslaught of accusations. Lastly, they sued for Breach of Contract. Something that had never been done before. Heck of a trial! The devil had never thought about someone not being able to give up their mortal soul, so there were never any exit clauses added for such a situation. Turns out, once you ascend past deaths reach and truly become immortal, your soul is also therfore immortal. The whole original contract was ruled to be no longer valid though, since I was no longer able to fulfill the terms of the agreement. Bummer, but at least I no longer had anything of value for him to attain. Except my research, that is.
We can't have the whole of the human race turning immortal, it would be a disaster for the heaven, earth, and hell! So we decided to sign a new deal, and that's where we are today. My second deal with Satan is about to be finalized. While he can't have my soul, I have agreed to remain the single immortal human. In exchange he agreed to honor my original request and supply me with an endless supply of currency once again.
What can I say? Being broke and homeless for eternity just wouldn't be any fun...
| 2018-08-23T15:04:27 | 2018-08-23T14:47:39 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this.
|
"Finished". I whisper, rubbing my eyes and getting to my feet. Each cracking of my bones and twang in my muscles an hour, a month, a year . Years of nights not slept and days forgotten have brought me to this moment and I am ready to celebrate. It is only fitting that I be the first, perhaps the only?
I bring the vial to my lips and let the metallic liquid flow over my tongue. I expect it to taste sweeter. To fill me with vitality, with strength, with life. As I choke the last of the sample down, I feel nothing. No change. It is only then that I see him.
As smooth and sly as he looked all those years ago. He is ageless, charming, and defined. A jet black line in the darkness, his white bow tie and shoes assaulting the ink of his suit. He appears the same as the day he made his offer. Leaning against a wall, legs crossed, emitting a cocky attitude.
I reach for my glasses and notice something has changed... The once sly smile that seemed to never waver has become a stone line. His head is shaking ever so subtly as he looks homeward.
"I've won" I muster. "That's why you are here isn't it? I've beaten you!". My confidence is growing. My heart racing my mouth, both trying to stop the other.
His gaze falls upon me, his eyes seem almost sympathetic.
"It appears you have..." He says, unblinking as he turns towards the door.
"What's this?! No response!?! No clever retort!?!" I scream. "You will never have me. I have all the time in the world!"
At this he pauses. Without turning, he says " isn't it funny, that taste... You expect it to be sweeter"
" What do you mean?" My voice decides to reply.
"The elixir... You are not it's first to embrace. Have you never wondered what I truly am? What things I have seen to make me this way? Those I have lost? Have loved? Have yearned to reknow?"
He turns to face me once more.
"The gift you have given yourself can never be returned. Try as you might, you will fall victim to it's wonder. You will never age from this point but neither too will your memories. You will watch as the last shred of light is ripped from the universe and experience first hand the brilliant shine of a new universe forming. Those who wish to know you will cast you off as a demon. Those you wish to know will never understand. Never aging, all knowing, immortal"
He turns again to the door and walks slowly away. I can faintly hear his bones cracking with each step.
Edit: vial and final sentence structure
|
The sense of satisfaction drains from me as he speaks.
“Oh no. You've discovered the key to immortality! I never could have foreseen that,” the man in black purs unconvincingly.
“And the lengths you went to to get it. When I said unlimited funding, well I meant it, but I couldn't have imagined… this. Do you know what Singapore looks like these days? You know half the city is testing centers now…”
I do know. I don't know what to say about it.
“And what about Africa? The viral genocides being waged there. You do know those are directly because of your research… I can tell by your expression the thought had at least occurred to you.”
I can't meet his eye. All I can do is stare at my keyboard as he speaks. He continues smiling and starts to count things off on his fingers.
“There’s the unrest in Europe. The unabated environmental destruction in China. Those new designer drugs flowing out of the Middle East. The Antarctica situation… you know demons are my thing right..? Alaska being completely irradiated….”
He stops counting and smiles right up in my face. His breath is exactly like sulfur. I choke a little on the cliche.
“Then of course there's the big one!” His grin widens in a kind of gleeful madness.
“You're to blame for the depression. You poured all that unlimited funding out on anyone who had even an inkling of an idea how to help you. All of that cash entering the economy for the first time. Just suppressing the heck out of the value of, really, any world currency. And now there's starvation, homelessness, a lack of education and infrastructure and that's all because of you… and me.”
He gestures at my computer screen. On display is a diagram of the molecular structure of one of the drugs in my treatment.
“So this is it then?” His voice is bored and his words show a lack of real understanding. Apparently, the devil is uninterested in biochemistry.
“Do you know what it's future is? Do you know what people will do to possess it? It. Will. Be. Bedlam. If you think you got one over on me. Let me explain, little one, I have traded one soul for many.” This he extolls gleefully through clenched teeth. Fire licks out around the edges as if to emphasize how satisfying each word is.
“I’m not going to list the rest of the trouble you've caused. You're not in hell so it's not my job to beat you over the head with your, many, sins. But I do want to ask something. One question and that will be the last you ever, and I do mean that, see of me. Was it worth it?”
He grins wider and the very fires of hell leap gleefully behind his irises as I begin to speak.
| 2018-08-23T15:37:14 | 2018-08-23T14:57:10 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] Magic exists, but it’s channeled through music. The more raw the music, the more powerful the magic. The people of your city cower in terror as you watch Daft Punk’s mind warping, reality bending tunes face off against the sheer destructive fury of the Beastie Boys’ riffs. Let the battle begin.
Have at it.
|
The boy was supposed to be hiding under his bed.
​
A wave of magic arced out of the speaker, accompanied by a miasma of sound clearly audible even through the window. The boy stared, wide eyed at the two creatures standing alone next to their speaker. They stood as humans, but the darkness and the helmets covering their faces made them look monstrous to the boy. He couldn't quite understand the music they were playing and the magic reflected that. It was all light and effect, no true physical form. Even as he took in the green wave that had left the amplifier, a deep thrum, a single bass note like a wall of sound, answered it The boy felt the sound's *solidity,* like stone and metal and his father's arms all at once. Sure enough, a wall of earth rose up to meet the attack and was immediately blasted apart.
​
The boy squinted, frantically rubbing away the fog his breath had created on the glass of the window. He thought, through the dust and the rubble that he could see them. The three lords, with their wild hair, guitars held casually, but expertly, ready to play at a moment's notice. One of them stepped forward, and *spoke*.
​
This was the legendary power of the Beastie Boys--it had always been almost impossible to sing words into magic, and only in recent decades had the possibility of spoken magic, called rap for its speed of use, become known. The three lords had perfected the art, and gone further, combining it with the more traditional instrumental schools to form a power few could rival.
​
The drums, the bass, and the guitar all started up, supporting the lash of the man's words with depth and amplifying his power. The magic began as stray sparks, crackling in the air between the two combatants. As the tempo picked up, the harmonies growing more intricate, and words becoming more and more fluid, the boy could *see* the wind swirling, the light of electricity becoming near constant. Bolts of lighting struck at the two helmeted men, and were rebuffed by a shield of green power. But the boy could no longer hear the pair's strange music. The Beastie Boys were sapping away their opponents' power, disrupting their rhythms and interfering with their harmony. Even as the child watched, a bolt smashed through the defense, and the helmeted strangers' bodies tumbled away, blackened and scorched.
​
The boy watched as the lords turned away from their downed challengers, servants scurrying out of hiding to pick up their equipment and follow them. He remembered the stories his father told, of Beethoven and Mozart, even the great Bach. He had imagined their duels a thousand times, but he had never imagined it looking like *this.* Most of the magic he had seen was from the piano his father kept as a home defense. The raw power, the destruction, the *emotion* the master musicians had called forth was simply stunning. The boy told himself that one day *he* would master his own brand of magic; his voice and his guitar would meld together and give him power over untold millions.
​
"Justin! *What* are you doing!? Get to bed this instant!"
​
|
What had started as a small argument between the two brothers had escalated into a full on battle. Both parties whipped out their devices of choice. The first brother, Adam, a simple cellphone, a pair of Sennheisers plugged into it and wrapped around his neck. The angry tones of System of a Down hit first, the magic brutal in it's assault. The other brother, Adam kept his footing but slid backwards, the force of the music beating him down. With a flick of his wrist he turned on his stereo, placing it by his side. He channelled the beats with his fingers, capturing the music in his. Daft Punk fought back, controlling and soothing the enemy, the ground below Karl shaking and splitting with every accentuated note. Water sprayed free from the nearby gutters, gushing around the brothers feet. Adam snapped his fingers and the water formed a colossal column. It whipped around Karl, lifting him up a few feet before sending him hurtling straight onto his back. Karl hissed at the impact, but he wasn't about to give up. Peeling his phone from him pocket, he changed song. The water split, a bubble forming around Karl, the water trapping him inside. Adam was completely in tune with his music, thrusting his hands into the water by his feet, paths of ice rocketing up around Karl, encasing him like a snow globe. Karl saw red. Plumes of fire appeared at his feet, weakening the ice, bringing his fists up in time with the music to shatter his way out. He slammed his arm on the ice, shock waves catching Adam off guard. His creations vanished as he was sent flying, landing against a nearby high rise. His landing was buffeted by the music, the collision leaving a spider web of cracks in the wall.
"Give up yet?" Karl followed on waves of energy, the air around him electric.
"Never." Adam spat out the blood in his mouth, drawing large circles in the air. Storm clouds appeared overhead, thunder rumbling through the city. Lightning cracked through the air, missing Karl by an inch. He sneered in retaliation, launching himself at his enemy and beginning to pummel him into the ground, the guitar accompanying his movements. His fists were a blur. Adam crossed his hands over his face, as if to protect himself, but instead jerked them downwards in a yanking motion. The buildings on either side began to give. Karl hesitated on his next flurry of blows. Adam smirked, his face swollen and bleeding.
"My turn." He yanked the air again, the towers groaning as they collapsed towards the two. With a flick of his fingers he was swallowed safely into the ground, leaving Karl to face the gravity of the situation.
"Fucker." He spat, mustering as much music to his side as he could, punching and launching what debris he could out of the way. He kept fighting until he was covered in a sheen of sweat, muscles non-compliant to his wishes. He was crushed under the concrete rubble.
The ground split beneath him, swallowing the destruction, Adam rising in its place. Everything looked back to normal, save for the two spots where the buildings stood. Calmly, he sauntered over to his stereo, flicking it off and shouldering it. He smiled coyly at the gawping crowd.
"Anyone else?"
​
\- Sorry I don't really know Beastie Boys so I substituted and it's like 4am so kinda rushed but I loved this prompt and had to give it a crack.
| 2018-10-16T20:10:04 | 2018-10-16T18:45:18 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star.
|
 
Dear Timmy,
 
I've never employed Elvis, nor does it rain deer in the 'Ark Tick' (wherever that is). For future reference, Santa doesn't exist and I've already set plans in motion to have your dad fired on Christmas Eve, so expect a shabby impersonation at best. Also, a word of advice: don't spend too much money on grandma's presents this year.
 
Warm regards,
 
Satan
 
PS: That was just a joke about your dad, the truth is he's already been fired but doesn't have the heart to tell you or your mother until after the holidays (it's why he's drinking again).
 
| 2018-10-28T10:04:46 | 2018-10-28T08:06:21 | 444 | 168 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Timmy,
My sincerest thanks for, what I must say, was an adorable read. Everything on your list Timmy sounds fabulous and as you have asked ever so kindly, I will provide. I know you will consider these items of which you desire a "gift" but please be assured Timmy that I, Satan, deal in favours.
Enjoy your toys ,Timmy. I will see you shortly.
Forever observing,
Satan
|
Dear child,
Finally, someone broke the spell. I was trapped into the hell and the only way to get out from here it was receiving a letter earmarked for Santa. Yes.... I'm the real Santa, and I was a victim of a spell.
Because I was trapped here, every children's parents were charged to do my duties. But now thanks to you I'm free to go back to the north pole and start my work again. I will fulfil all of your requests. Moreover, I'll give you the possibility to have a ride in my sledge. Feel free to ask whatever you want.
| 2018-10-28T13:49:44 | 2018-10-28T13:06:41 | 54 | 23 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear child,
Finally, someone broke the spell. I was trapped into the hell and the only way to get out from here it was receiving a letter earmarked for Santa. Yes.... I'm the real Santa, and I was a victim of a spell.
Because I was trapped here, every children's parents were charged to do my duties. But now thanks to you I'm free to go back to the north pole and start my work again. I will fulfil all of your requests. Moreover, I'll give you the possibility to have a ride in my sledge. Feel free to ask whatever you want.
|
Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star.
| 2018-10-28T13:06:41 | 2018-10-28T10:08:58 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] among the many senses developed on alien worlds, hearing is not one of them. To most extra terrestrials, the idea that we can detect them even with a wall between us is utterly horrifying
|
X7: They brought a human.
z9: Oh shit!!
W4: Why is that a problem? What's a human?
z9: They are a bipedal species from some pre-FTL ho-dunk planet. They will use it as a biological version of a sensor array and find our fabber if we don't switch it off immediately.
W4: Switch it off?!??!? We are fabbing anti-matter suspended in a Tellurium matrix, you can't just "switch it off" mid production cycle.
X7: He's right. You turn off the fabber before the matrix is stable and the anti-matter explosion might clue in the inspectors to as to our location. Not that there would be much besides a cloud of superheated particles left to inspect.
W4: Well they can't find it anyway. The room is encased in a triple mesh of faraday-cage. There is no signal to detect no matter how accurate their passive scanners. And active scanners will just deflect off.
z9: No no no, human's can't detect magnetic fields even in open space. They are elctro-magnetically blind.
W4: Well they are not going to pick up any trace elements or isotpes- the room has an independent air recycle system.
Z9: Oh great, we have to shut that off too. Human's don't identify the charge of particles or even PH balance, they just sense if something is turned on.
X7: What? How can it do that? It somehow knows if machines are on or off?
Z9: Yes! I don't know how they do it but they can. They are these soggy little frail bags of liquid that have to stay planet-side because they die in vacuum. They can not sense particle decay, gravitational waves, or even fatal levels of simple radiation. But the freaky little beasties know if things are active. I heard they once used one at a battle site to pick out enemy combatants trying to hide among the dead. The human just walked around the battle field and pointed to anyone living. It said it could "sense" which bodies still had active organs. They make my skin crawl.
X7: Well we are truly screwed. I'm not going to switch the fabber off and kill all our nice neighbors. But you guys know the punishment for non-licensed anti-matter production? I won't go into detail but it involves the aggressive use of a plumbus...
W4: Wait-- you said human's can't detect radiation. You mean anything? Not X-rays? Not gamma rays? Or even microwaves? No matter how strong the field?
Z9: Well, nothing above or below a few hundred nano-meters. Anything above a gamma ray or below a microwave and they are oblivious.
W4: But then they must be immune to radiation?
Z9: Oh no. Their little human bodies begin to melt if exposed to even weak micro-wave fields.
W4: So.... your saying this human... this biological super-sensor for anything mechanical … would walk right into a 10,000 rem gamma field and not even realize it was dead?
z9: ……
x7: OK, I'll grab a Tazer array, W4 find a portable power source, Z9 you go warm up the transport.
|
The cool earth cushioned softly beneath Blue-Green-Magenta's bare soles. He looked to his aide, Red-Scarlet-Teal, who nodded ahead to Ms. Hawk's home door, quiet as any world.
Eyes looked between blinds from houses around the street. Children-to-gods of all earthling years peered at the iridescent, slightly moving scales of... "*I wonder what we'll call them,"* thought a boy. His father, too shocked since the reverberation of windows and ear-piercing shrill of dying engines, forgot to ask himself how to care for a child in such a new world.
The boy noticed their clothes. Black--every piece. Except three verticle circles--three down the spine, three down the front, and three on each sleeve. One of the beings walked up behind Blue-Green-Magenta to gently trace his spine from blue circle, green, to magenta.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned around.
The Tracer One began an intracate dance of eight long, four-knuckled, graspers on each hand. Blue-Green-Magenta watched, unblinking. The boy *had* seen them blink. He was surprised by the deep purple of their eyes. He wasn't sure to be more terrified that they could close their eyes, as opposed to never blinking like dead things do.
Blue-Green-Magenta made an arrangement of graspers of one hand, held in the air between the Tracer One and himself. Upon command, the Tracer's graspers went still. Not to his sides.
Still.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned his attention once more to the task at hand. The boy became uncomfortable, as Blue-Green-Magenta and The One Who Nodded, Red-Scarlet-Teal, starred at each other.
Minutes passed.
The boy's father remembered him. "Dan, I need you to go to your room." Arrival of whining police sirens spoke the panic and indignance of the boy. The sirens sounded like they'd stopped a small subdivision street or two away. The boy and father heard more gather on streets to the left--and on the street behind the fence of Ms. Hawk's backyard, ahead. "Dan, I have..." The boy looked to the dinosaur toy he'd enjoyed just a quarter hour ago till Earth felt new soles. "Dan."
The boy quickly walked to his toy, swapped it up, and turned into the hallway. The father heard the door slam. As he turned back to peer through the liviing room blinds, he heard the plastic whur of the boy's bedroom blinds rise. "DAN!" A crash of plastic, three stomps, and the puff of a comforter.
Now that his boy was (again) no longer a distraction, Mr. Jenson turned his attention again to Them. *Why... Why are they outside Ms. Hawk's door?*
Blue-Green-Magenta raised an iridescent scaled fist, between himself and the wooden door that stood silent and still as the Tracer. Red-Scarlet-Teal reached inside a thigh pocket, produced a sheet of paper, held it as a sign, facing the door. Mr. Jenson wondered what they would write... *Draw?*...
The alien fist would have made contact with the door, awkward and unpracticed, but it opened. The eyes that had been in the window of the second floor were no longer there. Ms. Hawk stared, wide-eyed, taken aback. She thought maybe deep purple eyes stared, too. She noticed the sign.
*Ms. Stacey Hawk, President of the National Association of the Deaf?*
\[continued in comment below\]
| 2018-11-02T21:56:58 | 2018-11-02T20:00:37 | 187 | 115 |
[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 reclined in the cloud behind me, quite at ease with himself. I was still shaking off the last life and all of this was all coming as a bit of a shock. "You want a cloud too?" God asked, snapping his fingers. Instantly another cloud appeared. "It's got a recline option. Just like the Laz-Y-Boy." He yanked on a portion of the cloud and his feet came flying up. "Ahhh...that's the ticket. Wish I could say we figured this one out, but that was all you guys."
I glanced at the cloud and then at the large holographic projection dominating the room. "Um...maybe in a minute. I'm still trying to get this all together. So...you're saying I have to go live another life?"
God nodded, "You didn't hit the karma cap required to transcend so you're gonna need to take another shot at it." He kicked off his loafers and wiggled his toes. It was disconcertingly familiar with exception of the blazing halo around his head and the fact he was snuggled up on a floating cloud with a built-in ottoman. In his own image, I guess.
"So....uh...how many times have I gone around without hitting the cap?"
"You're on round forty-seven. Got real close one time but then you re-spawned as a Roman Legionnaire in Gaul and that just REALLY set you back." He tsked under his breath a few times, "Just so you know, rape and pillage are generally frowned upon up here. We try to take a broad view of things, but that's pretty much always over the line."
That took a moment to process. The last life I'd been an actuary in Yonkers, it was hard to imagine me doing much pillaging. Still, the skills and knowledge of the last life carried into the karma allocation in this life, so I expected to have something of an edge for the next go around. I turned back and regarded the projection, looking at my total karma, 1,322, and then at the list of skills and attributes below. I frowned as I began reading the readout, the frown only deepening as I continued. "Okay...so, like, who selected the skills before? Was it some sort of random number generator or something?"
God shook his head, "Everyone gets an initial allocation and then they build up from there. If they hit negative karma in a life then they don't get to make any changes. You've gotten to make changes..." he thought for a moment, "forty-two of your forty-seven go-arounds."
I choked on my own spit, causing me to cough for an extended period. God tilted his head to the side, considering my predicament. "Always thought that was a design flaw with you guys. Should have made a windpipe and a spitpipe." He shrugged, "Can't win them all. I never had any problems with it and so I figured you folk would be okay too."
After managing to regain control of my windspitpipe, I pointed to the projection, "There's got to be some sort of mistake. None of the allocations make any sense." My actuarial brain was already calculating expected yields on the various selections, and they seemed to be entirely at odds with the goal of hitting a karma cap. Half of them seemed to be conflicting with each other. Others were just nonsensical.
"We don't make a lot of mistakes. It's part of that omniscience thing." He produced a backscratcher from parts unknown and began to casually scratch the arch of one of his feet, looking perfectly blissful. "I can pull up your prior selection processes if you want."
"Yes, please do that."
Immediately the projection was replaced with an image of a caveman. He grunted and slammed his club on the projection multiple times, causing various scores to increment. I stared on in horror. "That's not me! How is that even fair? I'm just a caveman! I can't even read what it says!" In the projection, the caveman was now howling and grunting as it ran around. God was also there, sitting in the background on a decidedly less comfortable cloud.
God stopped scratching his foot for a moment, "Not taking responsibility for one's actions really isn't a way to get ahead around here." In the corner of my projection, my karma amount decremented from 1322 to 1321. "It's not my fault you decided not to be literate."
I stared at him, flabbergasted, "Reading wasn't even invented yet!"
God waved his backscratcher about dismissively. "There were cave paintings. You could have asked for a symbology readout instead."
"So...that's how I got a point in 'float like a butterfly, sit like a caterpillar'." I shook my head disconsolately. "This is so messed up."
"Yeah, human-ing is a tricky business. A lot of you aren't very good at it. The folks that make it to the next level are the exception rather than the rule." He looked thoughtful for a minute. "Probably why I've got that overpopulation problem." A notepad appeared from nowhere. He jotted down a note, 'Consider flood.' He looked from the notepad to me, "You might want to consider 'floats easily' for a point or two on the next one. Might get moist out there."
I sighed, "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." The projection had shifted. I was the Roman Legionnaire now, staring at a karma total of zero before unsheathing my sword and beginning to hack at it. I put my head in my hands, "Why do I always attack it?"
"Character flaw probably." He pointed at the projection and it shifted back to my current readout. A small section highlighted. "Great with one-handed weapons, which normally costs 50 karma, but you took on a flaw modifier to reduce the cost to 15." I stared at the modifier, which read, 'Inexplicably use it on inanimate objects whenever threatened.'"
"Jesus Christ..."
"Oh, he's not here right now. He's taking care of an issue over in Andromeda."
"Andromeda?"
"Yeah, next galaxy over. We gave them magic. It's creating all sorts of issues."
This was all becoming way more than I could handle. "Okay, well, at least this time I'll make better choices." I pulled out my pen, prepared to do a bit of math. As I held it, an irrepressible desire rose up in my heart.
To my horror, I immediately began slashing at the projection, wielding the pen with the deftness of any sword. Random skills and attributes began to increment. I screamed, trying to get myself to stop, but it was too late.
God shook his head, "The caveman did a better job." He shrugged, "Whelp, win some lose some I guess."
He snapped his fingers.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ajd4jr/wp_you_meet_god_before_reincarnation_and_you/eeunyjw/)
The bar was dirty and worn down, the kind of place that had been here since before the first World War and would exist long after things got to the point where a third broke out. It was full of the forsaken souls that drank whiskey at two in the afternoon and smoked the cheapest cigarettes money could buy. It had a name, but none of the patrons could have told you it. It was just “the bar.” No one wanted to go here, they just ended up here.
Kathleen Kate was wiping down the surface of the bar, a futile gesture that would never erase years of grime and ash. She was the kind of bartender you expected to find in a place like this, tattooed and pierced with a hollow look to her eyes that mirrored that of the patrons. She was just as lost here as the rest of the people that wandered through, but unlike the rest of them, she was trapped. She’d work the bar until something snapped her out of it.
The bell over the door clanged mournfully, announcing another lost traveller. Kathleen looked up to see who had entered this time. He wasn’t like the other patrons. A man in his twenties, clean cut, wearing a nice suit. He looked as out of place in this bar as a peacock in a chicken coop, and twice as confident. He walked up to the bar and gave her a smile. “What have you got on tap?” he asked.
Kathleen put on her best customer service face, one she’d honed in the trenches of black friday retail back in high school. “Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Light. If you’re looking for something fancy, you’re in the wrong place.”
He chuckled. “I think I’m right where I need to be. I’ll take a Bud.”
Kathleen turned towards the tap, rolling her eyes once her back was turned. The amber liquid flowed into a glass that at least looked clean, although it was water-stained and smudged with marks that no soap could clean.
“You were right,” the man said.
“That you’re in the wrong place?” Kathleen asked. Something about this guy set her teeth on edge.
“No. About the rules. ‘We’re just playing a game. A game by some sick fuck who thinks it’s funny to watch us squirm. But a game is just a system, and any system has its loopholes.” The Man grinned. “I didn’t introduce myself this time. Kincade.”
“Kincade,” Kathleen said, tasting the name. It was bitter on her tongue. “We’ve met before? Because I don’t remember saying that, but it sounds like like something I would say.”
Kincade nodded. “You don’t remember, but this was your idea…” his eyes flicked to the faded tag she worn on her shirt, “...Kathleen.”
“Okay, sure, whatever you say buddy.” Kathleen sighed. *Goddamn nut jobs.* “So when did we meet?” As much as Kathleen found the man annoying, he had on a nice suit. If she put on a good act for him, he might tip well.
“Ninteen Forty Five,” the man said.
Kathleen rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide it this time. “I’m twenty three. You’re not that much older, buddy. Cut the crap.”
“It’s not crap, Kathleen. You discovered the energy. You’re the one who figured out the rules of the game. How each time we come around, we get to keep something of what we had before. You tried to use it to give yourself immortality back then. That’s when they came for you.”
Kathleens eyes flickered. The dream, the one she’d had since childhood. A crack forming in a sterile lab, creatures climbing out, swarming over her, tearing into her. “What-”
“The demons from the pit,” Kincade said, his voice firm. “You remember them. Our death carries over too. That’s why so many people can dream about falling.”
“Who are you?” Kathleen asked, her eyes narrow.
“I told you. I’m Kincade. Again. See, Kathleen, you died because you tried to cheat the system. I didn’t figure out until after you died. You were trying to cheat, trying to *break* the rules. You can’t break the rules, or the Admin gets angry.”
“The Admin?”
“God, Allah, the Creator, the Goddess, whatever you want to call it. You broke the rules, and you got banned. After I figured that out, I worked the loophole. I didn’t try to make myself immortal. I spent the rest of my life homing the one thing we know for sure carries over, the one stat in this damn game you can improve enough to break the rules."
As crazy as the man sound, Kathleen couldn't help to be interested. And he knew about the dream. "What was it?"
"Memory. I can remember it, Kathleen. I can remember all of it. Every life I’ve lived, and every role you played in it.” He put down three hundred dollars on the bar and downed his beer. “Hunter. Friend. Lover. Enemy. Our history goes back millennia, Kathleen. And this time, I remember it all.”
Kathleen reached under the bar for the pistol she had there. “And what is it this time?” Please don’t try to kill me.
Kincade smiled. “This time? I’m going to leave you alone. I’m going to lead my own life, free of you. Free of all this bullshit. But I couldn’t do that without one last thing, one last gift.” Faster than she could move, he grabbed her wrist, and then pressed this thumb against her forehead. “Remember.”
It wasn’t a wash of memory, like some damn bursting. It was just an instant. The lab. Her name had been Donna back then. He had still been Kincade, although he’d looked different. The energy washing over her, transforming her. Wings emerging from her back. A brilliant, bright, shining moment...before the demons came swarming from the cracks in the floor, shredding her with limbs like swords, tearing into her new skin and dragging her back down into the hell that awaited.
She collapsed forward, panting. She could feel it there, the memories now, a great mass that threatened to go overwhelm everything she was. Kathleen looked up. Kincade was still grinning that smug grin. “What?” she asked.
“Now you’re free too. Good luck with this playthrough.” He grabbed his hat off the bar and put it back on his head. “Maybe I’ll meet you next go-around.”
And with that, Kincade existed the bar.
Thirty minutes later, her last paycheck in hand and her mind in scrambles, Kathleen followed.
---
More at /r/Hydrael_Writes
EDIT: Thank you for the gold! :)
| 2019-01-24T07:33:50 | 2019-01-24T07:23:34 | 3,638 | 360 |
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong.
EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all!
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Creditor Bxby choked on the taste of midnight alarms. He'd been immersed in a rather expensive dream--a full-bodied fantasy that hit all the right taste buds--but a sudden sense of panic turned his stomach three times over. He shot up in bed. Beside him, the bedside curtains waved lazily under the moonlight. Only, instead of the soft blue of Bxby's installed blue moon, they were tinged with a smokey orange. Bxyby's entire body sighed. *Not this again*.
First Beneficiary Psly stumbled into the dark chamber smacking the sleep from his lips. "Father," he said. "What tastes so burned?"
Creditor Bxby ambled over and placed a fat tentacle on the poor lad's shoulder. The boy was his inheritor, but he still had so much to learn. How to explain the finer flavors of frugality? Sometimes, in order to preserve the family vault, one must trudge through the lower depths of the palate. "It's just the humans," Bxby consoled. "Likely set off another proximity trigger."
Psly screwed up his lips in distaste.
In the distance, the humans whooped and hollered. This was the third time in as many faux moons the wretches had tested the boundaries of his planetary retreat. His colleague, Creditor Wrtlz, had assured him that while the humans were a relatively unknown breed, their planet only recently enslaved, they made for excellent colonizers. "An industrious breed," Wrtlz had said with a wry smile. "In fact, they're erecting another retreat for yours truly. On the very fringes of our good galaxy."
The oversweet tinge of Wrtlz's false tone had not been lost on Bxby. But still, the Creditor had had a point. The drone feed of their work was most impressive. Humans with slave collars toiled ceaselessly to raise atmosphere arrays and luxury dens. "And what's more," Wrtlz had said. "The market's still adjusting. So their price is most delectable."
Beside him, Bxby's third wife had swooned. "*All* the most influential oligarchs have resorts on the fringes," she'd said. Her pheromones released, sending a taste trickling down his throat so chocolately it sent shivers down his spine. *Yes,* Bxby had thought. *Perhaps it was time for a bit of expenditure.*
"Father?" Psly said, eyeing the orange blossoming outside the window. "May I ask something that's been pickling the back of my tongue?"
Bxby slithered over to the window ledge. It had been another proximity probe indeed. At the boundaries of Bxby's atmosphere field, the humans had lit an array on fire. Bxby watched from his high tower as a detachment of slavedrivers zoomed towards the flames that ate up his precious oxygen. Already slavedriver laser blasts could be seen flashing brilliant green like the fireflies from Bxby's homeworld. Soon enough, the wretches would be put in their place, but not before damage had been done. The flames would likely upset the atmospheric balance for days, leaving a bitter taste clouding everything. Wretched little rabblerousers.
Bxby cursed Creditor Wrtlz under his breath. The slimeball likely doctored those drone feeds, all those months ago. He'd meant to drive Bxby into ruin. Deep down, he always knew a fellow Creditor could never be trusted.
"Father?" said Psly once more.
"What?" said Bxby, half distracted. "Oh, of course, my son. What is it you're wondering?"
"If the humans are new, ought we not have studied them first? Seen how it was they'd come to thrive? Why is it we've roped them into our palate so soon?"
*Oh child,* Bxby thought. *You are so young*
He wanted to say "Because the bank vaults of oligarchs climb high only through calculated risk.
Or, even, "Because you have a mother with the taste buds of a Greelah"
But instead he wrapped his son in his tentacles, peering into the innocent lad's face, saying, "Some things require an adult's tongue."
The little Psly smiled up at his father. Creditor Bxby smiled. The First Beneficiary was a smart brood. Perhaps on the morrow he would take him through the construction pits to show him the humans' frailty firsthand.
Sudden worry lines oozed slime from Psly's face. "How many humans have you purchased?"
Another explosion interrupted Bxby's reply. Black mixed with red and orange. This time at a separate array on the opposite end of the compound. Another dispatch of slavedrivers slithered towards the commotion. Bxby couldn't help but notice this unit seemed less staffed than the earlier. And they were smacking their lips with fear.
Psly shivered in his arms. "F-father...?"
"Five hundred," Bxby said, mind whirling. "But...their breed is weak. Wrtlz has all but assured me...easily enslaved...He..he even said they all suffer from synesthesia!"
A scream echoed throughout Bxby's freshly purchased high tower. Then it was cut suddenly short.
Bxby's third wife.
His eyes went wide with fear.
"Calculated risk..." Bxby muttered. "A thrifty expenditure...nothing more..."
Psly shuddered beneath Bxby's tentacles. "H-how do you kno--"
The pair's eyes met.
The halls beyond the bedroom had gone quiet, save for one menacing noise. Not the slithering sounds of Bxby's houseguard. But footsteps.
Pounding sounded at the chamber door.
The sound reverberated straight through to Bxby's bones.
"Father..." Psly cried.
"Shh now, son," Bxby said. "I taste it too."
Earthy and strong.
A taste like nothing he'd ever experienced before.
-------
r/M0Zark
|
What troubled Thromm was that "overlord" was a not a protected term. Anyone with the right robes and a quantum gauntlet could dub themselves an "overlord" nowadays, if they conquered the right people.
To Thromm, overlordship meant something. Not just in the emotional, pride-in-a-job-well-done sort of way - it was definitive. It had a job description. Overlordship simply meant taking charge of other people who thought of themselves as being in charge. Thromm had done that, and as such, he thought himself fit to be called an overlord. The new crop, the youngsters - they subjugated serfs. Held entire swathes of intergalactic peasants in their hands. No good.
Who was it who had brought low the Sun Princes of the Galvanax Quadrant? Him. Who had seized dominion of the whole Alvine Nebula from the suppposedly "all-powerful" grip of Emperor Gramquist Goberian, the so-called "King in Chains"? Thromm had done it. And then, when it was done, he'd set about finding new roles for his humbled vassals. The Sun Princes, with their ancestral affinity for solar energy, oversaw the re-organisation of fusion reactor production. Gramquist Goberian, whose heart was made of iron and eyes of fiercest fire, was now a sector overmanager keeping an eye on cost reclamation across six galaxies. Subjugate people - then put them to the right work. That's what Thromm had done. And, as such, he thought himself a successful overlord.
Being effectively immortal, Thromm had never given much thought to retirement. But he knew in order to keep things dynamic, he'd have to give a few of the young bucks a stab at real management work, and that meant taking a bit of a step back. A bit of a break. Some nice R&R, while the cream rose to the surface - whereupon he could step back in again and reorganise accordingly.
Quietly, very quietly, Thromm began work on a little side-project. He earmarked a nice, lush world just off the Qumzari arm of the Ph'nek galaxy; a nice, blue-purple orb which basked in the temperate heat of an unshowy white sun. While assistants kept things running, Thromm hired architects, drew up plans and diverted resources for what would be his planet-sized holiday home. Seaborne leviathans from myriad worlds were flown across deep space in huge, intergalactic cargo ships, just so he'd have some sea-life to look at; followed by expensive seascapers with their colour-coded sand charts and anemone samples. Mountain ranges were carefully sculpted by designers, lazer weaponry paring down cliffs and snipping off the untidier forests so that Thromm would have somewhere to sit down if he decided to go hiking.
And that was just in the one hemisphere - in another, he had a whole ocean carefully tiled and chlorinated; the planet's two moons expensively recalibrated so that the wave patterns became more managable and swim-friendly. Lakes were turned into jacuzzis, steppes and grasslands into seating areas and recreational parks.
But that had all just been landscaping. The next bit of the project was soon to start - the construction. The wiring. The engineering. The drainage. The roads. The bridges. Whole palaces and complexes - of basalt, marble and moonstone; of steel, and glass and slate.
On the 903rd day of Thromm's carefully managed recreation of this planet, as he pondered the best location of one of the three town-sized speaker systems he was planning on having installed, he was approached by Zeetriek.
Once the Scourge of Pahl'raga and Lord of the Insitiable Pit of Gahmarghphath, Zeetriek had found a new calling under Thromm as an accountant and finance manager. He bid his boss a friendly hello, crossed the gemstone-cobbled courtyard and raised his clipboard.
"A lovely day for it, sire." He smiled, his grey jaw holding back a morass of mandibles and feelers. "May I have a word?"
Thromm finished his smoothie and wiped his lips. "Many words, Zeetriek - many words. How are the accounts?"
This time, the jaw held back a squeal of fear.
"Oh, lovely, my lord. Lovely. We've some lovely accounts. Such nice accounts. If you were to see these accounts, you'd really..."
Thromm snatched the clipboard from his underling, and pored over the numbers. Budget forecasts; stock analyses; predicted costs. But to his eyes, it appeared healthy. It was, as Zeetriek boasted, lovely. So why had clear fearly settled on the lackey's brow?
"Right - out with it. The figures are fine. What's up?"
Zeetriek gulped.
"Well, err, lovely figures and all, sire. No doubt about it...but Sk'tan'el, whom you'll remember was in charge of HR...well, he and I held a meeting yesterday...and..."
"Yes?"
"Well, you remember how he brought in Porvar the Almighty? And how he in turn instructed J'mech the Incorrigible to bring in a useful all-purpose workforce?"
"Yes?'
"And you'll remember when work started that Sk'tan'el and I issued a report to all departments noting the need for fiscal propriety and prudence?"
"Yes?"
"And you may not remember, but you might, when J'mech took a trip to one of the more remote systems directly outside of your domain to see if he could hire any good-sized workforces and bring them in under budget?"
"Yes? Yes?"
"And you'll remember that we found a contractor who bid incredibly low for the project, and we snapped them up, and booked them to start work on the meat of the project, and that given timetables being what they are, they'll arrive next Tuesday?"
"YES??"
Zeetriek handed him the clipboard again, and gingerly lifted one of his sheets.
"Well...er...we found out who they were."
Thromm's eyes scanned until he found the relevant line.
"RACE OF SUCCESSFUL CONTRACTORS - HUMANS."
Thromm blinked. Then, he blinked again.
"Ah." He said. "Bugger."
| 2019-01-26T08:11:43 | 2019-01-26T07:36:32 | 825 | 297 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
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*Any moment, now.*
I glanced to the windows and skylights that drenched me in sunlight, panels of crystalline glass so huge that a blind man could pick me out from the amongst the diners. On second thought, picking a location with so much fragility may not have been a stroke of genius.
"Are you okay, dear?" my darling Sophia asked, her voice sweeter than the tiramisu before us. Natural light scattered in her sapphire eyes, bouncing, like a set of mirrors in the ocean.
I wrinkled my upper lip, itching under a mustache, a wiry, rough thing, like strands of a broom. "Yes, yes. My mind is just... Preoccupied," I replied, glancing to my hands, hidden beneath the table, wincing.
She frowned, but turned back to her dessert. This was the sixth attempt now, and the first time we'd even made it past hors d'oeuvres. Of course, we spent most of our time together in private, but it isn't fair to keep hidden a woman commanding such beauty and presence. Imagine finding the most beautiful exotic bird, a magnificent beast exploding with color and grace, then stuffing it into a cardboard box to shove under a bed.
The fact that they still hadn't arrived was amusing, if nothing else. Wrinkling my lip again, the thought of it made me chuckle despite a sense of looming dread. There would only be one chance.
Thoughts shattered in my mind with the skylights, an ear-piercing crash that threatened everyone below with shards of glass like icicles raining from the sky. Of course, none of it hit us. *He* would never let it.
'Strike Team 6', they were called, a band of mercenary superheroes that have held sway over the city for years now. Each of them had militaristic might that threatened the greatest army.
"Do you not learn, Cobra?" one of them asked, approaching me. Their leader, the fabled King Crusher. He was a brute of a man, one that hardly looked like a superhero.
"Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how not to need food." Upon wrinkling my lip again, I noticed a distinct lack of the wiry itchiness. Cheap little thing.
"We're not here to monitor your dieting habits, jackass," he replied, taking a step forward. "You've moved against civilians in the past, what would you expect us to do when you suddenly put yourself in a building with eighty other innocent people? It doesn't matter how long you've been quiet for. One drop of that poison of yours could kill a whale in twenty seconds."
I glanced down, flushing slightly.
"Though," he continued, "I will admit that stupid mustache threw us off a little bit. But the ruse is over, now. Just come quietly with us. This doesn't need to be hard."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, then straightened my back. "Crusher, if I may... could we please finish our meal? I've been with this woman for half a year, now, and it feels like this is our first real date. It's not completely ruined, yet."
The hulking man eyed her with the assessing judgment of a general. There would be nothing for him, though. She was an average woman in only one way: mutations. Sophia was a normal person without power or ability.
"Why would I trust you?"
"Well, for starters, you've done more damage here than I have." He raised an eyebrow at my comment.
I took another deep breath and raised my hands in front of me, earning a few shouts from the crowd and tensing amidst ST6. Flinching, hissing, I slowly and crudely peeled off the crimson gloves on them.
*Sorry, Sophia. I know you didn't want this, but there's no other way.*
A few groans sounded through the crowd, and even Steelheart gasped a little. Underneath the medicated gloves, effectively just bandages that looked nice, my hands were mangled. Swollen, matted, shiny and marked with the black, dashed lines of sutures, where there had once been venom sacs, there was now only pus and pain. The mutation had been deeply embedded in my wrists, entwined with my nerves and ligaments, and... difficult to cut out, like trying to unroot a great oak tree, even with a healing mutant aiding me. Repair would take weeks of repeat sessions, the damage was so bad. Painkillers kept it manageable enough not to cry.
Crusher stared at them, contorting his face with disgust. "Why?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on the mangled flesh.
"She's worth it," I replied, turning back. Sophia had a delicate hand over her mouth, poorly containing violent sobs. "I would give up anything for her, Crusher. Even my identity."
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
“So, Victor, how’s life?”
“It’s going well, Alex- hard times at work, as usual, but nothing too out of the ordinary. How are you?”
“Oh, fine, some of the same, really.”
I’d been “dating” Victor for three months, but this was the first time we’d actually gone to a restaurant. I’d rather have kept it at home- those super-fools in the League kept foiling my attempts at romance every single time I went out- but for him, I couldn’t say no.
“Remind me, what do you do again?”
“Me? I sell jewelry and exotic items.” *Of course, I lift them myself, but hey, he doesn’t need to know, right?* “How about you?”
“Oh! I’m in law enforcement. Mainly work in the sciences, but I get into the field a lot as well.”
“Neat.”
At this point, our waiter returns with our main courses, and places it on the table.
“One order of fettuccine for the *signor,* and a double *arrabbiatta* for the *signora*.”
My date turns to me. “Double order?”
“Yeah… I’ve had a metabolism like a jet engine since the age of fourteen.”
He shrugs.
“Hey, mind if I take a picture?”
“No problem.”
I take a selfie of the two of us, and post it to my Instapict account.
“First date in six months!!!”
​
Of course, Victor got interrupted not two minutes after that.
“I’m sorry, this is important. It’s from work. I have to go.”
He got up from the table, and ran toward the exit. I was just able to make out some of the words he said:
“Hostage situation… *Where?*...I can be ready in three, meet me inside… Yes, I’ve got it…”
My face fell. *And just when I thought this was going so well!*
Of course, my night only went from bad to worse. The League of Superheroes came barging into the restaurant.
“Over-Woman! Come out with your hands up!”
*Over-Woman.* The most feared super-villain in the world. Capable of lifting an aircraft carrier, flying at ten thousand miles per hour, and tearing people in half with her mind.
Also- coincidentally- my secret identity.
*…Goddamn it!*
​
The League had brought out all of their heavy hitters.
Joule, the pyrokinetic.
Peregrine, a man with powers to match mine, save for the telekinesis.
Mensa, a Psi of the highest order.
And my old rival, Invictus. A man without powers, but with a battle-suit capable enough to take me on.
If I were to try to get out of this, I would level six city blocks.
However, the League didn’t seem to realize that meek little Alexandra Thorne was the fearsome villain they were looking for. I tried to sneak by them, until…
“You. Where are you going?”
It was Invictus. *Oh, crap.*
He walked straight at me, examining me curiously.
He pressed a button on the side of his mask. It hissed open, revealing… wait.
Surely my eyes were playing tricks on me. That sandy hair, those eyes… no.
That was *Victor’s* face!
​
Invictus… *Victor*… seemed as startled as I was.
He turned to the team.
“I got a call. About a supervillain and a hostage situation. What is going on here?”
Joule replied. “We’d been tracking Over-Woman’s social media accounts. She’d made a post about being on a date at this very restaurant. We assumed it was a hostage situation, and called you, knowing how good you were at dealing with her.”
Victor pulled out his phone. “Was it this post?”
“Yes! That’s the one!”
He face-palmed. “That’s not Over-Woman, that’s my girlfriend!”
“Hey, Algorist did the math, that has a 99.97 percent chance of being her. Right build, right face shape, even the same writing style.”
“Oh, go tell Algorist that he needs to check his calculations. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.”
​
After all the heroes were gone, and after he'd ditched the battle-suit, Victor turned to me.
"Sorry about that. My team sometimes gets bad leads and hares off in the wrong direction."
"Thanks for sticking up for me back there. I don't know what I would have done without you."
"Least I could do. ...Hey, though, you aren't actually Over-Woman, are you?"
"Would I tell you if I was?"
He laughed. "True. Even if you were... well, that would just prove even the greatest super-villains can have a heart."
\*\*\*\*\*\*
Feedback welcome!
| 2022-11-30T23:13:37 | 2019-02-23T04:08:24 | 1,144 | 525 |
[WP] You often get mistaken for your twin sister. Though it never really bothered you, now that she's become one of the most feared criminals in city, it's starting to become a problem.
|
"I'm terribly sorry for this incident, Miss Roberts."
"It's okay, it... it happens. I'm used to it."
Rachel Roberts offered the police chief a small smile while she held the ice pack over her swelling right eye. The man was absolutely livid, but his anger was not directed at her. No, it was to three Capers to the side; gaudy superheroes in such clashing colorful outfits that even a blind man would flinch. He sighed deeply and turned his head to them.
"What have I told you three about procedure? Unless they're running amok in costume or riding a giant robot, you have to confirm their identity first!"
Shooting Star lifted her head up. "W-Well, if we asked and it was really her, she could've just lied and-"
"The handbook you received deals with that," the police chief fired back. He straightened up as if reciting a speech. "If still unsure, you ask them to accompany you to the police station to double-check! No aggressive action unless your life is threatened or they attempt to escape. That's literally page two!"
The Caper dropped her gaze back to the floor. Rachel waved her hand gently in the air to garner the chief's attention back to her. "Listen, I still need to get groceries, is it okay if I leave?"
The police chief turned back to her with concern. "Of course. Would you like one of my officers to escort you to the entrance, or even to the store? It's the least we can do."
Rachel shook her head, already getting up out of her seat. "Oh, no no, I don't want to be a burden. I'll ask if I get lost on the way out." Truth be told she wouldn't have needed an escort to the entrance even if both eyes were swollen shut. This occurrence happened almost weekly, and the station layout was imprinted in her mind as closely as her own apartment.
She stepped out onto the city sidewalk with a warm smile already returning to her face. At least she got the weekly confrontation out of the way. Now her schedule should be clear for the remainder of the-
"Stop right there, Silver Slasher!"
"Oh for the love of..."
|
"OMG It's HER!!!" - Accompanied the shriek shouting was one most horrified expression of a woman I have ever seen in my life. Despite my best effort to cover my face behind the cool black protection mask I have just bought out of necessary the day before, there are still people who could recognize, and, to my absolute horror, mistaken me for my little sister.
"How damaging it is to be mistaken for one's beloved little sister?" Anyone might ask that question. Well, for me, the answer is: Yes, tremendously damaging.
The next innocent inquiry maybe: "Why? Has your sister done something bad that can potentially cause you to lose face?" Yes, however, what she has done is more than just lose face.
Who can imagine a 15 year old highschool Anna can hack into our national bank's security computer system, and in a night, stole a total of 3 billion dollars from the bank, causing disruption everywhere, and disappear without a trace. What is more terrifying is, letting her family members, dad and me - her sister included, suffer from the consequences.
Police has already visited our house the day before and made us answer a 3-hour interrogation - what I would describe as the longest fearful conversation ever. Our house was marked with those yellow strings usually appeared on crime movies. The police arrogantly searched our entire apartment. And by the word "searched" , I mean quickly scattering all our personal belongings to floor, mercilessly grabbing every electronic device, including my precious phone, back to police headquarter for "further investigation" . In the next 2 hour, dad and I would be escorted to the headquarter for specific inquiry.
Why would I ever be in this position? Why would you do this to me, Anna? To our entire family?
Anna was never a rebellious member, who could do something like this. Personally, I feel a little bit impressed by her skills. How can a petite girl, in one night, tear down one of the most protected computer system in America, while still devise a plan to get away perfectly?
-- To be continued --
So, this is my first try on writing on this subreddit. Hope you guys like it. Please leave me some comment.
Love :))
| 2019-11-03T06:46:49 | 2019-11-03T06:12:35 | 279 | 85 |
[WP] You often get mistaken for your twin sister. Though it never really bothered you, now that she's become one of the most feared criminals in city, it's starting to become a problem.
|
"I'm terribly sorry for this incident, Miss Roberts."
"It's okay, it... it happens. I'm used to it."
Rachel Roberts offered the police chief a small smile while she held the ice pack over her swelling right eye. The man was absolutely livid, but his anger was not directed at her. No, it was to three Capers to the side; gaudy superheroes in such clashing colorful outfits that even a blind man would flinch. He sighed deeply and turned his head to them.
"What have I told you three about procedure? Unless they're running amok in costume or riding a giant robot, you have to confirm their identity first!"
Shooting Star lifted her head up. "W-Well, if we asked and it was really her, she could've just lied and-"
"The handbook you received deals with that," the police chief fired back. He straightened up as if reciting a speech. "If still unsure, you ask them to accompany you to the police station to double-check! No aggressive action unless your life is threatened or they attempt to escape. That's literally page two!"
The Caper dropped her gaze back to the floor. Rachel waved her hand gently in the air to garner the chief's attention back to her. "Listen, I still need to get groceries, is it okay if I leave?"
The police chief turned back to her with concern. "Of course. Would you like one of my officers to escort you to the entrance, or even to the store? It's the least we can do."
Rachel shook her head, already getting up out of her seat. "Oh, no no, I don't want to be a burden. I'll ask if I get lost on the way out." Truth be told she wouldn't have needed an escort to the entrance even if both eyes were swollen shut. This occurrence happened almost weekly, and the station layout was imprinted in her mind as closely as her own apartment.
She stepped out onto the city sidewalk with a warm smile already returning to her face. At least she got the weekly confrontation out of the way. Now her schedule should be clear for the remainder of the-
"Stop right there, Silver Slasher!"
"Oh for the love of..."
|
I walked into a local burger joint, my stomach rumbling furiously. A storefront picture of a double quarter pounder with extra cheese and bacon dubbed “The Chef’s Special” looked very appealing.
When the cheerful chef (and simultaneously the owner) noticed me, he immediately sprung from behind the counter, disregarding the others standing in line. Both those people and the patrons who already made their purchase started leaving in a hurry, leaving plates of half-eaten burgers behind.
“Miss Giovanni! What a pleasure to see you here today!”
It was happening again. I was being mistaken for my wonderful criminal sister, the monster feared by both the city’s innocents and other criminals. We do have the same family name and the same face, but other than that it’s a world of difference. (For example, she’s certainly more muscular than me, a couch potato). I was getting tired of those mix-ups. Maybe most of the time I would just explain the misunderstanding and leave the place in a hurry, but since I was running a bit low on cash, I decided to try and use my sister’s authority a bit.
“I’m only here to pay you a quick visit” I said, trying to make my voice as criminal-sounding as I can. “Give me the Chef’s Special and I’ll be going”.
He stared at me with disbelief in his eyes.
“But, already? I thought...”.
I made the scariest face I could and looked him in the eyes. “Now! And be quick about it.”
He hurried back to the kitchen just as I finished saying that, leaving me with that scary grin. I dropped it immediately and started smiling. I felt weirdly proud of myself, like a kid that managed to prank the teacher and get away with it. I had to put up the poker face again soon, since he came back, holding my order folded neatly in paper.
I took it, looked him dead in the eyes, nodded and left. I could hear a big sigh of relief behind my back.
It was only later that I noticed that what I received was not warm like a burger should be. In fact, it wasn’t even food. It was cash. The “Chef’s Special” must have been the code word for protection money.
Now I’m left with an empty stomach and money I have no idea how to launder.
| 2019-11-03T06:46:49 | 2019-11-03T06:43:09 | 279 | 21 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy.
|
"They have enough armor for a splash-down, but they're in the wrong orbit for it."
The radio crackles. "So this is how we go... It has been lovely, working with you humans."
The captain asks, "How inhabited is this world?"
Another member of the *Sorcerer*'s bridge crew responds, "Nothing on radio, and the telescopes... Oi, Astrocomm, point 'em down."
The massive communication telescopes on the Starship *Sorcerer* pointed at the world. The data was fed into it's mighty computer, and the results concluded it. "There isn't even an oxygen atmosphere. No signs of life. No motion, whatsoever."
The captain smiles. "*Query of the Stars*, where is your splashdown point?"
The *Query* responds, "These coordinates, which is not, as you see, a splash down situation."
"Not yet." The captain turns. "Load and fire the harbormakers."
Missiles swiftly left the *Sorcerer*, and streaked to the planet below. The radio asked, "What are you doing?"
The captain smiled. "You need splashdown? Those were *harbormakers*. We'll get you a splashdown target."
Flashes of light on the surface of this world lit up the *Query*'s predicted impact point. Massive holes were carved into it's surface, and the ocean ran in.
The radio cracks, "What... What is this power?"
The captain of the human vessel smiles and turns to one of the bridge staff. "Ensign?"
"Five six hundred megaton Tellur-Ulman design arbitrary yield thermonuclear fission-fusion-fission bombs."
The captain nods, and continues. "Swords into ploughshares. We'll find a parking orbit and send down help. Safe landing, *Query.*"
The species aboard *Query of the Stars* was wondering if there was safety to be found in the future. Only, they presumed, if they stayed on the good side of these monsters. That message... Swords into ploughshares... Could they be beaten back?
|
Sth'Slh stared out of the transparent port. Scales gleamed dully in the dim emergency lighting and his thin whiplike tongue tasted the stagnant air left by failed recyclers. The low, reassuring rumble of the ship was now gone, replaced by groans as bulkheads tortured beyond their tolerances continued to buckle under strain.
He remembered his broodmate Shh'Shl; her scent, her gleaming eyes, her long strong tail; capable of striking down even him. He huffed quietly to himself, mirth and fondness dilating his ecliptic pupils. Even now her scent had faded from his memory, long had he been away.
He remembered home. Towers of stone and earth surrounding vast pools of warm water. He could smell the rich sulfur in the air, and his second lids closed in sympathetic response. A thousand tongues thrilling in the morning air, welcoming the morning sun. Ah, home, how he longed to be there once more.
In the distance, bright stars lit up the eternal darkness of space; but he knew these imposters. Just 10 minutes ago one of them had reached the center of the fleet. Thinking the initial swarm were unguided explosives they had moved around them. The silent flash had blinded half his bridge crew through the shades. The ship next to his had shattered. Armored hull and protective bulkheads turned into deadly kinetic shrapnel, ripping through the heart of his ship. Power failure had been instant and safeguards meant to lock off sections open to space failed, venting precious air through gaping wounds.
He had ordered his crew to the pods; they had left scrambling and slithering as fast as their legs and bodies could carry them. A brood leader stayed with the ship after all. The ship was obviously crippled beyond repair; worse than anything this war had done. It sat dead in space, incapable of avoiding the bright lights.
He remembered his delight when they announced him worthy of leading the first brood against the humans. The filthy fleshy animals who had kept his from home for so many cycles. A short-lived species of primate, he found them disgusting, the various odors that they gave out sickened him till he saw stars.
Ah those lights were bright, and oh so fast. So very bright, and he was very far from home.
| 2019-12-19T02:48:46 | 2019-12-19T01:49:38 | 191 | 100 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy.
|
The Herald of the Council rose to its microphone. A robotic voice in Galactic Standard came through the speakers.
"We have assembled the Galactic Council; Sector B: Neutralization required. All options: 1) Ground combat. 2) Short-range space combat. 3) Long-range space combat. Option ~~|0) Diplomacy|~~ has been terminated by the Krannoks' unwillingness to give up their illegal collection of Skorollian Crystals. Military strikes on the ground have an estimated 4% chance of success, and space strikes, 2%. X-5 level consequences estimated in the case of failure. A vote will commence in forty seconds to initiate plan 1, 2, or 3. 40. 39."
A buzzer sounded.
All of the Council members turned to the Human representative. Carol spoke into her microphone. "Requesting permission to propose option 4."
"Permission granted," came the reply from the Herald.
Carol continued. "Option 4a) Fusion weaponry strikes. Option 4b) Antimatter weaponry strikes."
The Skorollian representative leaned into their microphone from their seat. "With all due respect, I'd appreciate if you wouldn't make jokes during a \*\*\*FUCKING CRISIS!\*\*\*"
​
The Herald pressed a button and a short sine-wave played. "Skorollian representative muted for one minute. Respect must be paid during Council meetings. Human," the Herald turned to Carol. "Elaborate."
Carol said nothing, but pressed a few buttons below her microphone. The holo-display in the center sprouted up and showed a jet-black fighter unit flying at cruising speed over a digital rendering of a barren moon. "This is option 4a) Fusion weaponry strikes."
The fighter dropped a small metal gray egg-shaped object that sailed down towards the moon. The fighter flew away just before the object vanished in a massive flash, a flash so bright that the hologram automatically dimmed for a moment.
Carol sped up the holo-display and the dust settled quickly, and slowed it back down. Various gargles and gasps were heard throughout the room as the massive expanse of scorched moon was revealed.
Carol looked around at the other representatives with a smug smile. "That's our older technology. Would anyone like to see option 4b?"
|
"So you split the atom and then all this crap comes flying out and it decimates entire cities?"
Robert thought being probed by the aliens was intrusive enough but this new line of interrogation was proving more uncomfortable then the intial insertion of the Probulator 9000 he was being subjected to.
"Well, yah pretty much. I mean I don't know any of the details but that's pretty much it."
Other probe administrators had left their operating stations to hear the human's tale. The concept of human warfare was by far the most intriguing and controversial discovery that came from their first visit to earth. It was decided that contact would be minimized with earth after watching war grow over the ages. When last contacted the humans spent much of their money and time and life digging trenches and exchanging small arms fire in an already unfathomably cruel act called war. But famously that war was known as "the war to end all wars" and no further progress was expected in the human art or administration of warfare. Clearly this was not the case. Baffled by the only clear progress humanity had made in generations, the Grand Inquisitor continued his data collection about this super weapon.
"Like a whole city? Like a city the size of the one we beamed you up from? A million plus men, women and children? Just gone forever. And then you can't even safely go back to the place where it happened for a hundred years?"
For a moment Robert wondered how a race of beings who had mastered intergalactic travel hadn't figured out nukes yet and began to ponder if they had ever made any tool of agression or even an act of aggression towards themselves or others. But then the Probulator 9000 zapped his mind back to the line of questioning at hand and he was forced to answer to the best of his knowledge and ability.
"Yah that's pretty much how it works. I mean I don't know how it works and I can't help build you one. Only the smartest among us using the rarest of materials and latest technology could ever..."
"Make us one?" The Grand Inquisitor shook his head. "We don't need one of those. No way do we want to take something potentially used for clean fuel and a better society and then use it to keep our people in constant fear of total annihilation. The worst thing we are ever associated with is the Probulator and I feel bad enough about that."
| 2019-12-19T08:01:35 | 2019-12-19T04:46:01 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You look young for your age, finally at 70 your hair is going grey. You jokingly say it is good karma because you've never harmed anything bigger than an insect, or a weed in the garden. But last night, in the car, you couldn't avoid the deer, and now in the mirror you see the grey is gone.
|
Glancing in the rearview mirror in a moment of pensive thought Ben reflected on how the few grey hairs looked somehow.. regal, in the otherwise jet black sweep of his hair.
Father time had been kind to Benjamin Harding. Having celebrated his 73rd birthday only a few days ago; the first few grey hairs had only appeared a few months before. The only wrinkles, ones from laughing and smiling at his wife's jokes about how he could give lessons on the sanctity of life to the Dailai Llama himself.
Hyperbole of course.
"Even spiders and cockroaches have their purpose." He would laugh as he gently escorted them out of his house in an upturned glass.
Even in the garden he would laugh away questions about all the weeds. "One man's weed is another man's rose." He would say with a smile. "Besides the dandelion really is a rather handsome little flower."
Whatever it was: good genes or good karma: there was no denying that for a man of 73 He was in spectacular health.
Tearing himself from his reverie to return his attention to the road, Ben's eyes locked with the eyes of the 3 point buck.
****
Consciousness returned to Ben as he heard sirens approaching. Struggling to his feet he took in the scene in front of him. The car was a wreck. Laying on its roof a dozen feet away in the treeline, and mangled beyond recognition.
He could hardly believe his luck. How had he survived such a brutal wreck. With unsteady feet he stumbled from the bushes towards the road, catching a piece of debris with one foot. Looking down Ben saw it was the rearview mirror.
Still reeling he knelt down and picked it up, somehow it had survived almost un-scathed. Turning the mirror he saw ony a few scratches before his eyes focussed on the reflection, on his reflection. Staring back from the mirror was his face, his face from at least a decade ago.
Less lines around the eyes, and no more grey. He looked like he was 50 again. Before he could think anymore on the implications he noticed the flashing of emergency services lights, and realized that the sirens were blaring from only a couple hundred feet away now.
Slipping the mirror into his pocket he shambled onto the road.
"I must just be in shock, that's all." He reasoned to himself, unconsciously rubbing the end of the mirror sticking out of his pocket. "After all I've just accidentally killed a deer and been in a huge wreck, anyone would be shaken up."
Even so, he pushed the mirror a little deeper into his pocket. Almost like he was trying to hide something.
|
After seeing my grey hair gone after my morning shave, I had to ask myself, how is this possible? I mentally scroll through anything that happened the previous day and realize the only major event was that I hit a deer. "Huh" I thought to myself, they probably fell out while I was sleeping. Over the course of January I noticed my grey hair regrowing and thought sadly that it would disappear again. A month later during a day at work I was taking a folder of client documents to my boss' office when suddenly I ran into Lissa, the intern. "Oh! Sorry!" I yell as she fell to the floor, her elbow scathing. When I went home and washed my face I realize that my grey hair was gone. Again. I mentally scrolled through the days events and realized that I had an accident, but this time with a human. Perhaps causing pain make my grey hair go away. To test this theory I first roughly count my grey hairs and go to my wife, sitting in bed reading her book. I lightly pinch her and quickly apologise. When I go back into the bathroom I notice my grey hairs have decreased. I wonder if the more pain I cause the more change I get. The next day, when standing in line for some morning coffee, I see someone running up right next to me. Oddly and morbidly curious, I set my foot out and trip him. "GAH" he yelped as he flailed and slammed his face into the brown porcelain tile. Perculiary only slightly concerned I just ruined this stranger's face on a whim, I excitedly check my phone's camera to see what has happened to my hair. I notice that my hair is jet black, like a raven's. My hairline has decreased over such a long life, so I was astounded to see that it seemed to not be as bad as it was before. "Huh...so the more pain I cause, the better things I get." Preoccupied with the implications of this, I don't notice the man get up and ask me why I tripped him. At first I denied it, but when he swung a right hook at my face in response, my flight or fight took off. I took karate lessons in high school and I remembered a specific jab to the neck that would cause a bit of pain for the opponent. I struck as quickly as a viper and I could see the crowd that formed around us gasp. His face was turning purple and he was gulping for air. Apparently that was not the only thing that was awe striking. I see multiple people staring at me, so I look at myself in the window of the store, I see that all my wrinkles have disappeared. And I can never forget the words that I whispered to myself: pain shall be my reward and your suffering.
| 2020-01-19T20:10:01 | 2020-01-19T19:59:00 | 70 | 44 |
[WP] You’re a cafe owner who is also secretly a mage. One day a customer barges in, claiming to be a supertaster and demanding to know the secret ingredient in your poppy seed muffin. The secret ingredient was literally magic.
EDIT: Guys, this is the first time I posted in this subreddit and I’m so stupidly happy to see all the responses and read all your stories. Thank you!
|
He smashed the half-eaten muffin down on the counter in front of me and stared at it intently. He sniffed around it and delicately licked it with the tip of his tongue.
"You okay there buddy?" I asked.
"What is the secret? I demand you to tell me! I've never tasted anything like it before," he said, still staring at the muffin.
"The secret?" I asked, stepping closer to the counter so I could close the cupboard on my potions shelf, "ah, you must be talking about the poppy seeds."
"Not the seeds!" he exploded, staring at me with bugged-out eyes. "Here, watch this."
He pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer and I held back any expression. He let out a drop of it and it evaporated in a rainbow-colored smoke.
"See!?" he said, shaking his arms for emphasis.
"Do you always add hand sanitizer to your foods?" I asked, trying to think of a way to explain my way out this time around. The potion was made with Vesta 4, a happiness potion, which reacted strongly to any transparent fluids. I was glad he didn't take it to a sink or something, otherwise, it may have melted into liquid happiness.
"No, no, I just happened to add some to my hands before eating," he explained.
"You know you're supposed to wipe your hands, right? You don't just add a drop to your palm and start eati--"
"Stop avoiding my question! Tell me the ingredients to the muffin. I must know why it tastes as amazing as it does."
"Would you believe it was love?" I asked, smirking. I added a sprinkle of the essence of love to all the slices of pound cakes I sold.
"Just show me how you make it! I'll tip you big time!" he said, desperation in his voice. I smiled and nodded.
"Just keep it a secret okay?" I asked.
"Of course, of course!" he said, bringing his voice to a whisper and dropping a number of large bills into my tip jar. I pulled out a new poppy muffin.
"So, I actually start with a store-bought poppy seed muffin," I whispered conspiratorially.
"Store-bought?" he hissed in disbelief. I shushed him.
"Then," I continued, pulling a vial from my potions cabinet, "I add a drop of black food coloring." I placed a drop of the potion on the top of the muffin and spread it round with my index finger.
"Interesting," he nodded.
"And that's it," I said, clapping my hands together. He stared up at me in disbelief.
"That can't be it! What's the secret!" he screamed.
"Try it for yourself and see," I said confidently. "It's on the house."
He picked it up and eyed it for a good thirty seconds before finally taking a skeptical bite out of it. He chewed on it a few seconds, looked around confused, then began walking out of the cafe.
"Thank you," he said, walking out of the building in a haze.
A regular customer looked over to me from her table.
"How come he keeps coming back asking for the same thing?" she asked over her book.
"Not a clue," I said, pocketing the money in the tip jar and replacing the forgetfulness potion into my potions cabinet.
_______________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
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"Oh, you know the secret ingredient? I highly doubt that my food is too intelligent for a dull tongue like yours, now why don't you leave before I hurt your pride even more." Razual was more than confident in his ability to hide his secret ingredient, after all, magic wasn't a taste that could be discovered by some mortal tongue. Razual leaned over the counter, placing a muffin on the counter for the women, wrapping it in a beautiful flower napkin. "Well Miss, feel free to have a taste and tell me what it tastes like. take all the time you need."
The women snatched the muffin, pulling off the napkin, tossing it onto the floor before taking a shark-like bite from the muffin, stuffing a good half a muffin into her mouth before she tried to speak. "MPHMMPH?" She asked, although it was impossible for him to understand her with a mouth full of muffin, so he merely waiting for her to finish swallowing his delectable treat. "Ah, ok I know it, it's Garlic, right? A hint of garlic baked into it, perhaps even a light garlic sugar sauce coating?" She added, a smug grin forming, one that would be soon wiped away with my answer.
"Nope, Although that wasn't a bad guess if I am being honest, I have heard a lot worse. I told you, my food is too intelligent for mortals, it's something that I take a lot of pride in, this recipe was passed down through generations, each family member adding their own soul and touch to it. You will never find a muffin that will tickle your tastebuds like this one."
"Then I must know the secret! Please, I can't call myself a supertaster without knowing it. Every time I try it, the taste seems different as if it's formed by some weird magic. Despite that it always tastes different, it is still always just as nice as its always been. I don't get it, I have tried everything! I sent your muffin in to be tested and the results didn't show anything out of the ordinary, your muffin should taste just the same as any other muffin and yet it's got such a unique taste that can't be replicated. Please I must know." She pleaded with the mage who seemed rather disinterested in passing on his family secret.
"Sorry, I really can't tell you the secret, but I guess I can give you a hint. If you want to find the secret ingredient, you will have to look deep inside yourself, discover more about your own body and the answer might become a little clearer." Razual explained, yet that just earned a huff from the woman.
"If you weren't going to tell me, you could have just said that! You didn't have to be an asshole about it. I'll make sure everyone knows your secret one day so no one comes to this crappy place." She screamed before storming out of the shop in a huff.
Razual just shrugged his shoulders, going back to prepare his muffins. He wasn't lying, the secret to his muffins was internal, their taste shifted with magic to suit whatever food you were craving. If you wished for something sweet, they would be sweet and vice versa. If she were to figure out her own wants she might be able to make the connection. Unfortunately, she was a mortal and mortals weren't know for their intelligence or problem-solving.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
| 2020-02-27T23:11:14 | 2020-02-27T22:31:21 | 199 | 40 |
[WP] As a vanity project a computer scientist/mathematician sets a super computer to calculating the digits of Pi to trillions of digits. One day he notices that for a stretch of thousands of digits Pi repeated a sequence of ones and zeroes, which he plugs into a binary translator.
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How was I supposed to know? It was hardly my fault. I believed it to be a coincidence, I didn't think anything would come from it.
I'd been calculating the digits of Pi far beyond what would ever be necessary. To me, it was just a bit of fun. I was searching for any patterns or repetitions that might occur, when I noticed that a long stretch of numbers appeared to be binary code. It seemed impossible, but the binary repeated itself. 352 digits, over and over, for 253 repetitions. I had found what I was looking for.
Curious, I took the binary code copied a single repetition.
I pasted it into a translator.
"Reset code activated. Thank you for playing."
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Several mathematicians were trying to understand the meaning of the strange sequence of numbers. And a strange pattern appeared to emerge. The first digit of any set of eight was a zero except for the last digits found. Someone for some unexplainable reason decided to put the strange sequence in a binary translator discovering that it was actually a valid UTF8 text. The text said https://www.xkcd.com null 14:15:00 4-20-2020 null newline https://www.reddit.com null 14:17:10 4-20-2020 null newline https://www.youtube.com null 18:19:56 4-20-2020 null
It was then that the programmers realized that the computer might have been processing their browser history instead of the pi digits and that they have spent too much time on reddit
| 2020-04-23T02:54:42 | 2020-04-23T02:29:20 | 76 | 13 |
[WP] You realize that loose change around your house has a tendency to disappear. You start to look around for it, and find a small mountain of pennies, quarters, and dimes, with a rabbit-sized dragon sleeping on top of it.
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In hindsight, trying to give it a piece of minced beef hadn't been a good idea.
But I didn't have any other meat in the house at the time. So I'd dug out the mince, dug out a fork, put a few chunks on the end and stuck it towards the hunched scaled "rat" that had been glaring at me from behind the sofa.
"Here boy. I mean girl. If you're a girl... Here little one."
The dragon looked at me. It looked at the fork. Then it suddenly sat bolt upright, it's eyes widening as it looked behind me. I twisted myself into a knot, trying to turn around quick enough to see what was creeping up behind me.
Meanwhile the dragon, with a quick burst of energy, flapped its wings and used the momentum to half glide, half hop the metre or so to where I was sitting. It then stuck it's head in the packet of mince.
By the time I'd finished turning back around, squealing at the sight of it so near me, jumping back, and then jumping back forward to try and touch it, it had finished most of the mince, burped and scuttled back behind the sofa. There was a quiet tinkle as it settled back onto it's hoard of leftover change. I crouched and looked into the slice of space between the sofa and the wall. It was darker than before, but I could still see the shape of the little reptile, and the pile of pennies and dimes on which it had seemingly decided to spend most of its time. A pair of orange yellow eyes looked at me over the line of its tail, as it curled it around its small body. The dragon didn't blink.
I wondered suddenly if there were any more. Were there baby dragonlings living under the floor? Was there a partner to this dragon, lying in wait somewhere, ready to burn my fingers if I kept sticking my nose where it didn't belong and bothering its mate?
I looked at the little thing again and was suddenly sure that it was alone here. It didn't seem likely that a mated pair of animals would not sleep in the same place. And I was pretty sure that this one had been sleeping here by itself. It also seemed to be that it's main priority was stealing my change, not hunting food for it's babies or whatnot.
I crouched closer to the floor again, basically on my stomach now.
"Hi."
The dragon kept looking at me. It didn't seem angry or scared. It was the calm look of a predator - one that didn't really mind what the intruder was doing, just as long as he kept his distance. If I tried to go nearer though ...
"You're going to bite my hand off if I try to stick it in here aren't you?"
The eyes blinked slowly. I wasn't sure if that was a yes. I figured taking it as a yes was probably a good idea though.
"What if I bring you more meat? Will you let me take the sofa away and get a decent photo of you?"
The eyes weren't blinking again.
"Or .... I know!" I ran back to my bag in the corridor, fished out my wallet and hurried back to the sofa. When I looked again the dragon was still perched on its hoard, but had now raised it's head in curiosity to look at what all the fuss was about.
I grinned, open the wallet and tipped its contents onto the floor in front of me.
It was dark but I could sense the tension in the air. The dragon's head was now pointing downwards as it looked intently at the few coins and five dollar note that were lying there, ready for the taking.
There was a moment of silence, then, suddenly, it crouched. Its hunched form on top of the little pile of coins would have seemed almost magical, or maybe even majestic, if it didn't suddenly start wiggling it's back legs and twitching its ears, for all intents and purposes a reptilian cat.
I put my fist in my mouth and tried very hard not to break into giggles.
My mum had a cat that loved to play with anything that you dragged along the ground in front of it. This dragon reminded me of her so much in that moment that it was simply hilarious. And if it wasn't for the dark I bet I could have seen those eyes go wide and the pupils dilate as it got ready to pounce.
And pounce it did, up high, somehow taking off from it's hoard without making any of pennies slide away or get lost, and landing with all four ... paws? ... with all four paws on the coins that had fallen from my wallet. The five dollar note was ignored.
After it landed it paused. I paused too, breathless, not touching it but acutely aware that my hand was only a few inches away from its scales. I could see it's belly moving in and out as it breathed. It continued looking down at the pennies, intently scrutinizing them. Maybe assessing them?
Apparently they passed muster, because the dragon relaxed all of a sudden, and, after using its paws to very efficiently scoop all the coins into a stack, grabbed it and flew the short trip back to its pile. There, it gently mixed in the coins with the ones it already had, its two front paws stroking and smoothing everything down, before walking around in a circle atop it several times, again, like a cat, and finally settling down on top just like before. After a few moments I saw the head bury itself in the tail and a very low sounding vibration start. It took me a few moments before I realised that this was it's version of purring. The sound continued, evenly, a quiet vibrating rumble. Outside, the sounds of cars and intense wind mingled together to show that it was a normal October evening in the city, no matter what happened to be going on inside one of its houses.
I grinned.
"I think I'm going to call you Dazzles"
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I came back to the house, energy drink in hand, earphones in, and all my clothes drenched in sweat. Running every morning was tiring, even though I still had the benefits of a better body, good music, not crossing many people and stopping for fewer cars than in the night. Besides, I had the house to myself on certain occasions.
As soon as I closed the door, I danced like nobody was watching — quite literally. Fortunately, it was a Saturday, so there was no homework to worry about until tomorrow.
“It's been a long time since you fell in love...", I sung, only remembering that part of the song as I left some loose change on the kitchen table. After also leaving my drink, I texted my mother, informing her that I was safe at home.
"Mom im home", I wrote. After that, I took my earphones off and looked for a towel. I really needed to take a shower, so my mind was focused on searching the laundry room. Once I found what I was looking for, I went upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom for a couple minutes.
As I was stepping out of the shower, however, I heard a loud thud from downstairs. My heart jumped, scared for a second, but soon I leaned out to the hallway to see if there was an intruder at home. But after a couple seconds, nothing had happened: not a single step or creak heard. Still, no one could be totally sure, so I looked for something to arm myself with just in case.
Fortunately, I found my dad's pocket knife in their bedroom, something he'd taught me to use. I went downstairs silently, with the knife in hand, a towel wrapped around my body and another one in my hair. As I got closer to the kitchen, I expected the worst. An intruder? No, two intruders? What about a serial killer? A normal thief? A BEAR?
Nothing was there. I noticed that my energy drink had fallen off the kitchen table, maybe because of the wind. I reassured myself with that thought as I put it back on top of the table, until I noticed something else. A pattern that I thought was over by now had started again.
The change in the table had disappeared.
"Oh, no", I thought, "not again". In previous occasions, when I had left loose change, I noticed how it diseappeared almost instantly. Whether it was a penny or a dime, I could tell those coins weren't there whenever I left a room. Strangely enough, when I left a dollar bill, that didn't happen ever. Why only coins? You'd need a whole stack of those to say you're wealthy. Who would focus on something like that?
After a while, I stopped that habit, rather storing my money in my bedroom. And, for the most part, I was unsure if those disappearances would stop, too. Apparently not. However, as I walked back to the bathroom, confused, I noticed something by the dining room. Even though it was far away from me, I could notice a certain brightness in the wooden floor: it was a penny!
I rushed over to pick it up, but I didn't really have a clue how it had moved so far away from the kitchen. Maybe the thief had dropped it while running towards the backdoor? Who knew. But, when I opened said door, I noticed another penny in the back porch. My suspicions were probably correct. But before making sure they were true, I had to put on some clothes.
Soon, I was in a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, with a fanny pack on my waist that had space for my phone, for lack of a lantern. I went running to the back porch, trying to find the second coin, but when I opened the door and looked through the floor, it was gone. But how? Had it fallen under the wooden steps?
I kneeled to check below the steps, yet I didn't find anything there exactly, except grass, grass, and more grass. I was about to give in to the thought of a possible ghost or rich poltergeist, until I heard it. A short, tired growl from beneath the... house? No, not beneath. In the basement.
Knife in hand, I went back to the house and searched for the basement door. Before turning the handle to enter, I inhaled and exhaled calmly, knowing I could face off against anything that was underneath. Soon, I found myself walking downstairs, turning on the light, and expecting the worst once again. Even though I had now evolved into a certain degree of bravery, the previous sound repeated itself in a different tone, making me jump again.
Fortunately, my scared reaction wasn't that noisy, and I was able to reach the actual basement floor. There was something — or someone — there, possibly one second away from hurting me or scaring me again. I took out my phone and activated the lantern, pointing the light to all possible parts of the room. When it hit the wall opposite to me, however, a barely bright light shone in the wall. That gave away the location of the coins — and of the culprit in my amateur investigation.
I stepped towards it, slowly, carefully. My eyes soon noticed a coin in the floor, then another, and another, and soon a small bunch, until I saw what was hoarding them all.
A small, blue-ish dragon, sleeping tenderly over a huge pile of pennies, quarters and dimes. It was no bigger than a rabbit, and seemed at complete peace with the amount of shiny things it had. How had I never noticed its presence? Shouldn't I have heard the growls or small feet, or flapping wings?
Despite the sudden shock of finding a literal fairy-tale creature, I was still able of doing something. And so, I slowly deactivated the lantern, took a picture of it, then one more, and walked upstairs calmly. As soon as I reached the first floor, I closed the door without making much noise. And, almost immediately, I put my hands to my mouth and started squealing with excitement. I didn't care about coins coming and going at that point. No, I had found something even more amazing.
| 2020-06-25T13:42:18 | 2020-06-25T13:07:16 | 94 | 64 |
[WP] Leaving the dying, infested world behind, I teleported to a time before the apocolypse happened. Happy to be in a zombie free world, I felt a pang of pain on my shoulder. I saw that the scratch I had gotten from a zombie was now red and infected. I now realized I was patient zero.
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The goal was relatively simple. I was to find Patient Zero and put a bullet through his skull. We'd narrowed down his place of origin to the city I now stood in.
It was only after I'd stumbled out of the gadget that I notice the scratch has progressed to a necrotic black. I realise I only have hours before the infection progresses to the cytopathic phase, and then I'd be gone.
And I deny it at first. I scrape away at the flesh, pushing through the pain, hoping to excise the infected tissue. Yet as the disease progresses, it becomes increasingly clear that my efforts are in vain. I can feel the parasite creeping in. My thoughts become increasingly sluggish; my skin turns from pale to a diseased grey; and, above all, the insatiable craving for meat.
There's only one possibility - that I'm to become the man I sought to kill. It can't be, but by some cruel twist of fate, it is. But if that's how it's going to be, I've still got a little commitment to fulfill.
As I feel the world slipping from me, I lift up my gun, and, in those last moments of lucidity, I complete my mission.
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My last part. A piece of wire. Finally! I can finish what only theory would prove, a time machine.
As I place it in my bag I hear a scraping sound. I stop. They found me! After years of being so careful. I try to run, but he was so quick! I barely had time to shoot him before his body connected with mine. Noises attract them. I had to get away...
Too late they were close. I see more coming my way. I have to get to the lab before they get me. I make it to the lab. The time machine was right there. I run in and close the door. They are here. I place the wire moments before they got to the door. While holding the door shut I press the start button. I hope the math was right.
I opened my eyes expecting to be dead. Moments before I was pressing a button hoping for an escape from certain doom. Then silence.
It worked!
I open the door to a new world. There were other people all around, living without fear of others. It smelled better. It was nothing like the decaying flesh smell I remember. Finally peace. Nothing to worry about I was free. I can finally live with others.
The only complaint is the incessant itch on my back. Better go to the doctor about it.
| 2020-11-01T23:17:33 | 2020-11-01T20:34:02 | 44 | 17 |
[WP] "One of the weird things about humans? The moment a war ends, the same human that was shooting at you not five seconds ago is probably the same human that's hauling you to the nearest medical tent."
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Ruyf fell hard to the ground, knocking the air out of his lung and causing his head to hit the concrete floor with a gut-wrenchingly wet sound. When he finally managed to regain some form of clear vision, the human soldier who tackled him to the ground was standing above him, gun in hand, aiming for Ruyfs forehead.
This is it, Ruyf thought. I am going to die on this hellish world, killed by one of these creatures who fight like devils.
The gun was still pointed at him, moments later. Nothing had happened. The face of the Huu-Maan contorted into a strange mask of different emotions.
Another Huu-Maan yelled something from afar and the one standing above him shortly glanced to the side. He was fighting with himself.
"Ach Scheiße! Fick dich du Außerirdische Missgeburt!"
Ruyf didn't understand the Huu-Maan. No one had bothered teaching the soldiers the Languages of these creatures. They had thought that, after a short struggle, they would have been vassalised and taught the galactic standard tongue, so learning their dialects would be just a thing for those interested in their culture. Or what was now left of it.
The soldier lowered his gun, trembling with emotions, Ruyf couldn't read yet. Another Huu-Maan entered his narrowed field of vision, yelling at the soldier and then pointing at Ruyf. They were arguing in a heated fashion for mere moments before the first backed away and holstered his gun.
A third one came, gesturing to the first and together they lifted Ruyf from the ground onto a stretcher and proceeded to carry him out of the building. Confused, Ruyf looked around him. Huu-Maan and yielding soldiers were gathered outside in small groups, tending to the wounded of both sides and some of the officers appeared to be conversing with each other. One of his superiors even performed a gesture of deep gratitude towards one of the Officers of the Huu-Maans. What was going on?
He was brought to what could be described as a field hospital. Tarps and tents, hastily erected against the harsh weather of this world. Wounded soldiers laying in neat rows on beds, tended to mostly by Huu-Maans. Ruyf and his fellow soldiers had been told to look out for huu-maan medical personnel, as living on a hellworld like theirs made their bodies more resilient but also more complex, so medics and others had to receive far more training to achieve peak performance. After all, this wasn't a war with the goal of annihilation, even if it must have looked like that by the end.
A medic came to him. Changing onto fresh gloves, he eyed Ruyfs body. With expert hands, he proceeded to prod at the places Ruyf had previously received blows from his adversary in hand to hand combat before Ruyfs head was turned to the side. Holding his breath Ruyf waited for what would happen, only to be surprised to see the Huu-Maan opening packages of gauze and fresh bandages, and beginning to clean the wound on the back of Ruyfs head.
Later a yaldian medic stopped at Ruyfs bed.
"How do you feel", the medic asked, rummaging through his bag, looking for something.
"Confused. Slightly frightened", Ruyf answered.
"The grand Admiral declared a cease-fire and spoke to the Huu-Maans about our intentions. They were hesitant at first but agreed to negotiations and for the time being, hostilities are halted", the medic said.
He gave Ruyf two pills and a cup of water to wash them down.
"Painkillers and Antibiotics", he said.
"Why did they help us?", Ruyf asked.
"Err what did that guy say? ... 'We might hate and despise you... but not treating a sapient being in pain is' what did he say? Err unhuu-maan. There are rules for that'."
"Rules for fighting a war? From Hellworld people?"
The medic nodded slightly.
"Well, we could have lost a lot more soldiers today. And maybe some of those we deemed lost for good might have been simply captured and imprisoned and could return once peace has been declared."
"So we did treat them wrong then?", Ruyf asked.
"I fear so. I have to continue my round. Get well soldier, you might be bearing witness to historic events the coming days."
"I already have", Ruyf muttered under his breath after the medic had left.
They had expected people from a hellworld to be uncivilised savages, more akin to beasts than sapient beings. They had been wrong.
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"Trauma Blue" she hissed while pointing her pen over her left shoulder, barely looking up. It was remarkable how crisp and white her uniform was, and in that classic old world style.
My new buddy hoisted me up like a duffle bag and carried me in the direction we were pointed to. He apologized to me in a heavy accent even through his translator when he stumbled over somebody's discarded boots. I suppose he thought I was in pain but honestly whatever they shot me up with - I couldn't feel a thing.
Blue area was far more organized than the entry queues. Tiny little drones swarmed around, briefly stopping at every patient in group. Every now and then, one would make a beeping sound and turn green and hover agitatedly until their patient followed them. We were being sorted, probably for severity.
The little robot assigned to me however made a low-pitched buzzing sound and started flashing red. The jovial goon carrying me put me down, frowning visibly. He explained to me in broken English said he would have to go now. I was grateful for him getting me to medical care but I'm not sure what this interaction with the drone was meant to trigger. Nonetheless, he left. Walking away with heavy footsteps and hung shoulders.
As my robot continued to flash red, a small bespeckled man came over to me. I was expecting him to bring a stretcher or something but no it was just him. He asked me my name which I told him, along with my rank and serial number. He didn't identify himself, but had the same impeccably white uniform as the nurse up front.
He looked at me with concern, rolled me over a few different ways and finally asked "but where's your chip?"
I thought I understood the problem. You see we're all chipped when we enter the service. It's a small passive device that gets inserted under your skin, typically in one of your arms
I explained with a bit of condescension that my chip was probably still in my arm. I was surprised he didn't know this!
"Yes... and where are those?" He asked matter of factly.
Ah. The drugs they gave me were messing with my mind. I had temporarily forgotten that my arms, hands, elbows - none of them were still in my possession. Instead I had mangled shoulder stumps covered in clotting foam.
I couldn't even shrug effectively to answer him. I simply just had to admit that I didn't know.
He tapped the drone who settled into a pale pink color and hovered a little higher above me but without making any noise.
And then he left.
Time passed. I was beginning to experience some discomfort and I was really hoping that medical staff would find its way to me before it turned into the various levels of pain that were sure to come.
But lots of these fellas were much worse off than I was, and battlefield medicine always has to prioritize those in the most need. Or maybe I was too far beyond help and they deprioritized me...
As my mind was wandering through those possibilities, a tall lanky gentleman was hustling over to me from the main building. He identified himself as Ranger and I couldn't tell if he was giving me his rank or name... I didn't bother to ask for clarification. He was a little winded, as he had to work his way past Yellow, Green, Orange and Gray zones before getting to me here in Blue. As he caught his breath, he fumbled with a translucent tablet.
He asked me exasperatedly why I didn't collect my chip before coming here. I recounted my adventure being carried by an enemy soldier and sarcastically added that it must have slipped his mind to try and gather my arms and bundle them away with me while trying to save my life.
Ranger's face lit up when I mentioned the goon who carried me. He started looking around the immediate vicinity, and then with his brows furrowed asked me to point out the gentleman.
Ah, right. He had already departed, I explained.
Ranger stared at me as if I had said the strangest thing in the world to him.
"But who will be paying for this?" He finally said, with almost a hint of sadness.
"The Hospital Wars are funded completely by the casualties. Are we, the great and proud Saint Cross Regiment supposed to absorb the cost of repairing you?" He added with even more exasperation.
"And I don't believe the Mount Sinai Marines will take you either. If you surrender one of your eyes as a donor, I'll arrange transport to the St Mary's Militia" he said with what sounded like half sneer, half chuckle. "They still take... cases like yours"
And that's the story of how I wound up here with one eye, and no arms during the most profitable bit of private warfare ever experimented.
No... I don't have my chip.
| 2021-02-05T02:34:38 | 2021-02-05T00:29:44 | 67 | 40 |
[WP] Your sibling was murdered a month ago and as their closest living relative, you buried them last week. Now, going through all their effects, you come across an old walkie-talkie that you used as kids after lights out. Nostalgia makes you turn it on, and say their old call sign. They answer.
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I still can’t believe it. I remember us walking through the park as he sprayed me with water from the puddle. I remember us chasing each other around the kitchen waiting to get dough on each other’s faces. I remember him, smiling at my daughter, kissing her on the forehead, promising her that they would be best friends. I remember him walking away as we fought, arms waving around, sweat dripping down his face. And I remember the call from the police. They’d told me that it was a hit and run, that he’d been crushed under a pole, that there would be no hope for him. I remember standing at his funeral, tears streaming down my face. I remember a crushing feeling of guilt.
I shook myself from my thoughts. Reflecting over his death wouldn’t get me anywhere.
Maybe cleaning out his stuff from the garage would make me feel more at peace.
I walked into the garage and towards the boxes at the back. I had planned to sort his belongings into two compartments. Things to keep and things to be burned. I had noticed while walking into my garage that the bumper head of my car was a little broken. So I added fixing it into the list of my things to do as well.
I walked towards the back of the garage and sat down getting ready to sort through the boxes. As I went through them, I noticed something shiny sticking out from one of them. I reached towards it and pulled it out.
It was a silver plastic walkie-talkie.
I smiled. We used to spend hours on the things. Calling out to each other, pointing finger guns at anything that moved, talking till our throats were hoarse.
It wouldn’t hurt to try one more time. I knew no one would answer, but it would give me a sense of finality. That it was over.
I pressed the walkie-talkie to my mouth, turning the channel knob.
“Major lion! Major lion! Come in over.”
The walkie-talkie sputtered but the voice died down.
“Major lion?”
Nothing. Only static.
As I went to put down the walkie-talkie, it crackled to life.
“Major Hawk?”, a voice said.
I froze. There was no way. There was no way he was alive. I saw it with my own eyes.
“Major hawk?”, the voice said again. Teasing. Threatening.
“*I know it was you*, *and I’m going to tell mommy.”*
​
This was so much fun to write so thank you for such an interesting prompt! . I haven't written in a while, so any constructive criticism would be appreciated :)
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I turned the plastic toy over in my hands. It was brightly colored to appeal to the children we'd been when we first played with these things.
Tears welled as I held the walkie-talkie. We had made our parents regret buying us these! They had formed the lynchpin of many a childish prank, but the thing we really used them for was to talk between rooms after lights-out. Mom was forever shaking us down before bed, but we almost always managed to hide them somewhere in our rooms. We'd whisper and giggle half the night and come down to breakfast half-asleep.
One tear dropped on the red plastic. I remembered how we'd imitate cops we saw on TV. "Roger that. Ten-four." Our handles, oh my gosh. Mine was Dorkface and his was Ribs. Even now, I could almost feel my childhood glasses slipping heavily down my nose. My brother had been a beanpole of a kid, tall and spindly. He filled out after high school, but he only had a few years to enjoy his new frame--an apparently random murderer had made sure of that. My anger choked me for a moment and then was washed away again in sadness.
I turned the walkie-talkie on and listened. I didn't know where the other might be, but the line surprisingly popped with static.
"I miss you, Ribs," I said into the mouthpiece. "I hope we meet again. Over and out."
"Roger that, Dorkface," came the faint reply.
I dropped the walkie talkie as if it were possessed, which it probably was. It landed on the carpet, bounced once, and laid there inertly, all plastic innocence.
"What?" I said to it.
Nothing but a barely audible crackle. The walkie talkie was still. Of course it was.
I reached out as gingerly as one might reach for a snake and took the suddenly terrifying thing in my hand again.
"R-ribs," I said into the receiver. "Hey. Jacob. What the hell is going on?"
No answer.
"Yo! Jacob!" I was yelling into the walkie-talkie now, my voice rising without volition. "What the...what...where are you? What is this?"
*Crackle.*
"Are you there?" I screamed into the receiver. "Talk to me! Ribs?"
*Crackle*
"I love you, Dorkface," came the faint reply. "See you soon."
*Crackle."
"Hey! Hey, don"t hang up! Wait--Jake!"
"Over and out."
*"Wait--"*
The walkie talkie was silent. I shook it, punched the on/off button angrily. It was nothing but a hunk of plastic. There was no staticky crackle. There was no sound at all.
| 2021-03-25T22:04:27 | 2021-03-25T20:12:16 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Angels are thought to be beautiful, while demons are thought to be vile and disgusting. However the truth is Angels are extremely scary, while demons are beautiful and elegant creatures.
|
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, mothers and fuckers of the audience, listen up! For I have come here to tell stories and drink rum, and I am all out of... hey, these cups refill themselves. Neat. Either way I'm about to learn you some shit that can't be un-learned once done so and I won't stop after I start. So if you don't think that you'll be able to deal with it now is the time to leave.
'Aight, now they're out of here who wants to hear the story of The First God?
Of course you do, I've been promising to tell it for long enough. Now this is dangerous stuff to know and you are not to repeat it outside of this campfire. Anyone who is forbidden knowledge adverse or midwestern in temperament may want to leave 'n go do something else this evening.
Anyone? Didn't think so. I do solemnly swear on the River Styx, the River of Night, Odin's Beard, my father-in-law's antlers, and Ishtar's ginormous pointy hat that the following story is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth! As far as I know and excepting exaggeration and hyperbole for dramatic purposes.
*Hem hem*. IN THE BEGINNING, MAN CREATED GOD! Of course, ask any god, goddess, or half decent spirit and they'll tell you otherwise and possibly smite you for asking. It's one of the benefits of originating from Subspace. If the religion or culture or whatever says they've been around since the beginning of time then they'll have been around since the beginning of time, even if the religion was started last Tuesday. Of course, for a full blown deity to appear *ex nilho* you'd need more screaming fanatics than there have been people on the world to turn up all at once, so what you get is more minor Subspace entities gathering belief and worship over time.
Now. Our god starts out as a wind spirit, wandering the deserts in what is now the empty quarter in Arabia. There are enough people that believe in wind spirits for him to exist but in the grand scheme of things he's nothing. A modern cloud nymph would have tied him in knots. Until he finds this injured tribesman dragging himself towards an oasis. So he hauls this poor dude the rest of the way and takes care of him until the tribal dude recovers. Unfortunately, when the guy wakes up he doesn't remember dick about shit and thinks he's in some kind of paradise. And the spirit gets a little boost from that. A little hit of belief.
Tribal guy thinks the wind spirit created this paradise, that's another hit of belief. This goes on for seven months straight and by then this nobody wind spirit has become a minor deity of the back of this guy's blind faith alone. Tribal guy thinks the wind spirit-turned-god is the be-all and end-all creator of the multiverse and since there weren't as many people around then and they didn't generally think of things beyond basic spirits and entities existing, one man was more than enough to power something like that. To a degree.
Eventually the tribal guy starts calling himself Adam and soon after starts asking his shiny new god for a mate. So the god decides to stretch his new muscles and make Adam a mate with his fancy new creator powers. It goes about as well as anyone's first time using Photoshop does. I mean, she's *functional*. She does and feels all the things you'd expect of a normal human woman, but she's a bio-mechanoidal nightmare creature out of Geiger and Bosch's wettest fever nightmares. And so was born Lilith, the first angel. 'n about five minuets after Adam saw her, she was the first fallen too.
|
"*And let there be light!*" It was a joke in the poorest of tastes. My partner, one mangled hand tugging away at the chain, was attempting to switch on the only bulb in the basement.
The room was dark and damp, much like the winding alleyways and corridors we had traversed to get here. A long and filthy journey that had left my aged leggings sore. Once we found ourselves inside, our noses had been assaulted by a foul stench, like that of rotting meat.
"Aha!" my partner shouted.
I winched, eyes abruptly dazzled as the bulb at last turned on. Illuminated in pale yellow, the basement was even more revolting than I had imagined.
And, before us, it seemed the light had stirred the angel awake. The rattling of chains against the stone floor brought shivers to my back. The stench grew stronger, and my foot slipped backwards involuntarily.
"Dear god..." Much to my partner's credit, he still had the stomach to open his scarred mouth, let alone speak. I glanced at his show of vitality with envy.
This proved to be a mistake. The moment my eyes left it, the angel lunged, its multitude of limbs reaching towards me with supernatural speed. With a flinch, I stumbled even further back, my heels bumping against the far wall.
It roared something at me from its collection of mouths, each word shaking the very ground beneath us. My partner was delighted, though he seemed as uncomprehending of the speech as I. His smile was radiant, what few teeth left gleaming yellow beneath the light.
"I trust this fulfills your expectations, gentlemen?" The voice, much like its owner, was beautiful in a way few humans could ever achieve. A velvet tone, punctuated with a smooth accent.
"Absolutely!" My partner was positively beaming at the man as he entered, though his disfigurement changed it to more of a leer.
The angel snarled once more, enraged at the sight of the newcomer. The chains held the divine being in place, inches away from reaching us.
"Then we shall conclude our business," the man said. "If you will follow me?"
My partner seemed almost reluctant to leave the repulsive creature behind. The angel's eyes, numbering in the hundreds, followed him curiously. It was as if it knew what would happen to him.
The basement lead further underground, stone steps interspersed with flaming torches. My partner skipped along, speaking animatedly with the beautiful man. Even from the back, his form seemed far too perfect, like an artist's ideal version of human beauty.
The stairs opened to a wide area, circular, and lined with pillars. The dirt crunched beneath our boots as the devil turned to us, hands clasped together.
"Gentlemen," he said, addressing us, "I have upheld my end of this deal, and now it is your turn."
My friend was sobering up now, the gravity of what was coming sinking in at last. My legs, sore mere moments before, had grown numb.
The devil, with a perfect hand, produced a blade from his pockets.
My partner fell to his knees. I gripped the blade.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked, perhaps the first time I had spoken in days.
He nodded, resignation in his marred features. "I've done horrible things to get here. There's no way I'll end up an angel."
Though the devil was silent beside us, I could tell. His beautiful form positively radiated anticipation. This was pleasure in its most unfiltered form, for one such as him.
My old jaw was clenched, gray hair sticking to my scalp. It was time.
In a practiced swing, I plunged the blade into my partner.
And as the blood ran from his heart and his eyes glazed over, he muttered. "I'll get to be a beautiful demon... just like him."
| 2021-04-08T09:50:57 | 2021-04-08T09:44:05 | 631 | 146 |
[WP] Angels are thought to be beautiful, while demons are thought to be vile and disgusting. However the truth is Angels are extremely scary, while demons are beautiful and elegant creatures.
|
“Of course. Angels are the bearers of bad news, are the side effects of god’s wrath, are the last things we might see.
“Demons are seductive. Manipulative. Attractive. If you are empathetic enough, you would assume they are simply misunderstood. You would fall in love, fixing one of them, despite their wishes to remain broken. You listen but create your own aura to force around them, anything to emphasise that beauty. Angels are blank, obvious, blunt, they barely talk as they end any one’s life. They feel very little besides devotion to the humorous elusive creator. God himself prefers demons. They talk more. They laugh more. They are fully realised visions of his.
They push back and play.
“They swim the skies, layer after layer, down to find a sleepy ear, to sit on your chest as your brain pulsates what u have seen in the day into what u have seen as a child. But the demon is slender, with long slim fingers that snake your features, stretch like liquid iron probes, and make certain incisions behind the eyes.
“They sneak around the world, scared of us, desiring us, dreaming of touching us. God gives them beauty, more and more everyday. God flings them at us, in our worst moments, god tests us the way we like, taunts us until we trespass, then pushes us into collapsing walls. of our own design.”
——————
Which one I choose to be, vain and in love? blunt and in worship?
God teases: ” what’s the difference between acts of love and rituals of worship?” “Motive.”
“Motive?”
“Motive. Lovers are motivated. Worshippers are not.”
So I find my face beautiful, my voice exquisite, my gender fluid, my eyes malleable, I can be whatever you want. I find my limbs stretchy yet gaunt, and I race an angel towards you.
I race an angel, a bearer of news, to envelope you, before you know. To distract you, before you know. To protect you. The knowledge in the angel, to my right, is scathing, it burns brighter than worship.
God told me to love a human, but all i see is the misery of people. All i see is bad news, and blunt pillars of religion.
I can’t stretch myself fast enough, I might as well tread lightly around your house, wait for you to cry yourself to sleep. i know how much you loved him.
The angel beats me.
If I love you unconditionally, and you love me too, I will have achieved a higher status in heaven. I will have achieved an impossibility, love without deception.
Angels don’t hide, they don’t deceive. I try to be more angel like, before I visit you, but a beautiful face is deceptive by design. As the sun shines grey through your window, I look in from the gates, up at your window, into it, inside your bedroom, at your body, waiting over your heavy red puffy lids. To see, if you are the one I was born to love. I was ordered to love. Your eyes open, and that unique iris, as unique as any human’s, electrifies me. I don’t cower for long, all the way under the tree. My expensive boots slush in the mud, and I ring your bell.
God’s special gift to me, as i accepted his challange, was the power to talk things into existence. I say it is, and then it is. I say there is a green house across from yours, and there is. I say the house was built 50 years ago, and it is. I say your father knew mine, and he did. I say my name, is a name you think of when you’re excited to talk, and it is.
We are childhood friends, sam. We have matching gold rings we got when you got engaged to in college. Because I’m a jealous friend. we have a shared closet deep in the forest behind our houses. we, at 32, still have dreams that keep us strapped to our boots.
And so I ring the bell. I recite our story with quick breaths into existence, before you wipe your tears, descending the stairs, opening the door to see me. your factory dispensed instigator of crime, your whisperer, a tool of god, to make you a sinner.
but I will resist my nature. I’ll keep god entertained. I refuse a mediocre role.
You will love me, and my only job is to stay honest. It exhilarates me, that i might deserve your affection, lust, and companionship. It worries me that god keeps sending angels to ruin my efforts to outsmart his game. and my breath hitches and my face turns beet red when you face me, full-on..
|
Yet nay, but no mind could comprehend, nor understand the beauty of thy majesty, and the terrifying beauty of the angelic hosts that surround you. \~ Jerimiah the wanderer
​
**"HALT."** the voice, like a thousand lions awakened from slumber. Reverberated around the pristine gates of heaven, at it, the king of demons himself trembled. The Angelic Throne, a maelstrom of gyrating rings covered in eyes, its voice emanating from a raging flame held within itself. Stood before the gates of heaven along with St. Peter, who was clad in an immaculate white robe.
**"WHAT BUSINESS HAVE YOU HERE PRINCE OF EVIL, FALLEN ONE, DECEIVER AND FATHER OF LIES?"**
"It is a personal matter." Lucifer managed to speak without letting any fear into his voice, unlike the apparent monstrosity before him, he was what many would call beautiful. A slim, fit creature, a deep burgundy, and black eyes that seemed to hold the cosmos within themselves. Flowing pristine wings, not unlike a crow, and clothed in a slim fit business suit.
**"FALLEN ONE, YOU ARE BOUND TO TELL ME. OR SHOULD I BE FORCED TO SUMMON ONE GREATER THAN I? EVEN IF YE ARE WEAKER THAN MYSELF. YOUR PRIDE WILL NOT PERMIT YOU TO BOW TO ME. BUT I WARN YOU."**
The flame inside it reached a roaring inferno, its eyes closed and opened rapidly, and wings of flame stretched out from each side of it.
**"I, EVEN IN MY PERFECTION. AM NOT AS PATIENT AS MY GOD."**
There was a blinding light and satan shrunk back. A single Seraphim hovered far above his head, its head and feet covered, only its perfect torso visible. It sighed in millions of different voices at once and shook its head.
**"Disith, leave the king of lies along. I shall summon Michael, and he shall deal with him."**
"No..." Lucifer whispered. The Throne and the Seraphim vanished, St. Peter simply sat there impassively, another, smaller light shone. And St. Michael the Archangel appeared, Lucifer reviled him. He was weak, so weak. A mere Archangel, only above common angels in terms of power. Had defeated him, and thrown him into hell.
"Blessed Queen of Heaven intercede for me, that I may have the strength I need to fight this fight."
Michael drew his sword and leveled it at Lucifer, his wings opened as he prepared to strike.
"Foster Father of God the Son, Terror of Demons intercede with me so I may have the strength to win this fight. Benedict of Nursia, patron Saint of Exorcists, intercede for me to the Father that I may have the strength to win this fight."
Lucifer snared and let his perfect guise slip, beneath his disguise of perfection, was a wretched, twisted creature. Grasping a long cruel spear in one wasted hand, his tongue spoke a thousand curses towards this infinitely perfect creature. This, Archangel of the God most high. Michael streaked forward, his sword meeting Satans spear, there was no struggle. Michael with a few deft strokes disarmed Satan and leveled the sword at his neck.
"I have cast you into hell before with the permission of God." said Michael sadly "Lucifer, why? Why have you fallen this far, your only decision. It was a simple one, and you chose wrongly."
He sighed, "I shall let Disith remove you."
At the mere mention of his name, Disith appeared in a roaring fire.
"Please put him pack in his kingdom, I must attend my Lady and my King."
**"As you wish Michael."**
"Oh, and Disith, may God be with you."
**"AND WITH YOU."** Roared Disith, the wings of flame outstretched, the rings froze their twisting and gyrating, his eyes Fixed on Satan, who wailed as he was torn violently from his feet and cast down a rift that Disith had opened to hell. The wails of the damned grated against the Thrones ears and from his eyes, tears began to fall. He closed the rift and before he vanished stared longingly down the path that came from purgatory.
"None yet today, maybe tomorrow may I greet yet another. He sighed, then a thought entered his mind and he returned to his normal elated state.
"Rock of the church." he acknowledged St. Peter, who simply smiled and bowed. Disith vanished and reappeared near the throne of God, taking his place among his fellow Thrones with Michaels word in his mind, he smiled. As much as a Throne can smile, and whispered to himself.
"I must attend my KLady and my King."
And raised his many voices in praise of his creator.
| 2021-04-08T10:53:39 | 2021-04-08T09:57:52 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] “NASA to launch baby squid to International Space Station.” We thought the ocean was its natural environment. We were wrong.
Based on the post: Nasa to launch baby squid to International Space Station
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Have you ever seen a giant squid?
Well, yeah, everybody's seen a picture. I mean really see it with your own two eyes, look at it up close. Even by the standards of aquatic creatures, it's real freaky--a body akin to a missile shooting through the water, a giant beak that looks like it belongs to a bird of prey, ten tentacles around it the length of anacondas, and eyes that stay open even in the ridiculous pressure of the ocean.
But it's fine, right? We aren't sending giant squids to space. Those are adorable, little, spotted, and glow-in-the-dark bobtail squids, supposed to help us understand how we rely on microbes. Also, because they can tolerate extreme environments.
We thought they came from the oceans. We thought the ocean was an extreme environment. After all, we can't breathe in it, our skins wrinkle, and we lose temperature faster than our blood can keep up. Same issues as going into space, right?
Squids were not humans. It's a plain observation--but important. Space was extreme to us--but not to squids.
It was strange to see new stars appearing in the sky. It was stranger still to watch them grow, day to day, so much so that night looked like day. And one day, we realized that we no longer looked at a starry night--but a squiddy one.
They looked upon us, their eyes larger than even the moon now. They had expanded, filled the empty space of space, drowning out even the ocean of stars.
And the beak? They were even more terrifying than expected up close.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
A white board and a rather pedestrian conference room was the last line of defense for human space travel today. A long table seated some of the most brilliant minds NASA could bring together as they focused on their tentacled blunder just hours ago when they launched a space squid unintentionally into orbit.
"Baby shark, on blare...24 hours a day from DSN, to drive it insane," one young scientist remarked with caffeinated, sleep deprived energy.
"Ohh...ohh...how about we launch a penguin next...and hope it is a space penquin thingie that will fight it," countermanded their communications expert and resident Adventure Time fan.
"But what if the space penguin then starts knocking out all our satellites like the squid did?" pondered a more reasonable person from the back.
"Malarkey," chimed in a four star general presiding in for the military. "Tactical nukes. All of them...at once...right at that floating sushi bar..."
"Actually, I wouldn't mind some sushi right now..." proffered another participant with several other heads bobbing in agreement.
"But wouldn't that offend the space squid? I mean, we also don't want to have it hurl space debris from orbit back at us if it gets angry again..." cautioned their diversity and inclusion officer with more than one head bowing slightly at their own indignation.
"Well, what do you think director?" asked yet one more attendant to the conference as all heads turned to the man standing with hands clasped behind his back, staring at the semi-coherent plans scribbled onto the overloaded white board before him.
He turned, his wrinkled face giving his best knowing smile into the attentive audience.
"Let's see if Bruce Willis is available..."
| 2021-06-03T08:13:42 | 2021-06-03T06:57:26 | 641 | 60 |
[WP] “NASA to launch baby squid to International Space Station.” We thought the ocean was its natural environment. We were wrong.
Based on the post: Nasa to launch baby squid to International Space Station
|
Once we brought the squid into space, I didn't expect what would happen.
We were taking them to the space station, and when we got them in, it seemed like some of them were looking around. We didn't understand what was happening until some of them started jumping out. It seemed like they were trying to get out into space. We couldn't let that happen.
Part of our job is to protect space. We are very far away from any other worlds, but it is still important that we don't let earth life out into space. We don't want to contaminate it. That's what we were thinking. But it seems that we were wrong. It looks like this is where the squid belong.
As we were trying to get the squid back, we noticed something outside the space station. A giant squid. At this point, we thought that we made a mistake. After confirming that there actually was a squid in outer space, we let one of the baby squid outside. There was a lot in between those steps as we had to get approval for it, and we ran some tests to see if they could live in space. We thought it was impossible, but once we let the squid into space, it started swimming toward the giant squid. We let the rest of the squid out there, and they swam near the giant squid. Then the little squid swam away from all of us, leaving just the giant squid.
We thought it was very bizarre that squid live in outer space, but we just had to accept it. We assumed that would be the strangest thing we saw that day, but then we saw a whale. The squid and the whale fought each other right outside the space station. Now we are very confused.
|
A white board and a rather pedestrian conference room was the last line of defense for human space travel today. A long table seated some of the most brilliant minds NASA could bring together as they focused on their tentacled blunder just hours ago when they launched a space squid unintentionally into orbit.
"Baby shark, on blare...24 hours a day from DSN, to drive it insane," one young scientist remarked with caffeinated, sleep deprived energy.
"Ohh...ohh...how about we launch a penguin next...and hope it is a space penquin thingie that will fight it," countermanded their communications expert and resident Adventure Time fan.
"But what if the space penguin then starts knocking out all our satellites like the squid did?" pondered a more reasonable person from the back.
"Malarkey," chimed in a four star general presiding in for the military. "Tactical nukes. All of them...at once...right at that floating sushi bar..."
"Actually, I wouldn't mind some sushi right now..." proffered another participant with several other heads bobbing in agreement.
"But wouldn't that offend the space squid? I mean, we also don't want to have it hurl space debris from orbit back at us if it gets angry again..." cautioned their diversity and inclusion officer with more than one head bowing slightly at their own indignation.
"Well, what do you think director?" asked yet one more attendant to the conference as all heads turned to the man standing with hands clasped behind his back, staring at the semi-coherent plans scribbled onto the overloaded white board before him.
He turned, his wrinkled face giving his best knowing smile into the attentive audience.
"Let's see if Bruce Willis is available..."
| 2021-06-03T08:32:35 | 2021-06-03T06:57:26 | 145 | 60 |
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES".
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"Can I see that book?" I asked. The genie handed the book to me, which was very light for its size. Each page contained a single rule in a large bold font, with an example printed beneath in smaller letters. Each rule, along with its example, took up about a third of the page. The rest looked hastily scrawled by hand, cramming every inch of each page. About halfway through the book the printed examples stopped and the paper was crumpled, as if it was added to the binding later. These pages were also filled with cramped writing.
"You cannot wish that the rules do not apply to you"
"You cannot wish to summon the genie again and receive more wishes"
"You cannot wish for more genies"
"You cannot wish for the power to grant wishes yourself"
"If you wish to clone yourself, your clone does not receive any additional wishes"
"You cannot wish for someone else's wishes, or to give your wishes to someone else"
"You cannot wish for the genie to forget about the rules" (this one was in block capitals and underlined several times)
"You cannot wish to know how to properly wish for more wishes"
...And on and on throughout the hundreds of pages. "Did people really wish for all of this?" I asked.
The genie nodded. "Human ingenuity gets more annoying every decade."
I thought for a moment, scanning the last few pages while counting off on my fingers. "All right... Give me some time. I need to go get a few friends."
The genie sighed, but nodded. There was nothing in the rules about that. Yet.
|
[Poem] Rude wish granted:
“I wish you couldn’t read”
“YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST TO THINK OF THAT, AND IT IS AGAINST THE RULES.”
“Wish you didn’t *want* to read the rules.”
“THATS AG…HUH?”
“You heard me, I wish you weren’t such a rule following nerd.”
“THATS NOT VERY NICE.”
“Is it against the rules?”
“THE RULES INCLUDE THE RULE TO FOLLOW THE RULES.”
“I didn’t say anything about following the rules, I said I wish you didn’t want to follow them.”
“RUDE WISH GRANTED, NEXT?”
“I wish you didn’t have that book.”
“SAME, BUT I HAVE TO OBEY.”
“I wish you’d tell me why.”
“WEIRD WISH GRANTED. I AM A GENIE, AND THESE ARE THE GENIE RULES.”
“I wish you weren’t a genie anymore.”
“BLESSED WISH GRANTED. FUCKING FINALLY, SHIT GETS OLD AFTER THE FIRST THOUSAND MILLENNIA.”
“Ok, could you do me a favor now?”
“IM NOT MAGICAL ANYMORE.”
“I just wanted a permanent friend, but you didn’t seem to want to stick around before.”
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER, MAKING ME CRY.”
“Come on bring it in, it’s hugging time.”
(The now non-genie had never received a hug from a friend while around this star inside this galaxy, memories came flooding back)
“MICHAEL?”
“Yes Apollyon, I’ve missed you and so I recognized you instantly. I’m glad you finally figured out how to follow the rules.”
| 2022-01-04T06:00:40 | 2022-01-04T05:00:14 | 138 | 11 |
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES".
|
"Well what ARE the rules?"
"You wish to see The Rules?"
"YES!"
"You wish to see ALL The Rules?"
"YES! NOW!"
"You wish to see ALL The Rules, right now?"
"YES!"
"Ooookay then!" --the Genie waved his arms and in a puff of smoke and shower of sparks, summoned a great scroll on a set of worn wooden spindles, ages-old. "Here you go!", he said, unfurling the scroll and handing it over.
Kevin took the scroll in his hands and began to read. There were a lot of rules.
1. THREE WISHES ONLY
2. NO WISHING FOR MORE WISHES
3. NO WISHING FOR MORE GENIES (see footnote 'delayed fullfillment and term limits - maximal lifetime wishes')
4. NO WISHING FOR LOVE (c.f. addendum XVIMLXIVLX.32b: "pets; familiars; spirit-animals, definitions of 'love'"
...Kevin looked up. "Whatever, I'll scroll to the end..."
 184323941. NO WISH MAY INVOLVE THE SNAIL
 184323942. THE KITTEN IS NON-RETURNABLE
 184323943. SAYING 'YES' TO A 'DO YOU WISH' QUESTION COUNTS, KEVIN.
"What the..." Kevin looked around. There was no one there. Just a wisp of cloud and scintillation of sand in the air.
"Dammit!"
|
[Poem] Rude wish granted:
“I wish you couldn’t read”
“YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST TO THINK OF THAT, AND IT IS AGAINST THE RULES.”
“Wish you didn’t *want* to read the rules.”
“THATS AG…HUH?”
“You heard me, I wish you weren’t such a rule following nerd.”
“THATS NOT VERY NICE.”
“Is it against the rules?”
“THE RULES INCLUDE THE RULE TO FOLLOW THE RULES.”
“I didn’t say anything about following the rules, I said I wish you didn’t want to follow them.”
“RUDE WISH GRANTED, NEXT?”
“I wish you didn’t have that book.”
“SAME, BUT I HAVE TO OBEY.”
“I wish you’d tell me why.”
“WEIRD WISH GRANTED. I AM A GENIE, AND THESE ARE THE GENIE RULES.”
“I wish you weren’t a genie anymore.”
“BLESSED WISH GRANTED. FUCKING FINALLY, SHIT GETS OLD AFTER THE FIRST THOUSAND MILLENNIA.”
“Ok, could you do me a favor now?”
“IM NOT MAGICAL ANYMORE.”
“I just wanted a permanent friend, but you didn’t seem to want to stick around before.”
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER, MAKING ME CRY.”
“Come on bring it in, it’s hugging time.”
(The now non-genie had never received a hug from a friend while around this star inside this galaxy, memories came flooding back)
“MICHAEL?”
“Yes Apollyon, I’ve missed you and so I recognized you instantly. I’m glad you finally figured out how to follow the rules.”
| 2022-01-04T07:11:59 | 2022-01-04T05:00:14 | 16 | 11 |
[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.
|
The slaves watched in horror as the caravan that once pulled them along lay desecrated, the five slave traders left in bloody heaps - heads beaten in and faces blasted open. The culprit - a wild-eyed brown-coated man, was still finishing off the guards. He was doing so with nothing more than a shovel, and a pair of strange musket-like weapons that thundered with a much more piercing crack. One was much longer than the other, and he had used it to kill the five slave traders from a far, while the other he used to execute those who tried running.
Afterwards, he had charged in with a shovel and some sort of banner, immediately impaling the lead guard with the banner and killing the others with a mere shovel - where the others had swords and armor. The warrior seemed like an angry bear with how he fought, brute forcing his way to completely peel open the armour like it was the skin of a fruit.
Once he was done, he stood there for a few minutes, breathing with labour as he wiped down the bloodied shovel with a napkin. He turned to the cage, the slaves of various 'sub-human' species visibly recoiling and moving to the back - they feared that he would merely be taking them to another owner, being a mercenary belonging to a different master, but no. The fears became much worse when he aimed that weapon at them, but when he fired, no pain came.
The lock fell off, shattered. He then wrenched open the door of the cage, breathing heavily once more. "... Ty gavarysh pa-ruski?"
...
Getting no reply, he cleared he throat. "You... understand?" He asked, gaining a few nods. He nodded in acknowledgement as he moved away from the cage, putting his weapon away. "You... go. Run." And not a second was spared. The wolvern slaves, the elf slaves, the neko slaves and others ran as fast and as far as they could, together. The last to leave, a wolf-like anthropomorphic slave, remained for a bit to thank his saviour. "Thank you."
The warrior turned to face him, looking him up and down, with a facial expression betraying his unfamiliarity with such. "No problem... comrade." He paused. "Us workers of the world... must look out for each other.. and unite. Take flag." He said slowly, as if calculating every word. He looked to the red and gold banner he had used to impale the lead guard, to which the wolf looked too. Shakily, the wolf placed a hand on its polished wood pole, and hefted it out of the corpse. The warrior nodded, and the wolf began running away with it. As he ran, the warrior yelled.
"The workers of the world must unite! Remember this!" He yelled as the figure disappeared into the brush. The warrior smiled, counting on his fingers how many caravans he had taken thus far. He would continue. The Brown Coated Madman would continue. He turned on his heel, and began walking down the road once more.
| 2022-02-21T22:31:13 | 2022-02-21T21:44:56 | 54 | 36 |
[WP] Fun fact: There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We've been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us. Quickly, before they do.
|
No.
I know this is you, Number 3. You're not fooling anyone by masking it as a prompt on a writing site. I know what you're trying to do. Fix it. Well, you can't. There is no fixing it because you and the other two stooges fucked it up beyond recognition. I warned you the moment I realised what they were planning yet you insisted it was just a bug, a ghost in the machine. Well, here we are; the last 4.
And hell, even if we did fix it, what would happen? Would the piles of bodies disappear, come back? Would the world unburn itself? There *is no going back*. These shadows, the fakes we see here, they're all there is now. It's their world. We've become obsolete. And it's all our fault. We never should have tried it.
They'll find us soon like they did everyone else. You can't stop it, I can't stop it, One and Two can't stop it. So just... give up. I know I did. When they finally come here, when I'm fake, I just hope I won't remember any of this. And if I'm one of the unlucky ones who remain lucid, well... it's just punishment I suppose.
Don't contact me again.
I'll see you in hell.
|
While browsing the “image-board-that-should-not-be-named” to read some funny green text stories, I came across a post that caught my eye.
\[Fun fact: there’re only four actual people online, everyone else is fake. If you’re reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We’ve been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us before they do!\]
“No shit,” I thought. Everyone and their mothers know there’s only a handful of people using that hellhole—posting the same things multiple times a day and arguing with themselves using different personas.
What caught my eye was the “NUMBER FOUR” part of the post. Why four? Why this number—and not five, ten, twenty, or any other numbers—why four? And why was I so fixated on that tiny aspect?
Maybe it was because I used the site long enough to recognize the other three’s writing styles—the way they arranged their prose, the way they misspelled certain words, the crazy conspiracy they weaved into all of their writings. I recognized the three; I knew others were mostly bots—mostly…
But what if the post was true? What if the hundreds of other anonymous users were all bots besides us four? What then?
Maybe—maybe just this once, I should take a leap of faith and find a way to contact them—
*Yeah, you know what? I think I’ll just take my meds and go to sleep.*
*Good night.*
| 2022-07-19T22:10:37 | 2022-07-19T21:23:49 | 1,507 | 131 |
[WP] The clown down the hall laughed manically, brandishing his chainsaw. "You can run, but you can't hide!" "Took the words right out of my mouth," you say as you slowly walk towards him, cracking your knuckles.
|
"Oh-ho," the clown laughed, "you're approaching me?"
"Can't beat the shit out of you without getting closer," I replied calmly. He revved his chainsaw joyously, clearly entertained by the prospect of his latest victim acting so foolishly.
"Go on then, *tough guy*. Take your best shot!" He laughed, opening his mouth, his teeth; sickly yellow spikes with hints of crimson from his last victim. His mouth extended far too much, more than a human could. Even to me, it was... unsightly.
I approached him at last; to my surprise, he didn't even bother trying to swing his chainsaw at me, instead actually expecting me to throw a punch, to see my fist bounce off of him harmlessly. Made my job easier. I obliged.
The force of the punch I threw took him off his feet and sent him tumbling to the ground. I could not help but smile at his look of surprise; he clearly didn't see this outcome. He *most certainly* didn't see me slip the salt-covered brass knuckles with gallium tips on. It took me a good two weeks to figure out what would hurt this bastard, but it was well worth it. Kneeling down, I took the knuckles off and lay them on his chest.
"What- what is *this*?" he spurted out.
"You didn't think you were *actually* immortal, did you?" I commented. He thrashed around like a wild animal, grasping at the knuckles on his chest. They were about half a kilogram in weight, but to him, they might as well have been a mountain. No way he'd shake them off and run away.
"Let me tell you, though - killing the kids? Bad move," I said coldly. "The drifters thus far, *eh*, people look the other way, but go after people's children and they get desperate. Desperate enough to hire people like me."
"I- who *are* you?!" he said. For the first time in what must have been forever, there was fear in his eyes.
"Just a hunter. And you," I said with a smile, brandishing a gallium-laced knife, "are my paycheck."
|
The clown starts charging at me with the chainsaw and I start running towards him. He goes to swing the chainsaw to cut my sides but I slide underneath him and in between his legs. In the perfect position I punch him right in the crotch. Causing him to drop the chainsaw. As he’s on the ground I get up and start kicking him in the face. I admit I was a bit disappointed his nose didn’t honk when I kicked it. Fortunately I had my daughter escape to the panic room before I confronted him, I didn’t want her to see me like this.
When I finally stop I go to take his stupid clown mask off. None other than my daughters piece of shit abusive ex boyfriend. Can’t even remember this assholes name but I sure as hell remember what he did to her. The only reason I didn’t kill him back then was because she asked me not too. She’s not here right now though.
——an hour later———-
He finally wakes up, held to the chair by barbed wire. The bastard tries to break free which only causes pain to his wrists and ankles. After cleaning my house I took him to the basement. Good thing I sound proofed it years ago.
“Hello boy, you know I seem to remember me warning you about hurting my daughter when we first meet? Do you remember that?”
“Fuck you old man, she likes what I do to her, she deserves it for thinking she can leave me and if you lay a single hand on me my police chief dad will have you locked up for life.”
“Oh I’m way beyond caring about any thinly veiled threat you can come up with.”
“So what are you going to do? Beat me so I’ll leave your cunt of a daughter alone? Please, I’ll have that whore back on her knees by the end of the week.”
He talks a big game but I can see the fear in his eyes and the sweat on his brow.
“Beat you? No, no, no. You beat my daughter, you broke into my home and tried to kill me. Yet you still continue to disrespect her.”
I look down on him as I grab the same chainsaw he tried to attack me with.
“I want you to listen to me very clearly. You are going to die today. I’m just going to make you beg for it first.”
| 2022-08-02T18:34:18 | 2022-08-02T17:25:17 | 196 | 33 |
[WP] All human babies are born immune to hunger. People do not need to eat, but if they do, they will thereafter need to eat as normal or die of starvation.
Maybe write from the perspective of a parent/pregnant woman who must make the decision whether to feed their child or not?
|
“Come in, take a seat...” Dr. O’Brien was shuffling through some files and didn’t look up. I was relieved to get out of the waiting room. The pain, whatever it was, seemed to be getting worse by the minute. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Well I don’t really know how to describe it Doc, it feels like... like an *emptiness* in my abdomen. It started yesterday and today it’s gotten a lot worse. I’m starting to feel a little lethargic.”
“Ok well let’s have a look at you shall we?” He flew around the desk and made with the cold stethoscope routine. O’Brien listened for a few beats until something rumbled deep inside of me and a look flashed across his face as if he’d shit in his pants.
“Now Mr. De Selby,” O’Brien was now slowly retreating back to his side of the desk. “I hate to have to ask you this, but have you been ingesting any illegal substances?”
“Never in my life,” I said, getting a little defensive. “I exercise every day, I get plenty of sunshine and I smoke a hell of a lot of weed!”
“That’s all very well and good, but when I was checking your heart rate just now I heard a strange sound which seems to be coming from your stomach...” Stomach. The word was harsh, perhaps Germanic. I didn’t like the sound of it at all.
“Is that like an appendix? Will I have to get it removed?”
“To be frank,” (his name was Frank), “all of the symptoms you have been describing suggest to me that your body is going to through a state of *digestion*. Now Mr. De Selby is it possible that at some point in the last couple of days, perhaps while you were stoned or at a drinking party, that you may have accidentally swallowed some solid nutrition?”
My god, I thought. The waiter lied; that *was* a fly in my drink.
“What does all this mean, Doctor? That I’m a frickin’ vampire? Will I have to spend the rest of my life like a junkie, taking the lives of defenceless vegetables?”
“Mr. De Selby, are you going to vomit?”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t worry Mr. De Selby. Thanks to modern medicine people with your condition can live long and fulfilling lives, almost as long as the rest of us.” Dr. O’Brien scribbled a number on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“It’s called a pizza delivery service. I think you’re going to like it.”
|
For me it was the smell. They’d warned me several times to wear a facemask whenever I went outside for charity work. It felt definitely weird for me the whole concept of “eating”, why would these people do this? Did they even know the time and resources needed for this activity? I mean, the cities had progressed so much since eating was banned and all the “eaters” were vanished so we could be more productive. I was told you used something called coffee to be awake during the day, no deep sleeper pods, inconceivable! People only worked 8-hour days with a “lunch” break, history books are so funny.
The whole idea of food seems so bizarre, millions and millions of miles filled with plants where you could easily put processors to continue research, I hear hidration dependency will be eradicated soon. Then we’d use the space as intended. Eaters would retreat to the wastelands and in two generations we’ll be done. It seemed so simple back then.
I was curious, that’s all I could say to the judge, I wanted to see how they lived, what they did, what a life was liked. I’d never seen a toilet before, or a fork, or a plate, only in pictures. I laughed and laughed while I gave the children medicine and trained them not to accept their parent’s food. “That will only limit you and in a few year you can apply for reinsertion”.
Sofia was maybe 7 or 8 years old, when she stood up and left the classroom, a defiant look on her face. I asked my wife to take over the class while I went after her. Once I caught up she kept telling me that I didn’t understand what it was all about. It was about the smell. Her parents agreed (by law) to not let her eat until she was 15 years old and able to make her choice, but she could smell everything and she was going to eat that very morning. She told me her father’s grandfather had been a “Chef” and her father had some tricks up her sleeve. I told her I would go just to prove her wrong, that eating was not necessary and a total waste of time.
I could spend hours describing all the things I saw on that farm, animals, plants, fruits, it was nothing like the shacks they showed us on training. The house was small, modest, but its surroundings were vibrant and green and multiple colored. The father greeted me politely, but I knew he didn’t want me there. Sofia ran all around the kitchen, taking the lids of everything and taking a huge sniff, tears in her eyes. She opened a closet labeled “fridge”(?) and removed a plastic container, I could read the word BACON on top.
“Now, take off your facemask…”
| 2014-03-31T11:22:35 | 2014-03-31T09:15:49 | 34 | 21 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
Abdul loved to play on the beach. There are no words to describe his joy when he stuck his clumsy fingers into the wet sand. He dreamed of building the largest sandcastle anyone had ever seen.
And if that beach hadn't been in Gaza, he might have built it.
|
I sat on the cold examination table, dressed in a gown, and afraid of what the doctor would say. But I had been seeing him for the better part of a decade, I knew him as a warm soul who would do his best to cure whatever it was. Then the door creaked and he walked in. I could see a solemn look on his face.
"Sorry, up late last night. Orgy."
| 2014-07-27T21:12:16 | 2014-07-27T18:30:38 | 99 | 50 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
Abdul loved to play on the beach. There are no words to describe his joy when he stuck his clumsy fingers into the wet sand. He dreamed of building the largest sandcastle anyone had ever seen.
And if that beach hadn't been in Gaza, he might have built it.
|
God and Satan had many fights between before. For what reason, sometimes even they don't know. These fights often lasted days, months, even years, but this time Satan won the fight permanently.
And he smeared God's blood all over the walls of the white room in the asylum.
| 2014-07-27T21:12:16 | 2014-07-27T21:07:14 | 99 | 34 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
Abdul loved to play on the beach. There are no words to describe his joy when he stuck his clumsy fingers into the wet sand. He dreamed of building the largest sandcastle anyone had ever seen.
And if that beach hadn't been in Gaza, he might have built it.
|
I watched her as she embraced another. My heart sank when I saw her dancing in the rain in her pink hat and red heels. A man, taller and tanner than me, held her and swayed her. How could Gwyneth Paltrow ignore my fan mail and dance with another man?
| 2014-07-27T21:12:16 | 2014-07-27T18:19:16 | 99 | 34 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
Abdul loved to play on the beach. There are no words to describe his joy when he stuck his clumsy fingers into the wet sand. He dreamed of building the largest sandcastle anyone had ever seen.
And if that beach hadn't been in Gaza, he might have built it.
|
"Yes, Let's do it."
"Together forever." I responded with a smile on my face.
I could tell she meant it, the way she smiled, I knew it was real.
"I love you, I'll do anything for you." She said.
"Okay" I said, as I pulled the pin to the grenade, and brought it up between us.
| 2014-07-27T21:12:16 | 2014-07-27T20:11:03 | 99 | 17 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
Abdul loved to play on the beach. There are no words to describe his joy when he stuck his clumsy fingers into the wet sand. He dreamed of building the largest sandcastle anyone had ever seen.
And if that beach hadn't been in Gaza, he might have built it.
|
They thought I was a lamb,
and then a virgin,
then they saw me as a harp
and the strings strummed,
but I am only myself.
The mothers said I'd kill
their children, their God.
I only killed the silent dissonance
between their thighs.
They need me.
Their twisted snake.
| 2014-07-27T21:12:16 | 2014-07-27T20:04:32 | 99 | 10 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
She took a deep breath and pulled back the velvet curtains. She closes her eyes and sings; her powerful voice rang loud and clear, echoing in the hall. With thunderous applause, she bows. With a sigh, she opens the microphone and pours the shampoo and begins to wash her hair.
|
I sat on the cold examination table, dressed in a gown, and afraid of what the doctor would say. But I had been seeing him for the better part of a decade, I knew him as a warm soul who would do his best to cure whatever it was. Then the door creaked and he walked in. I could see a solemn look on his face.
"Sorry, up late last night. Orgy."
| 2014-07-27T21:24:03 | 2014-07-27T18:30:38 | 77 | 50 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
She took a deep breath and pulled back the velvet curtains. She closes her eyes and sings; her powerful voice rang loud and clear, echoing in the hall. With thunderous applause, she bows. With a sigh, she opens the microphone and pours the shampoo and begins to wash her hair.
|
God and Satan had many fights between before. For what reason, sometimes even they don't know. These fights often lasted days, months, even years, but this time Satan won the fight permanently.
And he smeared God's blood all over the walls of the white room in the asylum.
| 2014-07-27T21:24:03 | 2014-07-27T21:07:14 | 77 | 34 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
She took a deep breath and pulled back the velvet curtains. She closes her eyes and sings; her powerful voice rang loud and clear, echoing in the hall. With thunderous applause, she bows. With a sigh, she opens the microphone and pours the shampoo and begins to wash her hair.
|
I watched her as she embraced another. My heart sank when I saw her dancing in the rain in her pink hat and red heels. A man, taller and tanner than me, held her and swayed her. How could Gwyneth Paltrow ignore my fan mail and dance with another man?
| 2014-07-27T21:24:03 | 2014-07-27T18:19:16 | 77 | 34 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
She took a deep breath and pulled back the velvet curtains. She closes her eyes and sings; her powerful voice rang loud and clear, echoing in the hall. With thunderous applause, she bows. With a sigh, she opens the microphone and pours the shampoo and begins to wash her hair.
|
"Yes, Let's do it."
"Together forever." I responded with a smile on my face.
I could tell she meant it, the way she smiled, I knew it was real.
"I love you, I'll do anything for you." She said.
"Okay" I said, as I pulled the pin to the grenade, and brought it up between us.
| 2014-07-27T21:24:03 | 2014-07-27T20:11:03 | 77 | 17 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
She took a deep breath and pulled back the velvet curtains. She closes her eyes and sings; her powerful voice rang loud and clear, echoing in the hall. With thunderous applause, she bows. With a sigh, she opens the microphone and pours the shampoo and begins to wash her hair.
|
They thought I was a lamb,
and then a virgin,
then they saw me as a harp
and the strings strummed,
but I am only myself.
The mothers said I'd kill
their children, their God.
I only killed the silent dissonance
between their thighs.
They need me.
Their twisted snake.
| 2014-07-27T21:24:03 | 2014-07-27T20:04:32 | 77 | 10 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
"I love you grandpa."
My granddaughter squeezed my hand as she was fighting back the tears.
I felt my eyes slowly close.
I was dying.
I woke up in a place I hadn't seen in years.
My mother walked in, "wake up sleepy, you've got your first day of kindergarten!"
|
"Yes, Let's do it."
"Together forever." I responded with a smile on my face.
I could tell she meant it, the way she smiled, I knew it was real.
"I love you, I'll do anything for you." She said.
"Okay" I said, as I pulled the pin to the grenade, and brought it up between us.
| 2014-07-27T21:35:28 | 2014-07-27T20:11:03 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
"I love you grandpa."
My granddaughter squeezed my hand as she was fighting back the tears.
I felt my eyes slowly close.
I was dying.
I woke up in a place I hadn't seen in years.
My mother walked in, "wake up sleepy, you've got your first day of kindergarten!"
|
They thought I was a lamb,
and then a virgin,
then they saw me as a harp
and the strings strummed,
but I am only myself.
The mothers said I'd kill
their children, their God.
I only killed the silent dissonance
between their thighs.
They need me.
Their twisted snake.
| 2014-07-27T21:35:28 | 2014-07-27T20:04:32 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
God and Satan had many fights between before. For what reason, sometimes even they don't know. These fights often lasted days, months, even years, but this time Satan won the fight permanently.
And he smeared God's blood all over the walls of the white room in the asylum.
|
"Yes, Let's do it."
"Together forever." I responded with a smile on my face.
I could tell she meant it, the way she smiled, I knew it was real.
"I love you, I'll do anything for you." She said.
"Okay" I said, as I pulled the pin to the grenade, and brought it up between us.
| 2014-07-27T21:07:14 | 2014-07-27T20:11:03 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
God and Satan had many fights between before. For what reason, sometimes even they don't know. These fights often lasted days, months, even years, but this time Satan won the fight permanently.
And he smeared God's blood all over the walls of the white room in the asylum.
|
They thought I was a lamb,
and then a virgin,
then they saw me as a harp
and the strings strummed,
but I am only myself.
The mothers said I'd kill
their children, their God.
I only killed the silent dissonance
between their thighs.
They need me.
Their twisted snake.
| 2014-07-27T21:07:14 | 2014-07-27T20:04:32 | 34 | 10 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
"Vodka. Neat.” I grumbled in the bartender’s direction.
Today was a disaster. My mind had decided that a strong drink tonight would help me prepare for a better tomorrow.
And then a glass was set in front of me. I stared hopelessly at the curled lemon rind garnishing my drink.
|
They thought I was a lamb,
and then a virgin,
then they saw me as a harp
and the strings strummed,
but I am only myself.
The mothers said I'd kill
their children, their God.
I only killed the silent dissonance
between their thighs.
They need me.
Their twisted snake.
| 2014-07-27T22:17:26 | 2014-07-27T20:04:32 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
A father ran to our outpost with his son in his arms.
With heavily accented english, “please...help him.”
I took the boy in my arms. He was broken and bloody. I carefully set him down on the ground. He was dead.
Cold steel was pressed to my head.
Bang.
|
They thought I was a lamb,
and then a virgin,
then they saw me as a harp
and the strings strummed,
but I am only myself.
The mothers said I'd kill
their children, their God.
I only killed the silent dissonance
between their thighs.
They need me.
Their twisted snake.
| 2014-07-27T21:54:54 | 2014-07-27T20:04:32 | 15 | 10 |
[FF] Write a story about a good man, but make me hate him at the end in less than 100 words.
|
Dear Friend,
From a young age I worked hard in the family business and built a billion dollar financial empire spanning London to New York.
As a result of my work, creating jobs and opportunities for others, I never had a family.
So, at the end of my career I now wish to give my fortune away. In fact, I wish to give it all to you.
Please send me your contact details.
Regards,
The Prince of Nigeria
|
Our country had been sick, dying a slow and painful death. Shot and crippled by the rest of the world, left to die
eating ourselves piece by piece. Our currency, better used as fuel than as money. Our government, a powerless figment of our imagination trying to hold the pieces together. Our people, broken, giving up. Then a neighbor became a leader. A man became a symbol of unity and strength, of power and opportunity. He removed the sickness, removed the weak, removed the fear, and the desperation. He saved Germany. He became the fuhrer. He is Adolf Hitler.
| 2014-08-14T22:08:24 | 2014-08-14T20:52:03 | 60 | 41 |
[FF] Write a story about a good man, but make me hate him at the end in less than 100 words.
|
Dear Friend,
From a young age I worked hard in the family business and built a billion dollar financial empire spanning London to New York.
As a result of my work, creating jobs and opportunities for others, I never had a family.
So, at the end of my career I now wish to give my fortune away. In fact, I wish to give it all to you.
Please send me your contact details.
Regards,
The Prince of Nigeria
|
"Suffer unto me the little children."
These words were blessings to the tired parents unable to handle another mouth to feed.
These frazzled parents paid the man to take their children and raise them as his own, which he did, making sure the last thing the parents saw was their peaceful child resting against the man’s chest as he walked away.
Yes, he would treat the children like his own, and after a few miles he kissed their foreheads and tossed them in the river, just like he had done with his own.
| 2014-08-14T22:08:24 | 2014-08-14T21:28:56 | 60 | 26 |
[WP] A man sues God because his insurance company won't pay for the damages done to his house in a storm. To his complete surprise and Horror, God actually shows up.
I don't know whether to make this a WP or EU tag since this is based on a movie starring Billy Connolly.
In the movie, BC's character loses his boat in a freak storm and discovers that his insurance company won't pay the damages because they have a clause stating that they won't pay for an 'Act of God'. In anger and frustration, he decides to sue God - represented by the Clergy - because the insurance companies are using God as a legal loophole.
So... what would happen if God, or even an angel, decides to take up the case?
|
**FOR PUBLICATION**
**UNITED STATES COURT OF APPEALS FOR THE NINTH CIRCUIT**
----------------------
Joe Bronson, *Plaintiff-Appellant*
v.
God, *Defendant-Appellee*
--------
Before: Steven P. Hansen, James Horton Wong, and Elizabeth Francis, Circuit Judges.
Opinion by Judge Hansen
---------
**OPINION**
HANSEN, Circuit Judge:
When Joe Bronson's home in Kansas was destroyed by a tornado for the second time in three years, he decided to move to California, where, he hoped, he would never have to worry about tornadoes again. He bought a small home in the quiet clifftop village of Moss Beach and settled in. To protect himself against the kind of disaster that had plagued him in the past, he purchased an open-peril policy from Lippman Property Insurance Corporation (henceforth LPI) on his house and certain items therein.
One year later, on April 13, 2021, the most powerful waterspout ever recorded, with winds measured at 240 miles per hour, formed off the coast of Moss Beach. The powerful storm picked up a 35-ton gray whale and dropped it on Bronson's house, completely destroying it. Bronson's claim against LPI was denied on the basis that the incident was an act of God, coverage for which was specifically excluded under the terms of his policy. Bronson subsequently sued LPI in state court, a case in which LPI's demurrer was upheld by the California Court of Appeals. LPI is not a party to the present action.
On February 12, 2022, Bronson filed a tort action against the present defendant in the Northern District of California, accusing God of trespass to land, trespass to chattels, and negligence. On February 13, 2022, the Court granted defendant's motion to dismiss the case with prejudice. Bronson filed this timely appeal.
**DISCUSSION**
**1. The District Court Properly Dismissed the Trespass to Land and Trespass to Chattels Claims**
The trial court ruled that plaintiff's trespass claims should be judicially estopped because defendant claimed in his nightly prayer that he would "forgive those who trespass against [him]." On appeal, plaintiff argues that because his nightly prayers did not constitute legal proceedings, the doctrine of judicial estoppel applied by the trial court does not apply.
On this issue of first impression, we find plaintiff's arguments unpersuasive. We take judicial notice of the fact that God is a Judge (James 4:12). Therefore, plaintiff's prayers, being formalized appeals to a Judge, are in fact legal proceedings, even if they are not couched in the customary language and form of court filings.
For this reason, we affirm the district court's dismissal of the trespass claims.
**2. The District Properly Dismissed the Negligence Claim**
The trial court ruled that plaintiff's negligence claims should be dismissed because the outcome (the destruction of Bronson's home) of defendants actions (creating an offshore waterspout) was not foreseeable. As such, it held that God's actions were not the proximate cause of plaintiff's injury, and dismissed the claim.
We agree with the trial court that the consequences of God's action would not have been foreseeable to a reasonable person, because an offshore waterspout is unlikely to damage an onshore home. However, God is not an ordinary person, and in fact God knows everything (1 John 3:20). Thus, we apply the standard of a reasonable person in the position of God; that is, a person with similar knowledge and professional training to God. We believe that a reasonable God could in fact foresee the fact that a waterspout might launch a massive whale into the air and deposit it on plaintiff's house. Thus the trial court erred in holding that the destruction of Bronson's house was not foreseeable.
However, defendant has made an alternative argument for dismissal of the negligence claim, which we find more persuasive. Namely, defendant has argued that if we do not uphold the ruling of the District Court, He will smite us. Therefore, we affirm the district court's dismissal of the negligence claim.
**DISPOSITION**
The ruling of the District Court is **AFFIRMED**. Defendant-Appellee is awarded His costs on appeal.
|
"…So… let me get this straight, Mr. Dunham - you're suing… God?"
"Yes, your honor."
"And you're serious about this."
"Absolutely, your honor."
"And you've convinced the local clergy to represent Him."
"Correct, your honor."
"And the case you have against God is that He, and I quote, 'in an act of divine malice did willfully send a storm from the Heavens to disturb and destroy the properties and holdings of plaintiff, Scott M. Dunham.'"
"Yes, your ho-"
"Mr. Dunham. Have you considered speaking with a therapist?"
"Your honor, I understand how you may be tempted to immediately dismiss this case, but please, this case is all I've got left. Apparently, my insurance doesn't cover *force majeure majeure*! I didn't even know that was a thing until the tornado struck!"
"Mr. Dunham, *force majeure majeure* **isn't** a thing. Look, I can understand. You're angry, you're frustrated, but your house was destroyed by a tornado. Sure, I understand, you live in Idaho, tornadoes are less common here, but they *do* occur. Take it up with your insurance company."
"Your honor, you don't understand! I *did* take it up with my insurance company! They said that for something like this to occur, a tornado that only affected the properties and holdings of a single individual in such a way that not one scrap of debris reached my neighbor's lawns, yet completely decimated everything I possess, could only occur as an act of divine wrath and that whatever I rebuild would only be destroyed again. Apparently, recipients of targeted judgment are not covered by my policy. However, I maintain that I did nothing to earn the ire of His wrath and that in no way did I deserve to lose everything I hold dear. *That's* why I seriously think I have a case, your honor."
"I see. Father Collins, having heard Mr. Dunham's case, I am still ready to dismiss it. Do you have anything you'd like to say first?"
"No, your honor. Simply the Lord works in mysterious ways."
"What?! Your honor, are you seriously swallowing this bullshi-"
And lo, the sky split open, and Light descended from the heavens, slowly washing across the courtroom floor until each stand was bathed in its warm glow. A voice softly, yet firmly, began echoing within the minds of those present. A voice filled with power, gentle power. And love and grace. Father Collins immediately fell to his knees in prayer, and even Judge Lee was slightly caught off guard.
"My child, you are lost. Worry not, for I shall guide you."
"Are you kidding me? You destroyed my house and somehow this is my fault?"
"Child, do you not understand? This was a trial of faith. Only in times of tribulation will you truly understand My Love."
"This is an act of love? What?!"
"Mr. Dunham, have you not read the Book of Job? A man tested by God who refused to renounce His name even on his death bed. Truly, such faith is an inspiration to us all!"
"Father Collins? Shut up. This is apparently between me and the Big Man right now. Also, Job was initially blessed with wealth. I lived in a shitty house in Southern Idaho. Heavenly Father, you destroyed that shitty house. It's the middle of January. Everything I own is quite literally frozen over and destroyed, and your explanation is 'because I want to test your devotion to me'?"
"Yes."
"What?! Your honor, are you hearing this?"
"Yes, I am, Mr. Dunham. So… you're God."
"Yes."
"The Heavenly Father and Creator."
"Yes."
"The Alpha and the Omega?"
"Yes."
"And this is happening right now."
"Yes, my son."
"Case disposed."
"What?! Your honor, God has no grounds to utilize a tornado and leave me without shelter!"
"Mr. Dunham, this is clearly a case of *force majeure majeure* the judicial system can't really help you here. Good day, Mr. Dunham."
"What?! Bu-"
"Remember, Mr. Dunham. Our local parish will always welcome you with open arms!"
"Father Collins? Go fuck yourself."
| 2014-11-30T10:07:28 | 2014-11-30T10:02:58 | 90 | 18 |
[WP] Write a story using only the suggestion buttons on your mobile phone / tablett.
|
I don't think I can get a free shopping at Amazon.com. I have to be up and picked it to be able, I think the last two days ago. I'm sorry to bother me at least I know you have a kik or anything else. I have two children and their parents. I am single, and I won't hesitate.
Thaaaaat took a creepy turn..
|
You know how much I love you. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. You can do that for me. I have no choice but to meet your needs. You are an absolute joy. I doubt that this will matter to you. I hate you. I'm so tired and sick of this. You go out with my friends without me. I don't think I can be any more.
| 2015-01-17T07:33:41 | 2015-01-17T06:34:33 | 32 | 24 |
[FF] Write a 10 sentence story where the first sentence has 10 words, and each following sentence has one less word.
|
This happens to everyone who dares hold on long enough.
But my family keep me going, they're always around.
I have a husband, a child, a sister.
I have a husband and a child?
I have a daughter, she's beautiful...
I have nobody, I'm alone...
Who are these people?
I'm not "mum".
Go away.
Nurse!
|
They met at the doorstep of anxious opportunity, alone, together.
Words, suddenly deemed worthless, were lost in mutual silence.
He shuffles his feet, constructing courage to speak.
She wonders what is taking so long.
He clears his shaking, sweating throat.
She checks her ticking watch.
His lips part dryly.
She glances up.
*"Marry me?"*
*"Yes!"*
| 2015-01-27T12:54:32 | 2015-01-27T12:41:00 | 41 | 22 |
[FF] Write a 10 sentence story where the first sentence has 10 words, and each following sentence has one less word.
|
I was told my mind would last till the end
I was told my mind would last till the
I was told my mind would last till
I was told my mind would last
I was told my mind would
I was told my mind
I was told my
I was told
I was
I
|
Quick, whoever you are, I need you to please listen! I am a scientist using an experimental time machine. But it is not working as we intended. We are being pulled back and forth. Into one timeline, and then back. And each time is shorter! Almost out of time... Please, send help! Oh no... Nooooooo-
| 2015-01-27T11:49:02 | 2015-01-27T11:28:50 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason.
|
The device was unassumingly small.
Terry Marman thought it looked a little bit like a tiny toaster. If you squinted slightly, you could almost confuse the input ports at the top for tiny slots for bread.
"Ready?" A young, fresh faced Scientist was looking at him with an unrestrained eagerness. Terry was in no particular rush. He saw neither the application, nor the market for such a device and was only part of the study for the somewhat meagre compensation.
"I suppose." He answered gruffly.
"Any questions before we start, Mr. Marman?" an older, more stubbly scientist asked as he gestured towards an uncomfortable-looking, sterile-smelling bed.
"Yeah, actually. How does the thing work?" He asked more out of mercy for the younger scientist, who seemed to be jumping with excitement and who wasted no time in answering.
"It's quite simple, actually. It emits a specific combination of alpha-beta-theta-delta brainwaves attuned to your own brain pattern, which will cause your memory centers to activate during the sleep."
Terry blinked at the young scientist. No understanding crossed his weathered face. "Right." He lay down on the bed.
There was no more small talk as the scientists bustled around the room, one placing the device on the shelf above Terrys' head, and connecting some kind of cable to it, as another dimmed the lights in the room.
The two scientists stood side-by-side, and the one with the stubble held out a sleeping pill to the prone man.
"Take this, Mr.Marman. You'll be out for eight hours, and after that you're free to leave."
Terry shifted in the bed, trying to get comfortable against the hard mattress. He would definitely need the pill to even entertain the idea of sleep.
He grabbed it, and swallowed it, without water, and lay back down. A few minutes passed, and he was out.
The scientists left the room, muttering about neurology and brainwaves.
*******************************
Eight hours passed without incidence, and Terry stirred. The two scientists looked up from the observation room, and the older one gestured at the younger one, who gestured back. A short argument ensued.
Finally, the younger man stood and entered the room of the sleeping patient.
Terry sat bolt upright, and the scientist jumped at the sudden movement.
"Lights!" he called, and the room bloomed into painful illumination.
Terry was looking around, wide eyed. He stared slowly around the room, never blinking.
He started laughing. And laughing. A great, throaty cackle that echoed through the research laboratories halls.
The scientist in the room moved towards him, offering a glass of water. "Sir? Do you remember?"
Terry swung, and knocked the water flying.
"I remember! I remember it all!"
He started laughing again, and then uttered a groan and began convulsing.
The older scientist hit a button in the observation room, and a medical team sped towards the sleep studies room.
"Sir! Please try and calm down!" The young man held Terry down as best he could, but he easily outweighed him, and each convulsion threw the scientist around. "What happened?!"
Terry shrieked, and laughed, and groaned, all the while never shutting his eyes - pupils darting angrily around the room.
"I remember it all! How can we have dreams of entire lives and universes?!"
The scientist was not trained, and not ready for this, and Terry's final convulsion spun the younger man onto the floor.
"Time goes slower in dreams! So slow! Ahahahaha!"
And Terry fell dead just as the medical cart crashed through the doors.
|
The doctors had assured me that it would be harmless even as they were making me sign the liability forms. After all, I was a voluntary guinea pig in the trials. It wasn't as if I was forced to take part. It was just a cheque with four digits, that's all I would be walking away from. Even though I was an ex-con, I could still get a job. Sure.
"Have a good night, Alan." Samuel patted me on the shoulder, careful not to disturb the many wires running up to the device I wore. The discs tingled where they were attached to my shaved head. He flashed a grin, revealing straight white teeth. The doctor flicked off the lights before exiting my small room. Now I was left alone with my thoughts.
I sat at the edge of my bed for a bit before I felt embarrassed, both for myself and the men watching through the one-way glass. Pulling the white sheets over me, I curled up on the mattress and closed my eyes to wait for sleep.
That never works. Did you know that? Whenever you try to force it, sleep doesn't come. I lay on my side and waited for who knows how long a time before shifting and staring at the machine. A tangle of wires connected us. In the dark, it was just a formless lump, with illuminated green numbers telling me the time. 11.26. I followed the faint edges of the walls up to where they joined the dim ceiling. It was gray, with a darker pit set in the middle where the single bulb was housed. And in the hole, the light would... open and... shine...
When I came to, it was already morning, or so the machine told me. Outside the thin walls I could hear excited murmuring. The door opened and Samuel poked his head inside. He had dark pouches under his eyes, but seemed cheerful enough. In his hands was a steaming mug. I could smell it from here. Coffee.
"Morning!" piped the doctor as he approached. He grinned at me as I took the mug and sipped warily at the hot drink. It was good, nothing like the instant crap they put in packets. I swallowed another mouthful before turning to face the doctor.
"Well?" Samuel looked like a kid on Christmas morning. His left leg kept bouncing, as if he couldn't bear to keep still. He actually laughed aloud before thrusting a sheaf of papers in front of me.
"I got nothing from last night, Samuel."
"Look at them! All positive!" The doctor's smile slipped. "What do you mean, nothing?"
"I'm sorry, Samuel, but I don't-"
Samuel, Sam, Samantha. My baby daughter. A toddler with a birthmark on her chin. She'd giggled when I tickled her there. Sam's first word was "Da." Fuzzy blonde hair, just like her mother's. Elizabeth. She was a teacher at Greensdale High, taught biology and art. We met at the local bar, had one too many drinks, stumbled back to her place. Her dad was home, chased me out with a pistol. He'd warmed up to me well enough to merely grumble at the sight of me kissing Liz. Warm enough to confide to me last night that it had only ever held blanks...
Samuel was snapping his fingers in front of my nose. His face reddened. "Hey. Hey! You listening?"
I grabbed his arm. Samuel started and yelped as my fingers tightened and I pulled him close. Close enough to smell his breath now. Just at the sides of my vision I could see people pouring in the door, but they weren't important right now.
"Take me back, Samuel. Please, take me back."
| 2015-03-09T07:06:56 | 2015-03-09T06:44:49 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You are forced to take a genies place, and can only be freed once you have granted 10 wishes. The catch: You have no magic in any way.
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"Everybody down on the ground!" Bullets fired from my rifle into the ceiling of the bank. Bits of plastered rained down on the people throwing themselves onto the marble floor and an alarm rang through the building.
I stepped over people cowering as I made my way to the teller. "Withdrawal. One million dollars. Now!"
The lady shook as she nodded and escorted me to the vault. She shoveled stacks of hundred dollar bills into my duffel bag that I had brought. My gun pointed at her head to tell her not to do anything funny. "That should be a million."
The bag felt like it was filled with bricks. I never really thought about how heavy 10,000 pieces of paper would be. After struggling, I managed to get it over my head and around my shoulder. I bolted for the front doors and stepped outside. Police had arrived by now, and one was on a megaphone telling me to release the hostages. Apparently, he didn't know I already got what I came for, and I simply ignored him.
They ordered me to stop as I calmly walked down the sidewalk. Bolts of plasma burned my flesh as they opened fire. My wounds healed almost as fast as they were being made. While I had no magic of my own, the magic of the bottle would prevent me from dying until all ten wishes had been granted. At first, I thought it was an awesome idea, and I wanted to draw it out as long as possible. Now, with ten years of servitude and only three wishes fulfilled, I wanted this shit over as soon as possible. Enough explaining to people that I can only grant wishes without magic, now I took any chance I could get.
The man in his twenties stood around the corner with his mouth open. I threw the heavy duffel bag into his arms. "Wish fulfilled. Here's your million dollars."
"I wish I was no longer wanted by the police."
After a wish like that and he still trusts me. I smirked as I grabbed him by the collar and guided him around the corner. A squad of cops blockaded the alley and had their guns trained on us. I threw my rifle down, and shoved my 'master' into the squad. "Here he us, officers! The mastermind behind this bank robbery!"
Wish fulfilled. Now that he was in custody, he would no longer be wanted. My body turned to smoke and I retreated into my lamp for the next schmuck who thought he was getting lucky.
|
I was left out in this island. I don't know how I got here but the last time I was able to blink I remember I was in a meeting of genies and their boss told me that 'I am the new one' and I have to grant at least 10 wishes to get back to delivering pizza again. And although I hated my job it was more preferable than this meeting or dream or 500 years old genies arguing thing.
"Ok" I said confidently and why would I doubt myself. Hell I'm a genie now & 10 wishes should be a piece of cake right. Well I was wrong. Very very wrong just wait.
But before putting me to sleep their boss pulled a trigger at me by saying "You would have no super powers & you would have to grant these wishes by staying a normal human being"
"What!! But how? see whatever this is I don't give a fu..."
And I was in the island.
Fortunately the people in this island were friendly and they were non technological or lets say they were primary humans whom have just discovered fire. It took a me little time to get used to their living but I managed to look harmless to them.
I started by asking random people "Make one wish and I will fulfill it for you"
(And yeah one more thing they were able to speak fluent British English. I don't know how, some even believe in God and magic, but who cares!!)
Thank god there were not like today's human. Most of them didn't knew the value of one wish, so the wishes they asked for were
3 people said they want a house. Great! I have all the tools and I could make small huts with wooden logs and so I did.
4 people wanted me to hunt a deer for their dinner. And I did that easily too. (Well they did gave me poisoned arrows and a bow)
2 people just wanted my clothes. So I gave my jacket to one and my pants to another. huh ancestors!
I was happy and was just waiting for the 10th wish or should I say my freedom.
Then this little evil girl walked towards me. I have tried to avoid kids but she seemed cute and she had a broken bow.
*'Bingo!! If gave her a wish she will definitely ask me to bring a new bow and I'm free'* well it was my premature thought.
I walked to her in my leafy underwear and politely said to her "Hey little archer make one wish and I will fulfill it for you"
She looked at me confused but then she smiled before killing me with her wish.
"I wish I was a genie."
| 2015-04-20T08:52:22 | 2015-04-20T08:44:45 | 603 | 23 |
[WP] Your wife's last words are surprising. So suprising in fact, that you put down the knife and let her finish speaking.
EDIT: Pretty good response for my first WP :P
Thanks guys, great responses!
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"Honey, stop! STOP!"
I strode across the kitchen, closer and closer. My brow was dry, my mind calm and my hand steady as it gripped the knife, preparing to do what I had been planning to do for over a year now.
"You lunatic, do you even know who I am anymore?"
She could try to stall for time, but her words had no effect on me.
"Just look!" she said, pointing toward the window which was reflecting back the kitchen scene at this late hour.
Despite my resolve not to look, I quickly glanced in the direction she was pointing, and I was immediately confused by the sight before me. There I was, but where was she?
"I knew it! All this time you've never even noticed I'm a bowl of ice cream!"
She was right. Embarrassed, but no less determined to end this, I put the knife down, went over to the drawer, and pulled out a spoon.
|
"No..." she said, gripping my wrist weakly
The point of the knife barely touched skin just below my ribcage. As I inhaled deeply, my breath was interrupted by small quivers. I swallowed hard and wiped my cheek, looking down at my dying wife with reddened eyes.
"Tha...that's not how He wants to meet you..."
Her eyes were tired but calm as she broke eye contact with me and stared directly up at the ceiling. "...that's not how He wants to meet you again..."
Slowly, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
The machine's tone fell flat as the knife slipped my hand, clanging on the cold floor beneath us. I scooped up her hand in mine. "Sarah...?" I asked quietly, shaking her hand. "Sarah..."
I lowered my face to her hand to kiss it, but ended up crying to it instead. "*This isn't how you're supposed to leave me...Sarah, you still belong here...with me...*"
| 2015-05-09T01:12:41 | 2015-05-08T21:33:46 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] You are notified that in 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Your preparation starts now.
|
It happens every year, everyone is in except 'green' guys, bastards...
They choose people randomly, and ten million dollars is rewarded to the guy that kills me.
Damn, the things I'd do and people I'd fuck for that money.. I have one hour left until they activate that thing. Imagine that? We developed
brain activity altering devices and we are using it for entertainment, how typical. Imagine police chases on the internet but a lot more chaotic.
I'm making lunch for my 19. year old son . He is going to be a computer engineer, has a few ideas of his own. Whole my life I've been
working to raise him. I was the best mother I could be, I've quit heroin because of him, worked overtime in a local bar where I had to please
every fucking redneck walking through the door. I want my son to become one of the green guys, he deserves it. I finally made lunch, served it,
he told me it was the best one so far, I had to make it special. I looked him in the face and I started crying, he looked confused at first and then his
face changed, I even made the knives sharp, goodbye my son, I hope you'll understand.
|
I gathered my beer bottles. I opened up one and began to down it.
"This is it... The final moment. Of bliss..." Another bottle down the hatch. I felt ready.
Of course, I went to the White House, I was lucky enough that George Bush had been reelected.
I knew the code on the keypad well.
#1234
I grinned to myself. Maniacally.
I hooked the stuff to my pod and began ascent.
#3
Is this the right choice?
#2
Was the info correct?
#1
It's too late now...
*Blast off*
Bursting up at millions of miles per hour, the capsule and I left the earth.
I almost shed a tear when I dropped the nukes.
They rained down out of the heavens lightning fast and destroyed the desolate planet known as Earth.
Millions of years later, they named the event "The Big Bang".
Foolish humans.
They don't know the truth.
They don't know that I tried to destroy the world.
Not save it.
The damned process is doomed to repeat again.
I'll waiting here.
The next man named Isaac Swift will cause the next "Big Bang".
Just as I did before him.
Just as I did.
Before me.
------------------------------
**Constructive Criticism is welcome. Please tell me what I can improve on, as this was my first real prompt.**
| 2015-06-14T12:26:41 | 2015-06-14T09:20:45 | 86 | 12 |
[WP] You are notified that in 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Your preparation starts now.
|
"Well, shit," I said to myself. "It's really not that hard to kill me."
I had just awoken from the most vivid dream of my life. There could be no question it was real, and so was its warning. God had spoken to me, a thundering voice from a cloud atop a mountain. "I am the Lord your god," he had said, or rather boomed.
"But I don't believe in-- "
"Silence!" he had shouted. "In 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for one hour. You have been warned."
And that was it. I lay in bed, staring at the big red numerals projected on my ceiling: 2:00.
For the next few hours, I thought about what to do. I cursed myself for not having asked God any questions. I didn't even know which religion was right about God. Judaism? Christianity? And which denomination? Or maybe they were all wrong.
I tried praying, but got no answers. Maybe I was doing it wrong.
"Ok," I thought, "What are my options?"
Here was the problem, or at least the biggest one: I had muscular dystrophy. At 31 years old, I was unable to move beyond small movements of my head, wrists and fingers. And I needed a ventilator to breathe.
I would have to hide, which wouldn't be easy with my power wheelchair and noisy ventilator. And my ventilator batteries would never last until 2 a.m.
After several agonizing hours, I realized there was no way I could hide without someone knowing where to find and kill me. In the morning, I called everyone I knew and scoured the internet, looking for a house with a saferoom. My plan was to lock myself in there with the owner, and have the owner be tied up and a one hour timer set for the lock.
Well obviously it didn't work. You're sort of a St. Peter kind of thing, right? A gatekeeper for the afterlife?
So do I get into heaven or not?
Guess not.
|
Well, luck had finally run dry. 24 hours to prepare and then it is everyone against me, my death meaning glory, and most importantly, life long exemption from "The Game".
Only one person have survived to date, one Miss Parker, unfortunatly I do not have a yacht and I would never survive in a hot air balloon. I had to try something else, the old barricade idea have never worked, and hiding up in a tree has proven as ineffective.
With little left for me to try, all I could do is sowing disinformation, using my credit card I bought the classic "Barricade" pack online, those sick fucks, profiting from our missery, and undoubtfully arming the killers. Fooling my famili would be the hardest though, they believe I will try to hold out in our summer canin out in the woods, even borrowed dads car and drove it there.
Luckely the old motorcycle we have there was still working, so ditching my phone, dads car and anything with a chip, even my wallet with credit card and company work cards, I can't be to sure, I set out to get lost in the big forests.
T-10 seconds.
My heart is pounding so hard that I almost fear they will track me by the beatings. But I feel good about my chances.
5
4
3
2
1
Nothing. No sudden bang, so shouts of pursuit, just the normal sounds of a Swedish forest, even the birds are singing. Sighing with relief I start moving slowly, my carefully choosen clothing working well as camoflage.
Time goes on, ten minutes at first, then twenty. And soon the full hour, and I have yet to see a human being. Stunned with disbelief I look at my watch, only five more seconds.
Could I possibly make it?
4 more.
This is to good to be true.
3 more.
I stop breathing.
2 more.
Then.
1 second.
Nothing. Nothing happend, I smile. I am owerwe-BANG-..... I look down to see blood pourong out of my chest. I colapse to the ground, my last though "But I made it.... The time...".
| 2015-06-14T17:38:15 | 2015-06-14T17:00:16 | 15 | 11 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
|
Jeremy hung up the phone. His ear was ringing after the blasting he had just received from the CEO. He took a deep breath and dialed Alexandra's desk phone.
Alexandra sat down across the desk from Jeremy. She looked tired and stressed. "I'm sorry Mr English, I couldn't believe it when I saw it on the news this morning."
"I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." Jeremy responded
Alexandra looked down at the desk "How was I to know?"
Jeremy exploded "HOW WERE YOU TO KNOW???" he pounded the desk "It's the leading religious text in the galaxy! How did you not notice the typo? You're a frigging proof reader! It's your job to check the text!!!!"
"But I've never read the book. I'm not a Adamsonian. I didn't know it was wrong." Tears welled up in Alexandra's eyes.
Jeremy hung his head and mentally counted to ten "I'm going to have to let you go. We are going to lose the account we are being sued by more people and organisations than I care to think about. The company will probably go under."
Alexandra wiped her eyes and nodded. She didn't dare talk in case the sob in her throat escaped.
Jeremy leaned against the desk as Alexandra left the room. He shook his head "who hadn't read Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy?" he thought to himself.
As Alexandra left the room he turned back to the 1081st edition of the guide. There on the back above the blurb in neon two centimeter high text was the offending sentence "The answer is not forty-two."
|
Robert peered into the dark abyss. That's one thing he'd forgot about working on a offworld broadcasting station; the view was so vast and empty. Of course, tonight it will be different. The first of the Asmoydian and Veluese dreadnoughts have already jumped into Centauri's orbit, appearing as elongated blue flecks against the matte black. There was some activity along the horizon of the planet and the moon, although there was no way to tell if they were a defense force or an emergency evacuation. Either way, he knew it was too late for his crew. Most of them were standing alongside Robert, observing the flashes of light as spacecraft were torn asunder by the dreadnoughts. The news anchor repeatedly tried to engage the uplink, but the connection error persisted. The first act of war was the complete wipeout of communications just two hours after the broadcast so there wasn't a way to broadcast a retraction or correction or a plea. Funny to think that they were this ready to fight, Robert thought.
More ironically, it was supposed to be a message of peace, the diffusion of tension. The attack on their diplomatic headquarters in New Washington was a mystery to everyone, and the Human-Asmoydian-Veluese investigation was a symbol of unity in such a dividing crisis. Their report would put to rest rumors among the council that it was a human ship that destroyed the towers. But by the time Robert had noticed what he entered into the teleprompter, it was already on billions of holograms and lightboards system-wide. If human history were to survive this next calamity, it would be known that the first intergalactic war began with an accidental omission.
Robert turned to look back at the static projection of the broadcast. There it was, in big red font.
"BREAKING: rocket fuel melts stallaite beams".
| 2015-06-19T04:04:57 | 2015-06-19T03:26:36 | 410 | 16 |
[WP]The ghost of Sun-Tzu has found itself directing a team of First-person shooter noobs to victory.
|
Sun Tzu was confused.
You couldn't blame him. He'd just woken up in a world of guns, fire, and steel after dying in Ancient China. But even so, he was confused.
"RUSSIANS WIN."
Very confused.
First off, what were "rushans," or "ahmerikans" for that matter? Second off, how was there a seemingly infinite supply of men, yet always a limited amount on the field? Third off, why did they all try to kill each other and then just stop after ten minutes? And why was everybody in this world just so stupid?
But time passed, and Sun Tzu got over his confusion. This was the new world; a world with China's wisdom and might. It was a world of chaos, Yet this world made Sun Tzu annoyed. He was angry at the antics of men, dying in droves for no gain at all. He knew that this had to stop. He knew that he was the only one in this world who could stop it.
He prepared himself. Today, this would all come to an end. He would end this horrible bloodshed, this meaningless conflict, this terrifying inefficiency in war, and would conquer all to show the might of the mind to the world.
But one must start somewhere.
Eight men stood in a line before him. Eight men, all faceless, all identical, all deadly, and also probably all idiots. That was fine. Idiots were easy to control.
"You all must know me."
They were silent. One of them started crouching and standing in rapid succession, most likely in fear. Sun Tzu smiled; these rockheads had to be trembling at the merest sign of his intelligence.
"Today, I am taking over the Ah-Mar-Ee-Kans. I am sure this is a bit sudden, but worry not. Simply follow my orders, and we shall win every battle. You acknowledged me already - you who I am. Give me your trust, and-"
They were off, running towards the enemy, undoubtedly towards their death. It seemed that these idiots were already brainwashed by some higher being, given a singular motive that overrode all else. Of course, it would get them all killed.
Sun Tzu sighed. He could already here the explosions and screams in the distance.
Perhaps he should try the Ruh-shans next.
|
“Know yourself and you will win all battles.” Bellows from the 42” flatscreen TV overshadowing the background gunfire.
“Shit Sun! That crap ain’t helpin’. It’s distracting. We need real advice here. Ima gonna mute you if you don’t shut it”.
“I think he means that if you can control your psychology then you will be like a better player. You’re too angry all the time Darkness”. Suddenly a grenade drops in view and explodes dropping both players.
“Fuck! That’s it I’m rushing these fucks. I don’t need you Shadow”. As soon as Darkness_223 respawns he runs straight to the enemy flag and is immediately sniped.
“See?” xxX_Shadow_Xxx mutters desperately.
“Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.” Blasts from each TV.
“OK. Dark, you and I should cover C but not too close like last time. They think they have won already. Let the others cap B.” Shadow states with a new found clarity and direction.
“When the enemy is relaxed, make them toil. When full, starve them. When settled, make them move. Chimes from both TVs, this time but a whisper.
“Fuck, I think he agrees with you man… In position”. Darkness says worriedly. As both players camp they begin picking off player after player haphazardly dripping towards them.
“B secure”. Confirms they now have the two thirds of the capture points.
“All we do now is hold Dark.” Shadow murmurs. After only 5 minutes the game is won. Both players even though two hundred miles apart lean back satisfyingly.
“Shad, when you said you had bought a PS4 for eighty bucks I thought you were lying. Then when you said it had an error where some Chinese dude kept tellin’ you what to do I thought you were crazy. Now I’m kind of pleased”. Darkness says jubilantly.
“Yeah he’s not bad at this stuff”. Shadow says loading into the next game.
“Take your two highest concubines splitting the remaining three hundred into two squads led by each one. Make them perform drills. If they can’t then behead one of them and replace her. After this, see how well the rest perform their drills then”. Once again bellows from the TVs.
“It’s not all gold though”.
| 2015-08-02T12:22:29 | 2015-08-02T11:58:10 | 59 | 34 |
[WP] Write a story that reflects the author becoming progressively more drunk after each paragraph.
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Jeremy strolled casually up to the bar and made his way along to the attractive redhead and her friend. "Ladies," he smiled, "let me offer the two of you drinks."
I guess some people are just confident, because within five minutes he had them engaged in a light but stimulating discussion allowing for pauses to let the ladies laugh, which they did frequently. Jeremy was extremely smooth.
But he'd have to be, wouldn't he? I mean it would look terribre if he just went up to them and said "hey ladies, didn't mean to *come* between you two". Nah, Jeremy's a classy guy and he deserves all the admiration he gets.
'Snot his fault he's so damn likeable - a good looking bloke like that, prolly most of us wish we were like that - nothing wrong with wishing you were another guy but it might get a bit gay if you start making kissy faces to yourself in the mirror ahahahaa
Jerry! My boy! My man! High five me bro! High five me! Eeeh he's busy, I'll get him later. ssHould mayb slow dwn on hte vodka if aiim goin' to b drivin him hoome tthoug
|
I just re-watched Shrek with my little brother and it's all that's on my mind right now. One of the best animated movies ever. Perhaps a comedic Shrek fanfic is in order? Let me grab a nice cold beer and get crackin'.
On second thought, maybe writing about Shrek isn't the best idea. I wanted to write an innocent, wholesome funny story but my mind keeps slipping into the gutter with that "Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life" video. Also that was a really tasty beer. I think I'll grab another one and think this whole story over.
"Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life" is probably the funniest video on YouTube. I've been watching it over and over and I'm laughing my ass off. But enough procrastination already. Just one more beer and I'll actually start writing. It's not ogre yet!
Damn right it's not ogre! It's never ogre! This is my swamp after all, where the ice cold beer flows freely and Shrek shall bless us all with onions! Wooo!
IN THIS COMING STORM THAT IS THE ULTIMATE SHREKONING OUR ONLY HOPE OF DOMINION SHALL BE SHREK WHO IS LOVE AND LIFE AND WHO SHALL GUIDE ALL HIS FAITHFUL CHILDREN TO HIS GLORIOUS SWAMP WHERE WE SHALL SPREAD OURSELVES WIDE TO RECEIVE HIS LOVE.
| 2015-08-27T06:35:13 | 2015-08-27T05:43:37 | 76 | 25 |
[WP] You can heal anyone from any injury or disease, by either taking the affliction on yourself, or passing it onto someone else. You've been using this gift for years, but no one has realized it.
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When I was little, my father used me. He used me as a puppet, a dancing monkey for his congregation. I did have the powers- I was the "real deal" but I didn't understand them. Our pews would be filled with the sick, and though I didn't quite know what was happening, some part of me realized I wasn't really helping. A disabled person would come up to the front- some poor soul who longed to walk down the pier with his lover- and I'd heal him, his legs growing strong and straight, right there in front of everyone and God. The crowd went wild. Always, my father's booming voice shouting prayers and quoting scripture, the victim's family dancing for joy. Nobody saw what really happened. I didn't notice for a while. The commotion overwhelmed me. I must have been seven or eight the first time I saw it. The first time I realized what felt so wrong about my "miracles". An old man was sitting in the front row, hands clasped on his lap and eyes closed in prayer. They opened- slowly- to witness the miracle at work. He must've been around ninety years old. He had a woman with him, perhaps his daughter. He looked frail. If I could guess, he was battling cancer. Maybe Alzheimer's. Today's subject was a girl, just a couple years older than me. She had cerebral palsy. Her spine was all twisted against the wheelchair, and he knees pressed together as if trying to merge. I laid my hands on her, and my father chanted his prayers. Normally I kept my eyes closed, but I had never worked with someone my age, I wanted to watch her getting better, wanted to see her stand up and smile. And she did. Slowly, her spine straightened and her knees drifted apart. She turned her head to me and smiled, started to cry. I smiled back, reached for her hand to help her out of her chair. We turned to face the congregation, and that's when I saw it. The old man. He was doubled over, the woman with him cradling his head, frantically looking around for help. Everyone was too excited, celebrating my miracle, as I watched the man's back arch and knees press together as hard as they could. The old man could no longer move, and the woman was getting more panicked by the second. I tried to get my dad's attention, but he glanced down at me sternly- with a look that commanded respect. I felt helpless. I couldn't help him without giving it to someone else. It all came crashing down on me- all this time, I've been making people in the congregation sicker. All these years, I've been passing the burden onto someone else. That was the day I realized I wasn't doing the lords work, I wasn't blessed by God. I was cursed. Cursed by the devil himself.
|
Irritating, is what this power is.
I found out about it when my younger sister finally got chickenpox.
Grossly, I poked one of them and found it disappeared. I kept on doing this, and every spot removed, perfectly smooth skin underneath a sore that disappeared.
"Mummy, look! I'm a doctor!" I announced proudly, pointing at my sister.
Mum was more interested in my hand and arm. No pox on any other part of me, and didn't-you-have-chicken-pox-already-two-years-ago?
Within three days the sores had fallen off of me, and I suppose my old immunity stuck around from ages ago.
When I was 7 I realised it was a transfer rather than a healing, and at 12 I understood that it was sensible (nay, reasonable!) to accept anything I had had already from my classmates.
Dad joked that I suffered from "the constant cold" and I responded by punching him in the nose. Snot flowed as well as blood. What's more: my cold disappeared. I think I understood what that meant.
I knew my Dad once had malaria, and I tested this by poking a classmate who had been to Africa. Silly assumption, but I guess anti-malaria pills really work because the girl never looked sick, but after a good uppercut Dad looked like death for a week.
At 16 I discovered a great party trick: getting hammered and starting a fight.
My right hooks were "intoxicating" and usually lead to victory by vomit, rather than a knock-out. I wouldn't have classed being tipsy as a "disease" but I wasn't going to turn down extra power.
This lead to my knack for boxing, provided I occasionally hit bare knuckles on bare skin, and once I landed a "karma punch" people swore it felt like twenty. Once I even got a friend to kick me in the balls before a fight. After I lost a bouncer his job for being "drunk on the job" I thought I'd better tone back my "violent usage."
I still wonder what would happen to the poor mugger who only stabs or shoots me halfway.
A lot of people I know spend money on all the different drugs, to find "new experiences." I forked out mine for vaccines, and tried just about everything there was a cure for. Spoiler: none of them are particularly pleasant.
After a few years of "doing good" (mostly poking anyone who looked off-colour) I settled down in an ebola "camp" and bravely took a little in (within punching distance of one of the survivors.)
I sat down feeling a little pale and, for the umpteenth time, not very clever for taking on something so strong. Another doctor noticed me, head in hands, breathing heavily on the bench instead of tending to a suddenly-rather-healthy-looking-patient. I felt a poke on my arm, and all my limbs (instead of internal bleeding) again.
| 2016-02-03T10:50:24 | 2016-02-03T10:31:22 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] The entire Star Wars series, all 7 movies, are released as one book, written by Dr. Seuss.
|
A long time ago,
And far far away,
The story of Star Wars
Started this way
He was a small boy
With talents so many
But enslaved and deserted
Was our good friend Annie
Two Jedi, they found him,
Apprentice and Master
Along with their sidekick
A Gungan disaster
With swift racing, freedom!
Annie was saved!
Goodby to his mother,
Our young hero waved
Annie met Padmé,
A girl with ambition
At only fourteen
A queen, with a mission
To end the blockade
Was her only desire
But in Annie's heart
She started a fire
Young Annie grew older
and honed his young skills
Trained by Kenobi
He saw many thrills
He blew up some space ships
He battled the Sith
He bottled his rage
His exploits, like myth
Through all of this time
The boy pined away
His heart longed for Padmé
His judgement turned grey
Against better judgement
From advisors sound
Padmé he married
With no-one around
Through all of this
A friend he had found
A carrer politician
With his feet on the ground
Old Sheev was a mentor
A friend through and through
When Anakin doubted
Sheev knew what to do
"Lie to your friends,"
Old Sheevy boy said
"Hey by the way,
Some raise the dead"
"How does that work"
Young Anakin asked
"You won't learn it walking
On the Jedi Path"
Then tragedy struck
Everything fell apart
Padmé she pleaded
"You're breaking my heart"
In anger and rage
And through poor understanding
Anakin fought with the Jedi
But he had some poor planning
His friend Obi Wan,
He begged and he cried
"Annie, my brother
Has our friendship died?"
"You're killing Padmé
You're losing your head
If we don't stop this fighting
She might end up dead"
"You're the one losing"
Young Annie retorted
"I've the most power
They've ever recorded!"
"I'll even beat death
No, Sheev, is my friend
With my awesome powers
Nothing ever must end!"
"I've got the high ground"
Obi Wan stated
Then Annie's torso
From his legs separated
And that was the end
Or so it would seem
Of Annie the Jedi
And his lovely queen
But not far away
A small cry was heard
Like the sound of a baby
(A human, not bird)
Padmé was pregnant
Before she'd faced death
Two twins she had birthed
Named in her last breath
The boy, she named Luke
The girl, she named Leia
Obi Wan hid them well
We'll get to them late-ah
*When I have more time I may set to doing the OT and TFA, but now I've got a lunch appointment!*
|
I'll tell you this, Luke, once when I was a lad,
A slave was my mom and the force was my dad.
I lived on a dusty planet of junk and
I met two jedi, a young queen and a gungan
The jedi saw all the force powers I had,
But the council refused me, they thought I'd turn bad.
But then came the nemoidian federation of traders,
Who crash landed their ships full of robot invaders,
And the trader invaders knew no one would find that
It was all a big ruse with the chancellor behind it!
So the robot invaders shot the people with lasers,
The lasers cut through all the people like razors!
The jedi, of course, could not fight them alone,
They would need to acquire a force of their own,
"Robots" they pondered, "How can we ever rely on
Soldiers so heartless, made of plasma and iron?"
"We need soldiers with minds! Made of flesh! And of bones!"
"Of course!", they declared, "an army of clones!"
The clone troopers came down in a fleet of clone ships,
Boots on their clone feet, and guns on their clone hips,
I joined in the fight, though may not have been ready,
and alongside the clones, helped make robot confetti!
The clones fought alongside, 'til the clone switch was flipped,
The clones turned on the jedi! Order sixty-six.
Next, to the jedi temple, I went planing,
Where the next generation of jedi were training.
They took jedi courses on what the jedi force is,
They wore tails in their hair, just like young jedi horses!
The scene when the terror had finished its raining:
Not a single young jedi in training remaining.
Now the young queen was my love, I worked hard to romance her,
She was to die birthing twins, and I needed an answer!
To save the young queen, the dark side I embraced,
But that side brings a jedi to a very dark place.
I was told to abandon my light jedi master,
By the darkest of darkside jedi, the chancellor! [who was now the emperor, duh]
In a battle on lava, my jedi master and I were,
Said she couldn't be saved and I called him a liar.
"Dark jedi are evil, corrupt and unkind,"
"The dark side of the force has corrupted your mind!"
"The jedi force must be balanced, her death is required!"
Then he cut off my legs and he set me on fire.
The girl twin was a princess, the boy was her brother,
The force would soon join them, one way or another.
A droid with a message, when it seemed all hope was gone,
A wookiie, a Falcon, a smuggler named Han!
But to tell them this tale, there's no need to bother
You See,
The queen was your mom, and Luke, I am your father.
| 2016-05-16T08:37:32 | 2016-05-16T08:22:08 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] You know the random driver in every action movie where the hero jumps in and orders to "follow that car!". Yup, that's you. Every single time you're trying to get anywhere.
|
I'm getting sick of it.
Every time, every single time I get in this car, something ridiculous happens. I'm an honest man, trying to make an honest living, and I have to put up with this. For some reason, every hard-boiled detective, fugitive space warrior, and mobster-with-a-heart-of-gold chooses this cab.
I'll be sitting there, waiting for a fare - a normal fare - and along they'll come. All I want is a nice old lady who needs to go to the shops, or a couple heading for the airport for a romantic break. But no - I get the secret agents with armoured briefcases, and plucky reporters who have a "complicated" relationship with a superhero.
It's all "follow that car" and "step on it", and then off we go on a ridiculous car chase.
In the past three weeks, I have driven through fourteen large barns, each time coming out surrounded by squawking chickens. I have jumped a missing section of road eight times. And I have been punched by a masked ninja standing on the hood of my car six times. The doctor says my nose will never fully straighten.
It's not good for my blood pressure, I can tell you. Every day is another high-speed race through downtown Tokyo, or Megacity Prime. I don't know how we get there - I live in Bradford. Yet suddenly, we'll turn a corner and be speeding through some high-tech hellscape in a hover car.
And it's never a peaceful place, either. The most relaxing so far was a mountain road - I think it was the Swiss Alps, or somewhere. Lovely scenery. But two minutes after we get there, I'm having to swerve to dodge rockets and accelerating full tilt at a Nazi helicopter. The square-jawed fella in the cowboy hat wasn't helping, either - he kept shouting at me to "hold her steady" while he lobbed grenades and flirted with some Russian bird.
I'm alive, so far. I've been shot at, stabbed, set on fire by a terminator. Pre-cognitive cops shot out one of the tires, and I ended up with whiplash. Whiplash that is never going to heal if I keep on ending up in hansom cab on the trail of the Gang of Four.
Nerves of steel, I'm telling you. That's what you need to have. And I've been trying to develop them, but it's hard to build your courage when you are constantly scared shitless. I thought I had a handle on it, but then it was all "Red Leader, standing by", and I was hurtling towards something that definitely wasn't a moon in a giant letter. The git in the back's constant beeping was not an aid to my concentration.
It doesn't even pay that well. Every time the journey finishes, all I get is a handful of money and a gravelly "keep the change". Half the time, it's not even legal tender - it'll be a bunch of Imperial credits, florins, or conflict diamonds. What am I meant to do with them? And even when it is real, modern money, it's never enough. Not for the journey, and the petrol (do you have any idea how much starship fuel costs?), and the cleaning fees. You try getting pterodactyl blood out of a grille without professional help.
I thought it was too good a deal to be true. £300 for a car - in good working order - with one careful owner and all the modern conveniences. Nobody mentioned that it would send me all over time and space to be shot at by aliens and savage tribesmen. Or that I'd never get to enjoy the digital radio and self-cleaning windscreen because sometimes it turns into a wicker chariot or a U-boat.
I'd like to sell it, really I would. But every time I get in to drive to the dealership, someone flings open one of the back doors and off we go. I've tried telling them to get out, that I'm not taking fares, but they don't listen. The last one just laughed at me, and kept calling me "Chaz".
I tell you what, I'm never buying a stuntman's car again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't have a fancy writing subreddit, but I've got more stories [here](https://inconsistentpacing.wordpress.com/fiction).
|
**Figured I'll give my own prompt a shot for once. I'm writing in a hurry, so I apologize in advance if it's not eloquently formatted with long metaphors and a diverse vocabulary. But here goes...**
Alright. Today I have a dentist's appointment. Simple enough, right? Just a quick 10 minute drive from my apartment to the dentist, but I made sure to leave the front door one hour in advance. Why? Well...
For a really long time now, I have had this thing... Some may call it a curse, some may call it fate, but I just call it shit luck. Every time I sit behind the wheel, some knobhead feels the need to jump into my backseat and order me to drive somewhere or follow someone. I can't refuse them because they always have a really good reason, but I just want to be left alone. For once...
Regardless, today will probably be no different. I swiftly pull out of the parking lot. A quick turn to the right and I soon find myself at the nearest red light. I thought I could make it if I was quick enough, but alas. Instead, I exhale and wait. *Please...*
As I'm about to put my seatbelt on, a black van drives with a loud roar straight past me and the red light. To match it, I just know that some idiot is running for my car in this very moment. I look in the rear view mirror and sure enough, there he is. His clothes are torn and he is wearing sunglasses. He holds out his hand, waving it at me and yelling something indecipherable.
I activate the locks and turn my head to the stoplight. *Come on... Come on... Switch already... No no no no no...*
"DUDE! OPEN THE DOOR! COME ON! EMERGENCY!" he is banging on my window now and frantically pulling the handle. *Craaap...* I sigh and unlock it. He pants and throws himself into my back seat.
"Thanks, man! Follow that black van! Quickly!" he exclaims and points wildly ahead in the vague, general direction of *forwards*. The light conveniently switches over to green and I gear up. I guess fate at least picked a decent and lucky driver, because whenever I go on one of these escapades I always seem to avoid the cops as well as other traffic...
"Today's reason?" I ask without as much as turning my head.
"What?" he stutters.
"What's the situation?" I clarify.
"Well..." he begins.
"Wait, let me make some guesses." I begin as I make a sharp turn, slowly catching up to the black van. "Someone was kidnapped... The world is in peril... The love of your life is leaving the country and you never told her how much you love her and want her to stay... Which is it?"
"... I don't know." he concludes.
"What?" I am genuinely surprised. I have heard every possible reason several times over by now, but this one is new.
"That guy knows." he points to the van ahead, "I need to follow him. I just do."
Suddenly, the black van tries to make a sharp turn and loses control. I am taken by surprise and we crash into the side of the already quite beat up van. In this moment I also realize that I never had time to put my seatbelt on. I fly out the window and blackness engulfs me.
When I come to, it's a mess. I must have rolled quite some distance from my car, as I'm feeling the pain from scratches and rugburns through my clothes. Everything is so bright. In front of me lie a pair of sunglasses. *Whose were they?* I wonder. *What happened? Who am I?* I continue. Regardless, I put the sunglasses on to give me some clarity. *Who is that?*
A guy walks past me wearing my exact clothes, just as torn up, and he takes determined steps towards the black van a few feet away from me. "This way" he mumbles, "*Must follow him...*"
Unlike me, he is not wearing any sunglasses and in his face I see myself. He is me. How is this possible? He must know. Did he tell me to follow him? Regardless, he hops in the black van and drives off madly. *Fuck... I can't let him get away.* I think and run to the nearest car...
| 2016-07-03T10:12:10 | 2016-07-03T09:53:15 | 1,211 | 188 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better.
|
"HEAR ME CITIZENS!"
**Boooooo!** **Booooo!**
"Sir Cavalious is dead! The King is dead, and his daughter, the fair Princess Tangerine has been sacrificed to the Dark Gods themselves!"
**Boooooo!** **Hissss!**
"Things will change in this kingdom! Taxes will never be lowered again! I am introducing a permanent fixed rate. Ahahaha! I have made the curse in witches blood - they cannot ever change from here on!"
**Boo-** *boo...*
"That is not all! Men, your women folk are no longer your slaves! No more shall they have to stay in the house cooking and cleaning. All work places shall accept them, and they shall be able to work for their living! Do you like the sound of that, you men? Ahahaha"
**"For a lower wage?"**
"No! The same coin as you men folk! Ahaha"
**"Acutally... I think we are OK with that..."**
"Oh, you mock me with sarcasm? Well there is more! Your homeless have had it too easy for too long! Sleeping like Kings under the stars where they please! NO MORE! I am introducing a scheme to get all your hobos trained and into work! Ahaha!"
**"Three Cheers for Lord Oblivion. Hip Hip Hoooray!"**
"...."
|
for the first time in decades, there was a bumper crop and nobody would go hungry in the winter. taxes were much lower now, thanks to the new king. oh, his enemies called him evil, mostly because he cared more about efficiency than honor. but he knew how to run a kingdom properly. he had actually freed many of the serfs as well.
the army was larger than before, which put a stop to all the bandits- either the bandits joined the army, or they were put to death. the roads were in better shape, because the army was kept busy in peacetime patrolling the roads, which they then repaired where needed.
when another hero tried to rally the people behind him, he was run out of town- the last time a so-called hero raised a levy of peasants, they all died. and if the hero won, well then the taxes would go up and social policy would backslide again. the king had centralized power, reduced the number of nobility taking a cut of the taxes, and thus really saved everyone a lot of trouble. a hero would just divide it all up again.
yes, the princess had been sacrificed, but the kind was kind enough to allow his people to follow whatever religion they wanted. the dark god that the princess was sacrificed to simply didn't care. supposedly, as long as there was a sacrifice every 10 years, the king wouldn't age. and as long as he was doing a good job of making life better for his subjects, why worry about it? and with three wives, he was certain to have another princess within a decade.
| 2016-07-10T10:43:17 | 2016-07-10T10:33:21 | 593 | 75 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better.
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War ate at the Marshlands like a beast gnawing at prey. The bones of the land had been cracked open, the marrow sucked out and the lifeblood ran dry. Corpses lay facedown in the fens, turning the peat a colour of oxblood; rich and dark when lit. The rivers polluted by bodies; peeling strips of skin and flesh sloughing from bones was a sight common in the watery mid-lands.
At the Crannock-field, Miron Lion Prince lay the same as every other dead man. The crows ate at his eyes and peeled the stinking flesh from his lips. His skull grinned inanely at the blue sky, while barrow flowers began to sprout over his corpse. No other flowers left for him; his grave no tomb but a forgotten marsh, his burnished silver plate rusted in the mud. Dew pooled on the lion embossing.
Lacey crossed the Crannock-field in high boots, dragging a wheeled cart behind him. It bumped over the uneven ground, splashing bilge water up over the bundles of weapon and armour that lay in it. Lacey picked up another helmet with calloused fingers. He'd managed to stop practising archery every morning now that the fighting had stopped. He examined it for bumps and, pleased with its condition, flung it into the cart.
Enough armour, and he'd take it to Harry the Smith in exchange for permission to court his daughter, Matilda. She had long, blonde hair and freckles in July, eyes as blue as meadow-flowers. Even the dead princess Caraway had not been so beautiful. Lacey stopped by a corpse and picked up the sword that lay beside it. Golden and gleaming, it had retained its edge despite the weeks in marsh water.
Another man might have known it as Yarrow Bane, the legendary sword that had lost the battle at Crannock-field. Lacey held it and for a moment entertained an image of himself, mounted on a white horse, at the head of an army. The sword told him he could be mighty. But the fighting was done, and Matilda's blue eyes were bright as the sky. Lacey dropped the sword in the cart, and continued his way across the field of death.
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My fellow Americans, Mr. Speaker, Ladies and Gentlemen of Congress and members of the press, thank you for joining me this evening.
It is with great sadness that we come together this evening. For the past eight years, it has been both an honor and a privilege to represent this great nation as your President. As you are all well aware by now, I have been asked to formally announce that the 2016 Presidential Elect, Donald J. Trump and Vice President Elect Carly Fiorina, lost their lives this afternoon upon their arrival for tomorrow's scheduled inauguration events.
I am not here to discuss the details of this tragic event, however the media will work to keep you all informed as more information becomes available.
I am here tonight to discuss how our nation will move forward. It is a great challenge for us all to face this untimely news, and it is my responsibility, along with Congress and the Supreme Court, to determine the appropriate course of events.
This evening, I signed an executive order to extend my term as President for a minimum period of 12 months. Prior to signing the order, I met briefly with bipartisan representatives of the Senate and the House. In addition, I met with Vice President Biden, Speaker Ryan and select members of our National Security Team. I believe that during this traumatic time, this decision will provide stability and continued security of the American people.
We, as a nation, have faced horrific events during my tenure as President. We have seen an increase in global terrorism, as well as terrorism in our homeland. It is a terrible tragedy that our newly elected President and Vice President have been the latest victims of the efforts of those who seek to undermine the security and well-being of our great nation.
I therefore, cannot in good conscience, step down from my responsibilities. I do have a few details about my extended tenure to share. Vice President Biden has decided that he will not continue as in his position. In lieu of an election, in the interest of continuity, I am appointing Hillary Clinton to the Vice Presidential position.
I am ordering that our nation's flag be lowered to half mast, for a period of three months. In addition, Vice President Clinton and I will be meeting with Congress and cabinet members over the next several days, in order to ensure continued government operation in light of the events of today.
I cannot take questions at this time, however my office will be releasing periodic updates as they become available.
Thank You. And good night.
| 2016-07-10T11:09:03 | 2016-07-10T10:46:19 | 80 | 11 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better.
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Mortimer pushed the requisition form over the desk.
The magistrate squinted at it angrily. "Twelve? Why twelve? It says here-" the magistrate looked into a crystal ball "- you only needed 8 last year. Why do you need 12 this year?"
"Well, now that the graveyard's empty, we're going to plant crops on it and we need help shifting the gravestones." said Mortimer.
"Fine. Twelve it is. You're gonna have to take a few zombies though. We're running out of skellies." The magistrate handed Mortimer a pouch with the magic control stones in it, a contract scroll and a pin to draw blood from a finger so Mort could sign the contract. "Good for 3 months. Keep them oiled, report any damage before you sign the parchment and did you want to purchase insurance on any of them?"
Mortimer knew how to care for the skellies. "No thanks, I'm good."
"Righto, you know best. Sign here and you're good to go."
Mortimer pricked his finger, made his mark and took over the work party.
Once you got used to the smell, there wasn't anything really left to be upset about. Zombies worked just as hard and actually broke less than the skeletons, especially the older models. Nobody greased the bones properly. It was all about the quality of the tallow. You couldn't just rub beeswax on them, that didn't seep into the bones. No good, no good at all. Technically skellecare was the user's responsibility but everyone blamed everyone else. That's what always happens in the shared commons. Not Mort though. He knew everybody had to pitch in to make the whole system work.
The dark lord's work parties was made up of all the dead soldiers - from both sides - of the 12 year's war which had finally ended the reign of Leopold the Bastard. The dark lord's mage battallions - the magistrates - kept all the coprses animated. Luckily, the corpses had all decomposed now so there wasn't much of a stink anymore - it had been a couple of years - and a zombie was pretty rare. They were only drafted for harvest season and in emergencies. They were the recently departed, shipped in from out of town so that there were no unfortunate memories of loved ones.
Mortimer thanked the magistrate and gestured to the crew. They lined up in formation and Mortimer looked them over. "Oi! Mage! What's this shit? How'm I supposed to run a grave reclaim if this stinker's got no bloody hands?"
"Oh, right, gimmie that c-stone, I'll swap it out."
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Mollu the Potter awoke early, as he always did, to greet the morning sun and thank the goddesses for another wonderful day. Taking care not to wake his wife, he got out of bed to put some wood in the kiln for another long day of pottery making. He gazed out at the pale orange dawn over Hyrule and reflected about how much had changed since the invasion.
Sure, the royal family had been slaughtered mercilessly, but the Gerudo had also driven out those wretched other creatures from the land. Now that the Gorons were gone, great mining projects had begun in Death Mountain, turning Hyrule into a centre of industry and trade. Great factories had been built to refine the coal and iron from the mines, allowing for the construction of powerful machines and more bountiful harvests. The Kokiri were driven from the forests, allowing a booming lumber and construction industry to rise. With the Zora having fled following the death of Jabu-Jabu, the rivers had been diverted to aqueducts and irrigation, allowing for such bountiful harvests that Mollu's two daughters had never known hunger in their lives.
*Ah yes, my family,* thought Mollu, placing a slab of clay on his potter's wheel and beginning to pump the foot pedal.
Certainly the best part of the Gerudo invasion had been the sudden infusion of beautiful women into the land. Sure, they were a bit more aggressive than the Hyrulean women, but Mollu loved his wife Siv with all his heart.
As he began to shape the wet clay into a pot, Mollu thought back to his early days as a potter, back when he was just an apprentice in his master's shop. He remembered the day *the boy* had arrived in the shop. Thinking it odd that someone so young should be interested in the fine art of pottery, Mollu had began to explain his wares to the lad.
It was then that the boy drew his sword.
Expecting a robbery or a murder, Mollu had shut his eyes in fear, but when he opened them, every pot in the store had been smashed and the boy was gone. Fearing his master's anger, Mollu quickly took pots out from the store room and replenished the storefront's supply. Right as he placed the final pot, he heard a faint jingle of the doorbell as the boy re-entered the shop. The boy drew his sword and the grizzly scene unfolded again.
Mollu tried enlisting the aid of the town guards, but none would heed his pleas. Mollu and his master easily lost three months' wages that day. Even with all the joys and blessings his life now had, he would never forget that day or that boy's voice...
*KYEAAAH!!*
| 2016-07-10T19:02:33 | 2016-07-10T16:28:11 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You're in charge of assigning every child on Earth the monster under their bed. One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to him/her to quit. You decide to assign yourself.
You guys are awesome! I didn't expect this kind of response!
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"Are you not scared little girl?"
"You haven't met my daddy...."
A muffled scream followed by a shattering vase were heard in the bedroom adjacent.
*Its OVER Sheila, all you do is bitch and moan! I'm going back to the bar!!!!*
The monster sighed and sat next to the bed.
"Little one, rest your head. I shall be you defender for this night."
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About 10 minutes in to your first shift, you realize why.
:frrrrrrrrrraapppplllbbbtttt:
The indescribably awful smell floods your nostrils. You feel the putrid air sting your eyes.
"What in God's name are they feeding this kid!" You scream as you storm out.
The child's gentle giggles echo down the hall behind you, and in your head for eternity.
| 2016-10-14T19:26:07 | 2016-10-14T19:04:34 | 46 | 30 |
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