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[WP] "What do you mean you're only PART ghost? Was one of your parents human and the other-" "No, that's not what happened. You see, something scared me HALF to death." "You've GOT to be kidding me."
|
"How can I see your ghost self? What do others see?"
"I don't know, I was wandering all over the city to see if people can see me. That's when I saw you, you stood there like you had just seen a ghost."
"It was insane this is all insane I mean you're human but you're hovering above the surface with some sort of white energy around you," said Henry. "Wait, why are people looking at me like that?"
"You know they can't see me, right?"
"Right, I feel like the dumbest person right now. All those years of watching scifi films doesn't help you in such situations."
"I know, I can't even begin to wonder how this is all possible either."
"Can you see your human self?," Henry posed a question.
"I can't see myself. But I know my human self is interacting with my close friends and colleagues. It acts like me but it's sure as heck not me."
"Woah. May be I can start from there, y'know. Tell me, where would you be right now?" In a few minutes Henry brought him to his apartment in the Dock Avenue. "Should I even ask what scared you?," he asked cautiously.
"It's from my nightmare. I believe this happened during my sleep I transformed into this... Half ghost moments after I saw this dark figure I couldn't have a proper look at. It yelled at me like I did something wrong."
"What did it say?"
"Wake up."
"Dude, you're scaring the heck out of me."
"You asked for it."
"Ok go on, did you wake up at all?"
"That's the issue, I just couldn't. I froze."
"Do you think it can happen to others?"
"You think it isn't possible? I don't feel like a human, I'm not hungry but I'm craving for stuff and I can't pick anything up. The faster we figure this out the better."
"I'm sorry man, really."
"That's my roommate Kord. Ask him about me," The ghost pointed at his friend.
"I didn't quite catch your name," asked Henry.
"It's Paul."
Henry went to the reception desk and asked, "Hey, I'm a friend of Paul. Do you know where he is?"
"Are you sure? Paul just walked right before you... Who are you again?," Kord asked with an investigating look on his face.
"Um, sorry. I'm looking for... Paul Bettany. Is this 5B?," Henry dodged his question.
Kord stared at him momentarily and said, "That's a 10 storey building across the street."
"Thanks." Henry quickly got himself out of the building and stood at the entrance.
"So you can't see me too? What even in the world is happening?," Paul panicked.
"This outright shatters everything I've come to learn and believe," said Henry. "I know a friend from school who's a theoretical physicist in Feynman University. May be she can help you."
"What does this have to do with theoretical physics?"
"She knows a lot of stuff. Trust me."
"Would she believe you? All of this would sound absurd without proof. I'm sorry but I can't ask you to put yourself in this situation."
"Look, so are theories. I know that people wouldn't trust me if I said I've seen a ghost, well, half a ghost out loud but she would. She's a longtime friend of mine, she'll understand. I'll meet you tomorrow same place same time?"
"Yeah, literally not going anywhere, man."
"Sorry I didn't introduce myself, my name's Henry btw."
"It's good to meet you, Henry."
That was the most bizarre experience Henry has ever had in his whole life. He called Sarah once he parted ways with Paul.
Call goes to voicemail. "Hey... I apologize for calling you after such a long time. I need your expert on something, it's urgent. You free after lunch tomorrow? I'll come straight to your place," Henry recorded his message.
[Sure, at least you called. Leave a message, you know I can't handle suspense.] Sarah replied with a text. Henry started writing as soon as he got back to his apartment. He hit send after trying his best to describe the events.
"Ok, this should be good. I can't put it better than this."
It's 3 am. Henry is experiencing a nightmare in his sleep.
"Sleep...," said a collapsing voice.
"Who's there?," asked Henry, confused. It echoed through the corridor he stood in. Then a dark figure emerged from the shadows. "No, this isn't happening I'm dreaming, I should wake up."
"You can't. Just... Sleep," the voice crumbled and distorted as it spoke.
Henry went back to sleep.
"What the hell!?" Henry wakes up to a bright noon sunlight and finds himself hovering over a skyscraper. He doesn't waste time he quickly goes to look for Paul.
"No... H-How?," asked Paul as he looked disappointed.
"The same nightmare but it put me to sleep."
"Why?"
"My theory is that if it'd scared me I would've woken up, in your case it pushed you into a shock so that you won't wake up from it. We had near death experiences," said Henry. "Something tells me it knows about each of us and it acts accordingly."
Paul looked away, his face turned visibly bleak. He asked, "Did we... Die?"
"Far from it. Come on, let's go meet my friend," Henry nudged him.
"She can't even see you, Henry. What are we gonna do?"
"Doesn't matter. I sent her a text." Henry and Paul flew straight to Sarah's home.
Henry is late, Sarah picks up her phone and calls to ask if he's coming. Henry tended to her call immediately and spoke on the other end of the line.
"Wow, that was quick," she said. "What? What do you mean what is it? You told me you're coming over, remember? I'm waiting for over 20 minutes now. I have to get to the lab, you know?" — "Is everything alright?" — "Okay, I read your text last night btw." — "Hmm. Bye."
Henry hangs up on the phone. Sarah begins to suspect that something must be wrong. She turns around and sees Henry floating in her living room.
"Aaah!," she screamed and fell down on the floor.
"No, no, no," Henry flapped.
"You know what this means, right?," asked Paul.
"Dude, my friend just fainted looking at the two of us. There must be some way we can help her," said Henry concerned about his friend.
"We can't, but she's next man."
"What are you- Oh my God! I didn't think about that, she literally saw us. Which means she could get a nightmare."
"I'm beginning to understand what this is."
"Yes, this is an invasion of some kind. But we don't know what we're dealing with."
"Let's ask your friend when she wakes up."
WP.r #123 • r/FleetingScripts
|
With ink still wet, the author set down his quill, completing the last recipe of Liber de Coquina. In this moment, the air of a crisp Naples evening hung heavy, for the grinding gears of fate changed direction.
Sitting in his 13th century villa, he had no knowledge of the events he had set in motion. With the recipe now burned to the future minds and tongues of coming generations, he would preserve life for long past the coming of the Harbinger.
...
Many years later, two agents of the Tower House stood at the doorway of an ratty apartment.
"We won't be long, Mr. Johnasse," Agent Set Lever offered, not speaking louder despite the riotous music issuing from within the apartment. “We can tell you’re a busy man. May we come inside?”
Agent Minute Wheel stood still as stone, dialing his smile up to three. If Set Lever could handle this on his own, which he undoubtedly would, then this would be their last assignment together.
“Yeah, of course,” the young man said, looking glazed under the spell of some mild hypnotic. “This is about the..” he held up his hand questioningly, waving it back and forth.
“Yes,” Set Lever said. “We just wanted to hear the story, first hand as it were."
"Cool, so you guys are from the government or something like that?" he kicked a path through the trash covering the floor of the kitchen.
"Something like that," Set Lever said, flexing his neck as he removed his hat. For want of a coat rack, he held it in his hand. He still hadn't adjusted to modern culture's woefully insufficient hat infrastructure.
"Bet," the young man said, putting a large amount of focus into the action of muting the music with the stereo remote. Whether this was due to his 'elevated' mental state or a side effect of his affliction was difficult to tell. He fell into a recliner and turned towards the large couch taking up most of the living room. Young bachelors never bought couches like this. They were just there, an ever-present stain-covered backdrop to the start of adulthood. Minute Wheel sat showing no sign of his distaste.
Set Lever did an admirable job as well. "So, as you describe in your own words..."
"I got scared half to death and now I have a ghost hand." Billy Johnasse held up his hand and Minute Wheel watched with a scholar's eye as the skin, then the tendons and flesh underneath went incorporeal. The now skeletal hand tapped on the sagging coffee table with loud clicks before the bones faded as well, leaving only a thin swirling shadow of faint deep purple and blue where the hand had been.
Of particular interest was the crosssection appearance of his wrist where blood flowed through the circle terminals of vessels, disappearing just as each rush reached the edge. You could count a heartbeat in the pattern. It was fast. He pressed the hand through the cushions of the recliner and brought up a quarter, seeming to hang in the air. The bones slowly reformed followed by the rest until the hand was fully fleshed again.
"I can do my whole arm, but not when I'm baked-I mean tired," Billy corrected hastily. Neither agent reacted. "I think if I really tried I could do my whole left side but I'm afraid I'll get stuck like that. That would be pretty bad, being perpetually half-ghost."
"Very interesting. Now, you say scared half to death. Can you elaborate on that?" Set Lever said, looking the young man in the eyes with just a bit too much eagerness.
"Yeah, yeah," Billy replied. "I was rolling and having a really bad trip. The Christmas tinsel we still had up exploded into blue ice spiders and they were taking me to the Devil's house. I passed out and remember like an intense dream. It was like a factory for people and they were dipping them in vats and writing on their foreheads with this big machine, like a weed eater. It must have been thousands or more people all in long lines I couldn't see the end of on either side."
Minute Wheel risked the briefest look in his partner's eyes.
"And every once in a while the weed eater would scream and cry like a baby. Whoever it was working on was made to lay down in a pan of people. Then they covered the people with some yellow stuff like tar. I managed to run away just as it started on me. Then I woke up to my roommate pouring water over me. He gets off in a couple hours if you wanna talk to him, too."
"That's alright, Mr. Johnasse," Set Lever said calmly. "Is that all you remember of this dream?"
"Yeah, I've gone over it a bunch of times. It wasn't even like a dream, more like watching a video I forgot I recorded."
"Alright, well I think we have all we need. Thank you, Mr. Johnasse." Set Lever rose and shook the man's more Earthly and Mundane hand.
"Wait, you're not recruiting me to be a super ghost spy of something?" the young man asked as he stood.
"Not really how we operate but we have your number if we need it. Have a good day." Set Lever popped his hat back on his head, resting on his long ears.
Minute Wheel followed him outside, silent until they reached the cool air conditioning of the sedan. "Good," he offered laconically.
"That was the best first-hand account we've gotten of the repository, right?"
"By a fair margin, unmistakable that young man had seen the other side. I'll work up the report." Set Lever took out a fountain pen and flipped open the workbook.
"No time, I think I know what the stoner was describing." Minute Wheel cracked the glass covering the pocket watch in the console and took it out.
Set Lever raised his eyebrows. "Bad enough for that? What were they doing with all that flesh?"
Minute Wheel nodded as he braced himself before twisting the wheel of the device with a smooth oiled action. The world went grey around them before bursting into the endless white hall of the Tower House.
"Bait," Minute Wheel said as he stepped out of the sedan, "and if they need that much, it can only be one thing they're trying to snare."
"The Monday, the Harbinger," Set Lever said opening up his journal to a sketch of a feline smile surrounded by tentacles.
...
Miles away in Muncie, Indiana, an orange tabby cat stirred in his sleep. He smelled something fine, almost too faint to pick up. Dark and distant forgotten memories of time before Jon flirted just out of reach. He stretched under his blanket and fell asleep again.
The unknowing savior of humanity sat nearby, reading the latest news, no inkling of the horrors awaiting him. The fruit of our collective souls would soon grow too heavy on the vine, pulling the scales past what any mundane pasta pie could offer as recompense.
This story is one of awakenings obscene, of suffering unimaginable, insanity untenable, a soul frayed, a love lost, and many many Mondays.
/r/surinical
| 2021-04-28T10:33:40 | 2021-04-28T09:27:47 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough
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It wasn't often that my interactions with the Galaxy Guardian's got emotional. I'd put on a show, scream about how the little brats would get what's coming. It was never personal though, and for the most part as their teacher I was very proud of them. This however, was breaking my heart. Just taking it and ripping it in two.
They needed to be better when the time came. They needed to work together as a team properly. They needed to understand and utilize their powers better. They NEEDED TO NOT ABANDON A MEMBER OF THEIR TEAM FOR OVER A MONTH! Okay, calm down, you gotta remember something Miss Mystique. They're teenagers, not even seniors.
I knew there were problems with team cohesion, I could tell from school. Guardians Ursa and Draco constantly fought with each other, and were constantly ignoring Lyra. The biggest issue however had always been Corvus. The girl had problems. Orphan, staying at the school because of a government program. Anti-social, touchy, had a tendency to put others down. Frankly a mess.
But she was smart. There was a reason she had gotten the Corvus Gem. She has the cleverness of a raven, and used the gems powers well. But again, the issue of the rest of them being idiot teenagers. It wasn't something with powerful combat applications. Who needs scouting when you could move super fast, heal people by singing, or shoot fire from your hands?
The plan was simple. Kidnap the girl, deprive them of their information. Teach them all a lesson about needing each other. You think it'd be simple, right? I knew it wasn't going to be that simple after my forces captured her. The Erinyes had her bound in their ropes, and I was about to start a little speech I prepared when she cut me off. "Don't bother gloating, they're not coming. Whatever you're going to do to me, just fucking do it."
The sheer bitterness in her voice stopped me in my tracks. I almost broke character then, but I managed to just purse my lips and make things curt. Took the gem, and had them drop her in one of the crystal cells. Now, things go as normal as I wait for them to figure out how to get to my lair and save them. Or so I thought it would go.
A full month has passed, and they weren't any closer than they had began. They talked big, saying I wouldn't get away with it. They'd rescue her. I would have given them the benefit of the doubt, if not for school. Being their literal teacher had its benefits, and I was able to observe them in class. The only one who seemed concerned was Guardian Lyra, bless her heart. The others... just didn't seem to care at all. I even tried poking them in the right direction, and nothing!
Corvus began to crack after about two weeks. Sharlene bringing her food and talking to the girl helped, but I couldn't keep her here for a month. Especially since a week ago she started crying herself to sleep. It was one such night, with me staring at a crystal ball, watching one of my students curled on the bed crying. I couldn't take it anymore. She deserved better.
With a wave of arcane gesture and incantation, I teleported myself into her cell. She shot up in an instant, eyes puffy red and thick black hair an absolute mess. She stared at me for a moment before lunging at me with a fist. Without the power of her gem, it was child's play to catch it in a hand. I simply stared at her sadly as she glared back at me, the two standing like that. "You weren't wrong when you said they didn't care, did you?"
"What the fuck do you care? You're the one that put me in here?!" She practically screamed, yanking her fist free. I let her, ducking the swing she threw following that. We went like that for a bit, her venting her frustration with her fists and me just dodging. Eventually she tired, panting as she glared at me.
"I put you in here because you deserved better. I never intended for you to be here this long." She gave me a look like I was crazy and I ran a hand over my face. How do I hide the truth and still get the point across... "You Guardian's are so pathetic, it's not even fun to fight you. How often have you all almost lost because of something stupid, only to win through pure luck?"
She opened her mouth to respond, only for me to cut her off. "How often does Ursa and Draco arguing get you all noticed? How often does Centaurus rush ahead before you can scout? How often does Lyra have the correct answer to a problem and just gets ignored? How often are you ignored when providing valuable information, because your leader has the tactical acumen of a sponge?"
Her mouth clicked shut and she just stared at me wide-eyed. I hit the nail on the head it seems. Letting out a sigh, I ran a hand through my hair. "I'm going to let you in on a secret. I don't actually hate any of you. I might scream about you all being brats and all that, but that's more a diversionary tactic than anything. At most you mildly frustrate me. And as much as you might think it, I'm not so heartless as to be able to ignore a girl crying herself to sleep. So," I sat myself down on the small bed in the cell "let's have a little heart to heart Vanessa."
|
**Part One**
Sam Sinister strode down the hallway to the cell blocks for the thirtieth time. "Today's the day!" he announced, his practiced basso thundering down the concrete to the lone occupied cell. It was the fifth time he'd said that, he noted offhand. Sure, it hadn't been true the first four times, but today was different. There was a hostage \*negotiator\* now. And Vikner was quite good at bargaining, too, Sam had to admit; he'd been talked down from his initial offer of twenty million to four. Sure, sure, it was a fivefold compromise, but as Vikner had mentioned in their discussion, a hostage is a gun with a single bullet. One had to be practical about these sorts of things.
And yet, despite his intimidating black costume with matching cape, for the sixteenth time now he was met with silence from the cell, not so much as a whimper. Had all of this really lost its impact with her so quickly?
He reached the cell door holding Owl Girl in captivity. "I said, 'Today's the day!'" he repeated, knocking on the solid steel door and sliding the eye-slit open to peer inside. "Isn't it exciting?"
Owl Girl didn't respond. She sat on her bed, eyes closed, in precisely the same position she'd been yesterday when he'd come to check on her. Naturally she'd been divested of her high-tech goggles and jet boots, and Sam still relished seeing her in the same style of plain orange jumpsuit that clothed so many of his friends she'd helped put away. Still, the look of abject defeat on her face deflated him.
"Where's the witty repartee, Owl Girl?" He asked. "I specifically requested it! Come now, I even left you a list of some good jabs yesterday!" He glanced to the bolted-down steel table where his handwritten list lay untouched.
Owl Girl leaned back against the concrete wall of her cell, pushing the bun of her disheveled brown hair awkwardly upward. That in turn must have caught the temples on the thick glasses she was wearing and tilted the lenses downward. And yet she made no motion to correct what must have been uncomfortable, and still gave no verbal response.
Sinister sighed and opened the cell door. It wasn't something he'd tried at all until Week Two, and not alone until Week Four. He strode inside and stared at her for a moment.
"You know, this really isn't any fun for me when you're not acting like a hero. I don't want to be 'that kind' of villain, but this is a two way street. There's give and take, you know? I say something villainous, and \*you\* say something like," he raised his voice several octaves in a terrible falsetto, "'Evil will never triumph over true hearts and kindness!' Or something. I assume you guys have a writer on staff to come up with more original banter."
For the first time that day, Owl Girl spoke up. "What's the latest ransom?"
Sinister sighed again and took a seat at one of the plain steel chairs. "Four million."
She shook her head. "Still too high. Peregrine won't pay more than fifty thousand for me. He'll just keep assuming I've figured out an escape plan and I'll save myself."
"That's... how would you know the number?" Sinister inquired.
"Well, it's just a guess, but I doubt I'm too far off," she admitted.
"And speaking of escape attempts, I noticed you haven't tried any. It's very wise of you to know better."
Owl Girl's eyes opened and met his for the first time. "Lose the high-tech costume, and I'm just an ordinary woman. Am I supposed to cut through steel with the plastic tableware you give me? Or maybe break through the concrete and rebar with my non-existent super strength?"
"But Peregrine knows that, doesn't he?"
"Peregrine thinks I'm fucking \*MacGyver\*, Sinister." Owl Girl rolled her eyes. "In his eyes I'm a paper clip and a roll of duct tape away from making a bomb that'll take out this entire lair."
"But you're not."
Owl Girl offered a glare in lieu of a verbal response, then leaned her head back against the wall.
Sinister stood and cleared his throat. "Well, like I said, negotiations continue. What's that they say: hope springs eternal? In the meantime, please don't try to hurt yourself or anything, I'd rather return you intact."
"You took my shoelaces, Sinister. And like I said, plastic tableware. I was more likely to die from choking on last night's dinner. If you won't give me a metal knife, please stop serving whole cuts of meat, would you, you jackass?"
There at last, a bit of the \*fire\* he'd expected. It was, indeed, his first glimpse of Owl Girl the Hero, and quite the difference from the woman he'd overheard sobbing quietly the night prior. "I'll speak with the cook."
Sinister turned and left. He closed and locked the steel door. Surely there was some way to bring back that fire, right? There must be \*something\* he could do. Strolling back down the hallway, making sure his cape billowed appropriately, an idea came to his head. It was an old quote from Freud: *Love and work are the cornerstones of our humanness.* Love, well, villains didn't \*love.\* But work? Maybe he could do something about that.
| 2021-08-04T16:47:21 | 2021-08-04T16:05:18 | 132 | 79 |
[WP] You find yourself in purgatory, you will be forever stuck unless you write that book that "you are totally going to write". The book will be published in the world of the living.
|
"I'm gonna need Internet access."
The pale, ghostly figure blinks at my demand, its translucent body softly flickering in and out of existence.
"Why?" it asks, its voice reverberating through the endless, misty void around us, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
I shrug. "Research, obviously. You can't expect me to write my masterpiece if I can't get the historical details accurate."
Grey mists swirl about the entity as it tilts its head in confusion. "But your proposed work is fiction," it states plainly.
"Exactly!" I enthuse, "It's speculative fiction. All the more reason I need to get the details right. Oh, uh," I motion towards the small wooden desk beside me, "Could you also get me set up with a mechanical keyboard and a Scrivener license?"
The entity proffers another look of confusion.
I continue, "Look, the typewriter is cute in a vintage kinda way, but finishing this thing is going to take *ages* without the proper tools."
"But, time is of no consequence in purgatory. You have eternity to write your work."
"Apparently not." I chastise, "Look, if you want this thing published in the living world, it's gotta hit the market soon while it's still on trend. Who knows if anyone will care in like, a year, let alone 400. Will people still even be *reading* in 400 years? Do you know?"
"No," the entity seems flustered, "the shape of things is not yet decided."
"Great!" I smile, taking a seat at the desk, "Then we're in agreement!"
"I'm not sure--"
"Hey, we don't have forever here. Time is money and all that stuff. You gonna help me get started or no?"
Defeated, the entity sighs and waves its hand. The mists obey the silent command. Spiraling tendrils creep out from the surrounding void, wrapping the typewriter in an ethereal embrace. The mists subside, and on the desk before me sits a single monitor, a mouse, and a simple mechanical keyboard.
I raise an eyebrow, "Just the one monitor?"
The entity slumps visibly and raises its hand again. Conjuring another monitor from the mists. "Is there anything else you need?" it asks, annoyance seeping into its words.
"Nope! You've been great! I'll start right away!"
The entity nods curtly as it fades away.
I turn back to the monitors and open up Scrivener. As I'm setting up a new project through the interface, it prompts me to name my manuscript.
I stare blankly at the screen.
...
I've got nothing.
Names are hard.
With a sigh, I launch a browser and pull up Facebook. My notifications are absolutely overflowing with heartfelt messages of bereavement from friends and family.
It's touching. Really it is.
One by one, I go through all of them, the stark reality of my death finally hitting me.
Wiping away tears, I take a quick peek to make sure the entity isn't watching. There's nothing here with me. Nothing here but me, my equipment, and the churning, endless mists.
An idea coalesces in my mind.
Sniffing loudly, I begin writing a new status: "So, uh. You guys are *not* going to believe this..."
|
I stared around in disbelief at the white void around me. The only things that seemed to exist in this empty space were myself, two chairs, a small table with a typewriter on it and the pale woman sitting across from me. "Let me get this straight. I'm dead ... and the only way to get out of this purgatory is to write down the entire story that I've been procrastinating for years?"
"That's what the paper says," the woman sitting in front of me said. Her dress rustled in the air as though as there was some kind of strange wind that only she could feel and her skin was so translucent that I could see her veins and bones underneath. She pointed over at the typewriter. On the first page was a single typed sentence: "Finish your entire trilogy."
"But this doesn't make sense," I sputtered. "Like, isn't the afterlife supposed to be determined by whether or not you were a good person? Why does the universe care about my writing? Besides, I only managed to finish one book and it was never that popular. And what the hell happens after I get out of Purgatory?"
"I really can't know the answers to those questions," the woman said, shrugging. "I didn't write the rules of this place, I just live here."
I grasped my head as I struggled to deal with the insanity I was hearing. I had always wondered what the afterlife might be like, but this was certainly never a possibility that I had thought about. "What about you?" I finally said. "Why are you here? Who were you on Earth?"
The woman hesitated for a bit before answering. "I'm really not sure. Most of my memories of Earth are blurry from when I lived there centuries ago. I just woke up here in this void before you, knowing that I was supposed to help whoever arrived. And that once I was done, I would move on from Purgatory as well."
I stared at the typewriter for a few moments before I reached out to touch it. It felt surprisingly normal for something that existed in a void. "Wait a minute," I said as a thought struck me. "Maybe...maybe it's safer if I don't write. What if whatever comes after this is even worse than purgatory?"
The woman's brow creased. "I'm sure that you"ll get a choice of whether or not to stay," she said in a reassuring voice. "And besides, wouldn't you rather try to finish something in this void? I mean, it's not like there's anything else to do here."
"I mean...I really just don't know," I said, sighing. "I've been having writer's block for years. I'm not sure if I could finish my story, even if I spent all my focus on it." I slumped further into my chair. "Maybe, I'll just take a break for a couple of weeks--"
"Look, I can help you, Greg," the woman interrupted, grabbing my arm with her ice cold hands. There was a faint tinge of frustration in her voice. "But you can't keep delaying like this. You finally have all the time to write about what you want and you just keep making excuses to your fans every single year about why you can't finish the series. Just sit down and --"
I yanked myself out of her grip as I stared intently at her. "If you really lived centuries ago, how could you possibly know about what I tell my fans?" I quietly said.
| 2021-10-07T08:29:40 | 2021-10-07T07:03:09 | 155 | 31 |
[WP] Twenty years ago, you gave a friend some bad advice, and he was left homeless and penniless. Today, you opened a letter from him with a million-filler check and a note: “Thanks for the advice! You’re a real friend.”
|
“Ma’am! You can’t go in there!” Melissa brushed past the secretary and shouldered open the faux-wood door. Inside was a conference room, sunlight streaming in from floor-to-ceiling windows. Three men sat mid-joke at the far end of a long and glossy dark conference table. On a whiteboard was a hastily drawn logo of a trash can on fire, with the words “Dumpster Fire BBQ Sauce - fall release?” circled under it.
In the middle of the three men who’d been interrupted, his once brown hair all gone gray now, was Dave Schuster.
“What,” said Melissa, holding up the letter and the check in her fist, “is this?!” Melissa pointed at him, and gestured at the office, her motions made wide by anger. “*What is this*?!”
Dave sat frozen, mouth slack, but with a glimmer of something in his eyes. “I, uh...didn’t know how to tell you.”
Melissa fought back the urge to scream. She forced the words out one at a time. “I thought you were dead!”
From behind the secretary made some noises about handling this later, ma’am, and would you please wait in the office, until Dave gestured to her that it was ok. The other men in the meeting made some excuses and left, though the one with the necktie was clearly curious about what was happening. Melissa had an out of body moment where she could see what necktie saw: a sweaty wild woman, still in her yoga clothes and a hastily donned pink parka, frizzy hair bursting every which way, holding a letter in her hand like a dagger and looking like she was two seconds from flipping the conference desk through the expensive windows. But the thought just floated over her roiling emotions.
“Twenty years. *Twenty years*! You disappeared without a *trace*!” Melissa said.
“I know, I know,” Dave started.
“And at the end of twenty years, when all this time I’ve envisioned your body under a bridge or in an alley somewhere, and then, hello, what’s this?” Melissa thrust the letter at him. “ ‘Thanks for the advice! You’re a real friend.’ Oh, and a check for *a million dollars*!? What is wrong with you, Dave!?”
She had cornered him, was right up in his face, close enough to see the red veins in his eyes. Dave still had a look of something there. Was it fear? Maybe, but there was definitely a hint of hope, too.
“It’s true. What you told me kept me going, all these years. You remember?” Dave asked.
“Of course I remember! I told you to follow your dreams, quit being a welder and sell your own barbeque sauce instead,” Melissa said, her voice catching on a sob. “And then when it failed, you vanished. I spent the next twenty years wishing I hadn’t said anything!”
“No, don’t. Don’t say that,” said Dave. He turned away, leaned against the window. “I’ll admit…when I’d lost all my savings and Linda kicked me out and left me for that trucker from Nashville, I wondered if I’d screwed up. But I don’t regret it at all.”
“God, Linda. I hadn’t thought of her in years,” said Melissa. She sat down and wiped her eyes. “I always got the feeling she resented me, for supporting you.”
Dave turned back, smiled faintly. “She resented me, because I took your advice over hers.” Dave sat down, looked at his arm resting on the table. “Everyone–Linda, my mom, my friends–they told me I was a fool for quitting a union job. Everyone but you. I never forgot that, no matter how dark times got. That someone else believed in me. That you believed in me.”
“But…what happened? Why’d you leave without a word?”
“Shame, mostly. Failed business, failed marriage. I couldn’t face it. Just like I couldn’t face you.” Dave sighed. “After that, I was homeless for a year. But then I got back on my feet and gave it another go. Took some night classes on marketing, put in some work on an MBA…didn’t finish but I got enough out of it to figure out what I did wrong, and do it better. And now, here I am.”
Melissa let out a long sigh. She looked at Dave, he looked back at her. Then her watch beeped. “Oh, crap, I gotta go. My daughter’s getting out of school now.” For a moment that hopeful look snuffed out of Dave’s eye. Or maybe it was just too bright in the room. Melissa set the crumpled letter and check down on the table and stood up.
“This conversation isn’t done, Dave Schuster. I’m still furious with you. You are gonna need to apologize to me for all the worry you caused, and properly too. You can’t just, just show up dropping checks and hope that smoothes everything over,” said Melissa.
“Noted,” said Dave, with a weak smile.
They exchanged numbers and Melissa left. At the doorway outside the room sat that secretary, who was trying to pretend she hadn’t been listening right outside the door. Melissa turned to look back at Dave. there he was, the man she’d thought dead for twenty years, now CEO of his dream job and on the cusp of launching a new line of “Dumpster Fire” sauces. With that weak smile on his face, that aura of sadness. Melissa couldn’t tell why he’d look sad though, when he finally had everything he wanted, and enough money to go throwing around million-dollar checks to boot.
The watch beeped again. Melissa ran to get to her car to get back across town and pick up Sophie.
|
*"C'mon, man, just go out with her already."
His smirk falling into a lopsided frown, Morgan Garrison turns to me. "Jesus, Sky, what is it with you?"
"She may be my sister, but if I can handle her for *nineteen years*, I think you can handle her for the rest of your life. I mean, you already slept with her after all." I rub my fingers against the lines sketching themselves between my eyebrows. Sure, I was upset at first, but Jordan said my best friend made her happy. Why should I be the one keeping them apart?
"Look, Sky, it was a mistake. I don't think-"
"Just give it a shot! What's the worst that's going to happen, she quits coming around when you're at my place?" I wiggle my eyebrows in another effort to remove the newfound concern lines, and Morgan's smirk reappears.
"At least I've got *your* blessing, your parents on the other hand.." *
*________________*
The memory shatters around me as my eyes refocus on the slim letter in my hand. *Twenty years...* I think to myself, *Morgan would be 41, then.* My fingers trace the sharp edges and I feel a bite on my thumb. "Fuck'n papercuts," I pop the newfound sore into my mouth. Salt and rust overtake the sweet aftertaste of my dinner.
The chill from the night begins to crawl into my bones as I hurry back to the warmth I emerged from. Amanda snorts as she sees me taking the form of a newborn child, and she rolls her eyes while I make the detour to the bathroom. The paper crinkles from behind me, reminding me of the memories I *usually* refused to let myself dwell on. "Why now? Why are you writing me *now*?"
Unwilling to let my mind wander further than it should, I snag the butter knife from the kitchen sink as I snap back into focus. I settle next to my girlfriend on the couch, and she kisses my bandaged finger before going back to her scrolling. The knife slices easily enough through the paper, and I find myself staring at what could only be compared to an artist's immaculate scribble.
*"Thanks for the advice! You're a real friend."*
*-M. Garrison*
"What the fuck?" I mumble aloud. Amanda pauses and side-eyes me. I don't even bother to chuck a quarter into the jar. Attached to the letter is a check for an insurmountable amount of money. Her eyes widen as she repeats my phrase.
"Jesus, what kind of advice warranted *that*?" Her mouth remains open following the tumble of words. "It's gotta be fake, right? Who's M. Garrison, anyways?" Etched on her forehead is the crease I attempted to smooth off my own twenty years ago. I can only assume I look the same.
"Morgan."
A gasp reminds my heart to continue beating. "No..not..not *the* Morgan?"
A sigh is her only response. Amanda, the love of my life, my incredibly accepting and unselfish other half, shakes her head in shock.
*__________________*
The sirens unbalance the calm of the night. I'm drenched in fluids, unaware of the slippery mess between my shoulderblades and the smell of piss from my crotch. The only fluid I'm aware of is the now sticky mess between my fingers.
He asks me a question. "What?" I look up into the blinding light.
"I *said*, how do you know these two?" He shifts his light slightly, and I notice the frown.
"He's my best friend, and she is- um, was my sister." The smell of smoke is filling my nostrils and I want to puke again.
"Where are you coming from?"
"Uh, we were at this.. um.. party. And, well, she got into a fight with her ex, and we got kicked out. I-I'm so sorry dude, I know it's wrong to-"
"Look, kid, I know you're sorry, you've said it a thousand times. She's getting lifted to the hospital as we speak. I need to know your names, your parent's names, and their numbers. I'm just trying to help you guys out, yanno?" I stare past the light and into his eyes. For some reason, my brain refuses to believe him.
*_____________________*
"Morgan... it should be me in there. I never should have-"
"Stop it, Sky. There's nothing we can do about it now." His eyes are glassed over. His skin, ripped apart countless times. The guards must have finally noticed how it was happening, since the nails on his hands were cut short. He didn't even attempt to hide the marks anymore. Bruises covered his neck, and his mouth was a permanent frown.
"Don't do this to yourself anymore. It was my fault. God, it was fucking Brad's fault for fighting with her anyways. I... I miss her, Morgan. I'm so-"
"If i hear the s-word one more time, it won't just be me looking like this. These cuffs can go around your neck, too, yanno."
Despite the circumstances, a smile plays on the corner of my mouth. "My mom said it'll get better. They don't blame you, you know. She told me to tell you that."
"Tell your mom that one day i'll realize that." The glassy look in his eyes refuses to waver. "I hope."
*__________________*
"I have no clue what his number is," my eyes refocus on Amanda, sitting in front of me. "I wish I would have stayed in touch."
| 2022-01-05T17:17:58 | 2022-01-05T16:24:39 | 123 | 24 |
[WP] A police commissioner has become over-reliant on the services of mystery writers, psychics, magicians, reformed con artists, meddling kids, men in bat costumes, and assorted other consultants, and must now explain themselves to an appalled Mayor.
|
Johan coughed as he entered the smoky room. The mayor loved his cigars.
"Hey, boss," he began to say, but cut himself short when he saw who else was there.
The cat was out of the bag; his big secret revealed.
A group of kids and their dog, a man in a bat costume, a janitor holding a vacuum -- and more. All the people he had relied on to solve cases and apprehend criminals he couldn't himself. His stomach felt like a buckshot of lead.
The mayor spun around in his chair and held his cigar between two fingers.
"Johan," he said, before taking a long drag. Everyone coughed as he exhaled. "Would you mind explaining who all these people are?"
"They're..." he stammered. How could he word it? Johan knew he wasn't supposed to bring in civilians for help, but these guys, they weren't exactly your average people. "They're... contractors. I've hired them in the past to aid in solving cases. It fit within our budget, so I figured it was fine."
The mayor's eyebrows shot up at Johan's bluff. "Contractors, really?" He pointed to the group with the dog. "Them? I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think those kids are old enough to pay taxes. And their dog's just an ordinary mutt."
The dog barked something that almost sounded like words, but then Johan took over.
"They're actually quite skilled. Remember the Slasher case? Without them, Randall would still be loose."
"Okay," the mayor said, "how about him? He's literally just a janitor with a vacuum cleaner. What skills could he possibly have?"
"That vacuum sucks up more than just dust, sir. He deals with paranormal activity."
The mayor sighed, unamused by what he was hearing. He took another drag of his cigar before continuing.
"And that guy, in the bat costume. He looks like he belongs at some BDSM expo. No, I see what you've really been doing. Come here."
Everyone in the room moved to the sides, forming a path straight to the mayor's desk. Johan, with his head down, flanked on both sides by the heroes, trudged ahead. He didn't know why, but he felt like a kid surrendering to his parents after having done something he wasn't supposed to.
"Yes, it is clear to me now," the mayor said, blowing a puff of smoke into Johan's face. "You've been embezzling funds, giving them to all your friends here. Isn't that right?"
Johan's face turned red at the accusation.
"Embezzlement?! No! I'm telling you the truth -- all these people," he gestured towards them, "they all have helped keep law and order, just like you or me. Sure they might look like your everyday person, but that's where the real heroes are! I promise you I've done nothing wrong."
The mayor put his hand to his head and shook it back and forth. "Johan, Johan... your twentieth service anniversary was coming up too... Look what I got you." From a drawer he pulled out a trophy. The plaque read: JOHAN WESKAL, 20 YEARS OF SERVICE TO THE CINCINNATI POLICE DEPARTMENT. On it was a beautiful golden police hat. He dropped it into the trash. "A shame."
Then, the mayor held out his hand. Johan couldn't figure out what he wanted.
"Sir?" he asked, annoyed about seeing his trophy thrown away.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be," the mayor responded. "Your badge."
Johan's heart thumped against the metal pinned to his shirt. "Y-you don't mean..."
"No need to be angry, we all take risks sometimes. This one just didn't pay off for you." He looked at all the people standing around awkwardly. "I'll preserve your dignity, don't worry. Officially, you'll just have found a new calling in life. Maybe a midlife crises. But in reality we both know what has happened in this room."
Johan's blood boiled. He thought about all the times he had risked his life for the city. All the times he was out on the field, while the mayor just hid behind his desk. And this is how he was repaid?
Fine.
He *would* find a new calling in life, Johan decided, as he ripped the badge off his shirt.
He looked at all the faces as he passed through the valley of crime fighters. He knew each and every one of them, knew their strengths and weaknesses. From working with them he knew what made them tick and what their greatest fears were. And he knew about the holes that lied between their powers.
Gaps existed, blind spots of criminality waiting to happen. Before, he had been the one to cover them up, acting like a putty that joined all the pieces together. But now, with him gone, the cracks showed once more, and he couldn't wait to begin.
Back at his apartment, Johan studied himself in the mirror. He looked at the neatly trimmed beard, the flawless skin, the bright eyes. And then, making sure the mask was snug around his face, he saw a nobody looking back at him.
A nobody who was about to seamlessly navigate the maze of darkness. A nobody was going to start a crime spree never before seen. A nobody who was going to become the most wanted man in the city.
A nobody who couldn't be stopped by anybody.
Why?
Because only the nobody knew all the heroes, and all the cracks that laid between them.
|
“Joe, what even is your job anymore? I don’t mean to be rude, but at this point our police department is made up of whatever freak decides they want to solve a crime. Last week we had a child and his robotic friend solve a crime. You let a child and a robot go into a drug den. You should be thankful they got out of there alive.” Mayor Gurdy rubbed his forehead, staring at the newspaper clippings scattered over his desk. Trying to make sense of the strange stories.
“They not only got out alive, but they also stopped the operation. It was damn fine police work.” Joe took a long swig of his flask, already having a slight wobble to his step.
“Joe. That’s not the point. Police work is something you need to be trained in. You can’t just let any vigilante enforce the law. Don’t you have any sense of pride for your badge? How long has it been since you went out and stopped a crime?” Gurdy continued to scan the headlines between his words, stopping on a headline that caught his eye. ‘Man dressed as cat, licks armed robber into surrender.’ He didn’t even want to bring up that headline with the commissioner.
“I don’t have time. I must let out the signal, make sure everyone knows there is a crime happening. Without my symbol, this city would fall. I am the pillar of this community.” Joe said, drool leaking from the edge of his lip as he stumbled towards the desk, slouching against it. “Oh, Catman. That sandpaper tongue of his sure gave that villain a licking.”
Gurdy shivered at that phrasing. “Villain? These are criminals, not villains. The man was just trying to rob a petrol station, not take over the world. Please tell me you aren’t treating these people as supervillains. Oh, Joe. I’m sorry, but sending out a signal just isn’t enough of a job to keep your position. I’m going to have to let you go. I can get you some help? There’s a rehab clinic across the state that deals with cases like yours. I’ll pay your fees.”
“If Catman wasn’t there to lick the villain, who knows what might have happened. It’s like Schrödinger’s Catman. Who knows what would have been in that box of crime?”
Gurdy didn’t know how to respond to that. For the first time in his political career, someone stumped him. He was certain the Schrödinger’s cat reference made little sense in this scenario, trying to steer the conversation away from it. “How about you just try rehab for a week? If you don’t like it, we can try something else? Maybe give you an office job.”
“An office job? Over my dead, bloated corpse. The city needs me. I’m also the only one that knows the passwords to all the devices in the office. You can figure them out eventually, but do you really want to go through all that hassle? Imagine a week without being able to operate the computers and databases. Not even Catman could save you then.”
“WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND CATMAN?” Gurdy stood up from his chair, face red with rage. “Catman this and Catman that. What is so good about Catman?”
Joe moved to the mayor’s side, patting his shoulder. He leaned in closer, whispering into his ear. “Keep this between us, but I’m Catman. Your city’s protector is also his commissioner.” Joe tried to wink, but his eye only twitched, the acholic breath stinging the mayor’s senses before Joe finally moved away.
“You’re the Catman? Why would you lick a criminal? Ugh. Joe, what am I going to do with you?” Gurdy pushed aside the articles, spotting one that made Joe smile. ‘Crime rate drops fifty percent!’
“Nothing. My strategy works. I only hire the first people I see before breakfast. That’s how I know I have the best workers. No one that isn’t a good worker gets up that early. None of my heroes have died and we solve crime. Why would you remove me?”
“Ok, look. I can turn a blind eye to this. You get results, but no more letting any meddling kids roam crime scenes. That’s a recipe for disaster. If you can do that, I think we can continue working together.” Gurdy had given up. He couldn’t change the commissioner’s mind, so he would just roll with it.
“Excellent. I’m glad you understand me so well, Mayor. You should see our newest recruits. We have Marvo, the mysterious fortune teller. He gets five out of ten predictions right. If you tell him the name of the person and give him ten minutes on a computer. We also have Lily the mime. Well, we had Lily. She forgot the key to her mime box, so she’s kind of stuck at this point. Oh, we also-“
“Please, don’t tell me anymore. I don’t want to know.” Mayor Gurdy smacked his forehead against his desk, sending the news articles around the room. “Just keep getting results, please, before I rethink my decision.”
“Sure, thing, mayor. Have a good evening, or as Catman says. Have a purrfect night.” With that, Joe rushed out of the room, leaving Gurdy to rest his sore forehead against the desk.
“Why couldn’t I have gotten the job in another city? I doubt anyone else has to deal with this.” He groaned.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-01-18T03:41:09 | 2022-01-18T00:13:27 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] Wizard duels are highly formalized. You state what spell you are casting, so your opponent has a chance to react. This makes it a battle of magical power and wit, rather than reaction speed. Your magic has always been weak. But you discovered a curious spell called simply: "Gun."
|
"Wizard Alexander", the judge said. "As the Challenger you will strike first. What spell will you utilize?"
I leaned into the swirl of air in front of me that was the amplification spell and muttered, "I'm gonna use the spell, Gun. Sir."
A round of chuckles and laughter rolled through the crowd. A full bodied belly laugh erupted from my opponent, Wizard Firebreak. At that my nerves hardened and the nervous sweat dripping down my back froze from my newly founded cold determination. I leaned back and whispered to myself, "What a stupid ass name."
Apparently, I didn't lean back far away enough from the amplification spell because a much larger round of laughter erupted from the stands. The judge shot me a look that could rival my mother's, back on the farm.
The judge turned to face Wizard Firebreak and asked him, "Wizard Firebreak, you have heard the Challengers declaration. Are you prepared to defend?"
Wizard Firebreak put on a the most superior look of smugness I've ever seen and lifted his right hand in a fist, the back of his hand facing the ground. He extended his index finger and curled it back towards himself in a beckoning motion causing the amplification spell in front of him to draw nearer to him.
"Shit", I thought to myself. He just appropriated another wizards spell for his own use with just a single finger. Gulp.
"I think the spell that gave me my name will suffice. If it can hold off the invading forces from the East for 3 whole days and nights then I'm sure it can handle whatever nonsense spell this country bumpkin is throwing."
"Okay gentlemen, declarations have been made. At this time please take your postions and prepare yourselves. If both participants are still able to compete after the first exchange we will switch positions and allow the Challenged the chance to take the offensive. And remember...a Wizards duel is a sacred tradition and if you act out of turn, I will handle the insult with extreme prejudice." There wasn't a drop of emotion on his face with judge stated this.
I returned to my starting position and gathered myself. I kept my head down and eyes closed while practicing the breathing techniques I learned from my master.
"Begin!!", shouted the Judge.
I looked up in time to see my opponent raise both his hands to chest height with his palms down. He was reciting a spell under his breath while staring directly at me. The light started to change as a ring of fire began to slowly rise from the ground around him. As it grew he fixed an almost evil smile to his face before being completely blocked in by a 20 foot wall of fire. The Firebreak.
I stilled myself and began to cast my spell. I grabbed the edge of my brown leather coat and threw it behind my hip with my right hand. With my leg clear, I reached my hand into the pocket of my trousers and said to myself, simply, "Gun."
I removed my hand from my pocket with my thumb and forefinger extended and the remaining three curled into my palm. The light around my hand shimmered and the shadowy image of some iron contraption enveloped it. The image was long and smooth and of a foreign design I'd never seen before learning the spell. I raised my hand and pointed it at my opponent, sighting my right eye down the length of of the unfamiliar shadow image and lining it up with where I last saw the pompous ass standing before hiding behind his fire.
I let out a breath and when it was halfway out I quickly lowered my thumb to lay on the side of my extended index finger. At the same time a small piece of metal in the magic overlay fell forward like a hammer striking a nail. There was an explosion of sound like a clap of thunder and my hand jolted back and up in the air. Dust fell from the walls of the old arena and silence reigned.
I looked up and saw that the famous Firebreak wall of flame was no more and the equally famous Wizard Firebreak was on his back. He was howling in pain, holding his right hand to his left shoulder, a pool of blood slowly gathering beneath him.
The judge ran up and examined Wizard Firebreak and immediately gestured behind him, presumably to signal the Healers that their skills were needed. He stared at me for a long moment in disbelief before making a hand gesture and summoning up another swirl of air for an amplification spell. "Ladies and Losers! I mean Wizards and Winners!" Alexander Gentlemen!", he sputtered then shook his head and took a deep breath.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Wizards and Commonfolk! I present to you your victor! WIZARD ALEXANDER!!!"
The silence broke and the crowed roared. I smiled and waved to the stands as I turned around and bent over to pick up my hat that fell off during the explosion of my spell. I placed it on my head and for a reason I knew not, I raised my right hand and touched the brim with my fingers while giving a slight nod to the judge. I turned around once again knowing the duel was over and strutted off from my opponent leaving a cloud of dust trailing behind me.
|
# Excerpts From A Pamphlet Circulated Anonymously
There has been much discussion of late—rather unhelpfully deemed “*much ado about nothing*” in several of our nation’s less rigorous periodicals—about the effects of a recent magical innovation heretofore known as “Gun.” While a great deal of this discussion has been productive, there have been other, unforeseen consequences to both the spell and the discussion itself that have seeped into public discourse and polluted the waters.
I should like to rectify this.
In brief, the history of Gun is as follows: a student at Dragonbeard Academy by the name of Josephine Smart, a pupil of rather weak magical ability but oddly apropos cleverness, discovered that by simply shouting the nonsense word “Gun” a small piece of metal might be fired from the magician’s finger at speeds in excess of 3,000ft/s. This discovery was initially scoffed at, as it lacked both the majesty of a fireball and the artful qualities of the esteemed lightning bolt, but by the end of its first month in existence Gun’s potential had been strikingly displayed. Through certain circumstances not entirely clear to me (but likely tragic and unintended) Gun’s first victim was Ms. Smart’s friend Bill Surtain, known to his friends as simply “Billy.”
Following Mr. Surtain’s untimely death, other students at Dragonbeard began experimenting with Gun, most notably Augustus Colt, Charli Winchester, and Maxwell Maxim, whose spell “Maxim Gun,” is even now wreaking havoc in no less than four nations across the straits of the Sunless Sea.
While such actions are unconscionable (and often glorified in the aforementioned, and forever after unmentionable, periodicals) that common man can almost be forgiven for looking past them.
How could he not? Go to the market and try to remember yester-year. Compare that conjured up market to now, the one conjured before you by the power of Gun. Look deeper. What was the price of sugar as recently as one year ago? Of nutmeg? Could a man among you afford curry, the powdered product of a few leaves, roots, and seeds which seems all but indispensable now? If your imagination fails you might even cast a spell. But careful, please. Now you never know where that might end.
With your sugar and your nutmeg, your luxuriant, richly smelling curries close at hand, close your eyes and nose and let your feet lead you away from the market, to places we all remember from that same old yester-year. Places where, in that year or two or three, you might even have been willing to go.
Have you seen the inner city lately? I thought not.
This matters.
There’s a man you might not know of. This is by design. His name is a pseudonym, a construct. You might say that this is something like a spell. Certainly, anonymity has been a form of magic for him.
On some streets in our fair city, this man’s name is Mac-11.
The spell, known colloquially as “Mac-11 Gun” is a revolutionary step forward in the magical-combat race that has transpired these last years. The Maxim Gun which bought your curry is capable of firing shards of lethal metal at a rate of 600 shards/minute, a rather startling increase over Ms. Smart’s innovation, whose single, accidental shot killed Bill Surtain. Mac-11 Gun fires 1200.
Allow me to repeat that. Mac-11 Gun, without any training or prior experience necessary, fires 1200 shards of metal per minute.
Certainly, once in use the magician might occasionally need to cease firing. One’s fingernail grows very hot, you see. Men in their blood have been known to boil them clean off. Even moderate use is supposedly uncomfortable.
But a fireball takes twenty years to master. A lightning bolt is an art. The pen I used to write this, conjured, was the product of six months of experimentation and concerted, active thought before I found a form I truly loved, that worked with me to shape these words.
And Bill Surtain was killed by Ms. Josephine Smart, both of them aged sixteen, because, quote, *“I was just so excited to show him what I’d found.”*
If you cannot imagine the market, if you won’t travel so far as a few blocks down the street, look outside instead. Are there children playing? Do you have any yourself? A daughter perhaps, or a son?
Dear reader, I must confess something. I interviewed Ms. Josephine Smart. We spoke at length and honestly, and the circumstances of Bill Surtain’s death are now perfectly clear to me. I had them from the source herself, the Gun still smoking in her lap as she thinks it will forever: a product, I am very certain, of her grief.
I have a minute-by-minute account of a boy’s death, from the girl who killed him, and not a moment of it makes sense.
Because it never will.
Did you have that daughter? That son?
I did.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
There's more at r/TurningtoWords. Take a look, a subscription. I've spilled out a couple hundred thousand words.
| 2022-02-19T11:32:31 | 2022-02-19T08:55:20 | 108 | 69 |
[WP] "DAMMIT!" the mighty demon king shouted, staring down at the virgin sacrifice that was tied to the altar. "STOP KILLING THESE INNOCENT KIDS!"
|
"But, Your Darkness-" the Head Priest, garbed in black satin robes, trembled. "You yourself said- said that-"
"*SILENCE, FOOL!* I NEVER STATED *CHILDREN,* THIS ONE IS BARELY TWELVE! I WANTED *VIRGIN ADULTS OF CONSENTING AGE!*"
A lesser priest stepped forward, avoiding the pale mist emanating from the demon. "Your Darkness, I think you don't understand. Those are very hard to find, especially with the culture being the way it is-"
The demon was fuming. "THE *CULTURE* BEING THE WAY IT IS? FOR FUCKS SAKE, FIX IT!"
"We tried," a third walked up. "But it is the way things have been since forever. There is no possible way to fix it in our lifetimes!"
The demon walked to the girl on the altar, her small body bound in chains of cold iron and gagged with a band of cloth-of-gold. He turned his head slightly, peering into the frightened grey-blue eyes of the child.
"Your Darkness, Lord Kuutod," the Head Preast seemed to have his wits back. "You *must* understand!"
The demon, Kuutod, gestured broadly, releasing the child. Her dark blonde hair seemed to glow, her eyes aflame. "Child, these men who claim to follow me have done you a greivious wrong. I can give you and two others of your choosing immortality, one for each of these three men, as a gesture of apology. Whom do you choose?"
"I have four in my family, two brothers and my sister. Might I have a fourth?" the girl's voice was soft, but had a hint of steel in it.
Kuutod smiled. "Only if you become a true follower of mine."
The girl kneeled. "I will forever serve you."
"Don't kneel," the demon gestured again, raising the girl back to her feet. "What is your name, child?"
"Erika."
The demon Kuutod placed a silver sword in Erika's hand, and placed an ivory half-mask on her face. "Then, High Priestess, my first command:
"These fools must disappear."
‐-------------------
(I am currently working on Erika's story, and it will be eventually found on r/ErikaTheUndying )
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"DAMMIT!" the mighty demon king shouted, staring down at the virgin sacrifice that was tied to the altar. "STOP KILLING THESE INNOCENT KIDS!" But his voice fell on deaf ears. They truely knew not what they did. The followers stood around the now lifeless body of the blonde child. She was barely 16, "pure" as disciples called her. Her name was irrelvant, her life was irrelevant, and now snuffed out for a reason who's relevance has been lost to time.
Millenia ago the demon king, revealed himself to a mortal with "the sight." He told that mortal many things about the universe and his world. He shared that which was most sacred: the secret to true happiness and elevation. "Demons" as his people came to be called had been hunted and many destroyed since that time all due to his one misstep.
Once the sighted one returned to the villiage and shared all that he was told he was immediately stricken dead. In the days that followed the village became split into the deciples and the faithless. The desciples began to pray to the demon king, despite any further interaction. Their ministry was based on both fear and love of the king. To appease the demon king they began with sacrafice as was their way of attonement. Knowing the seer was pure they continued to choose from amongst them one pure of heart having never known the touch of lust. The rituals were completed as both a thanks and as an appeasement for the knowlege he shared and the life he took. It mattered not that he truely had no power over them and that it was a heart defect that took the seer's life and not his hand.
The number of those saccrificed in his name was countless, but as a pennance he presented himself, though unbenounced, to his most loyal "followers" at the ritual every year. He stood on a his plane never able to be seen. He knew these countless deaths were by his hand, albeit unwittingly. As the ritual ended he thought of the faithless who managed to discover magicks that could destroy his people. For all his power and immortality he could do nothing to save them or those sacrificed in his name. He looked down on the girl's body and he wept. As he wept his tears were swept away by the aether that seperated their two worlds...
| 2022-03-26T19:40:21 | 2022-03-26T19:10:10 | 54 | 24 |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" the monster roars. You know the prophecy. You intend to buy your companions time to flee, sacrificing yourself. You are just as surprised as everyone else when you manage to kill the monster.
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"Huh. That was anti-climactic." And turn back to the gear I had dropped. Checking the various empty bags I would be expected to carry once the party looted the monster's lair. Magdalen the magnificent, real name Roy, came over to me as I checked to make sure the tins for supper were still available.
"So uhm, Richard."
I interrupted him. "Dave. I told you that is my middle name and my mother is the only one to use it. And then only when angry at me."
"Sorry Ri, ah, *Dave*. But how? I mean I want to write a sonnet or song of an epic battle. And you just punched the serpent. Cannot be killed by a man and all that. Last I saw you piss you were a man. . ."
"Magdalen. . I don't know alright. Back home I was an over weight failure. The only thing I did with any meaning was to take my mother shopping. I got hit by lightning on my porch and I was in these lands. Whole other world. I am still old, fat, and the only skill anyone recognizes is I can carry things."
"Well obviously."
Shaking as I hold up my hand. "Six months. My parents must think me dead. Which likely has broken my mother's heart. My father will be drinking more than ever. Since you lot hired me from the hiring hall. You have acted like I am an imbecile. Dagnus has pulled idiotic practical jokes on me. Like pantsing me when we go into town. And Sir Guy acts like I am something to wipe off his boots."
"We're sorry about that. We"
"NO. Let me finish. And out of every single person I have met in these lands. You three have treated me the best. I cook your food and carry your loot. I mend your clothes, and sharpen your weapons. And you always pay me what was agreed upon. You have no idea how much nicer you are than even my jobs back home. So when that thing came I decided to give you guys time to get away. But I am not a lamb for slaughter. I hit it with the only thing I have. My fist and all my anger at the . . . I do not have polite words to say. The snake reared back like it was surprised, then fell over dead. Now I got the packs on and you all said it was another half day to that thing's lair. Time I got back to work."
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It was over in mere moments.
The monster came down, my sword went up. And somehow, through luck or fate, it found the only weak spot in the monster's scales.
It fell dead at my feet.
It smoked and twitched and turned into stone.
Everyone looked at me.
I looked at them.
They looked at each other.
I looked at the stone pile.
I looked at the clouds.
I looked at the town that was no longer on fire.
Finally, my least favourite companion, Theddy the Bearman, yelled out, 'What the fuck just happened.'
I had no idea. I just shrugged.
I had closed my eyes and stabbed. I had done something I shouldn't have been able to. I just stabbed the Monster of a Thousand Lifetimes. I had listened to his speech. I had feared him for months...
And I had killed him. Simply by being... I had no idea how to finish that sentence.
Freddy the Elk Faced came closer to the pile of stones that was once the Monster and kicked it. He touched the sword still in the chest. He even bent down to smell the earth.
'Makes no fucking sense to me either.'
I waved my hands like I was about to go on a long journey and took a few steps backwards. I was no longer interested in staying near the stone corpse or these really weird accusations. How did I know I was the only human who would be able to kill him?
Maddy the Elegant Manchild was the only one to actually ask if I was okay. 'This is so much... weirdness. You okay, Bobby?'
At that moment the adrenaline swept through me and I fell to the ground in a heap. I looked at Maddy and began to cry.
'I have never seen a man cry when he has defeated his enemy in battle,' Theddy the Bearman said.
'Well I am fucking glad I'm not a man,' I said sarcastically. 'Some people have feelings.'
'Did you just say?' Theddy whispered. 'That you aren't a man?'
I groaned. 'I'm not a woman either.'
'I am confused,' Theddy said.
Maddy gave Theddy a look that could petrify wood. 'We have been telling you that Bobby was non-binary for ages...'
'So that is how it worked... Bobby wasn't a man.' Theddy said this with an awestruck look on his face. 'This is a weird loophole, but one all the same.'
I waved them away as I lay down on the grass and fell asleep. Fuck dwarves.
| 2022-06-27T18:12:40 | 2022-06-27T12:31:12 | 77 | 50 |
[WP] Your teacher asked you to demonstrate some magic in class. After you finish your demonstration the room is completely silent until your teacher asks "Do you have *any* idea what you just did?"
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I walked up to the center of the classroom, where demonstrations were held in both magical practice and theory. All around me were students, most of them from here in the city, not a country bum like myself. They'd probably have more experience than I did, so I decided to see how much I could do.
"Now, Travis, give your example." Mrs. Leesman said, fanning her arms out to the rest of the class. I could feel every single pair of judging eyes on me, as every single kid in our freshman class waited for what I would do.
"Alright, teach." I responded. With that, I started to focus.
The high domed roof, the spire, the levels upon levels of desks, reach up and around me like a court, the ornate exits in front and behind me, all of it started to fade from my consciousness, as I focused inwards.
*Think it through... feel it flow out out of you, every little spark of energy...*
I started to feel the innate magic the world generated around me, swirling chaotically in every which way.
*Slow, slower... slower... feel until nothing can be felt... gather inwards...*
I opened my eyes, and immediately, every little particle of magical energy was perfectly in view, glowing vibrantly and vividly. I willed everything around me closer, inwards, it all *had to be mine*.
*Be greedy, don't let a single one escape.. you are the void.... act like it... be the void.... be the void... be the void...*
I started the mantra that I kept in my head when starting large spells. Humans were inherently magicless, and we needed to absorb the particles of energy around us to manipulate it into doing anything. Slowly, I started to feel that very lack of magical substance in the world around me that triggered the next phase of this particular spell.
At this point, I broke my concentration, since I didn't need it anymore. The gathering phase was done. Now it was time to make the circle.
Immediately, the world around me came back into focus. I felt stronger, more powerful, like I'd been given immense amounts of caffeine, and I was ready internally to explode.
So, carefully, I focused all that internal pressure towards one single spot in the air, gesturing for Mrs. Leesman to move out of the way, which she kindly did.
"Now, for the spell."
Most of the kids watched on eagerly as I walked to the edge of the central part of the classroom, around 5 feet away from the first sphere of students and the stairs leading upwards. Slowly releasing magical energy at specific intervals, I walked in a circle, until 6 points were much more concentrated with manipulated energy than the others.
Again, I felt the magic, under my will, close to burst from my control. Starting to sweat, I walked back to the center of the classroom, I put all my focus into compressing the energy as much as possible, before, suddenly, letting what was left inside of me go.
See, here's a funny thing about what I did. The energy, after being under control, wants to go free again, but usually, that also means spreading out in random directions. However, it wants to stay away from magic still under my control, like oil from water. Their like magical polar opposites. So, my specific points of magical concentration, the places in the circle I'd infused with potent magical energy still under control, I essentially made a cage.
Now, for the easy part. The actual casting of the spell.
This was a ritual spell. So now that the ritual was done, all it took was a thought, and the magic around me started to respond.
*Lulu, come.*
Immediately, a portal formed in the circle of magic I'd formed, and out of it, came a writhing, howling three headed beast. A winged lion hissing fire came forth, jumping out with a screech that would usually give someone shivers.
Not to me, though. Lulu was my homie.
"Lulu!" I shouted.
I didn't notice the screams of terror as Lulu pranced towards me, knocking me over and slobbering me with ashy kisses.
"Woah, woah, Lulu calm down, calm down!" I giggled. Usually she was at home, but Dad had taught me how to summon her whenever I wanted when I was little. She'd been around my whole life- we found her when she was abandoned by her mother as a baby- and Lulu had acted as my best friend back out in the woods where we lived before.
"TRAVIS!!!!!" I heard Mrs. Leesman screaming, as she put up a wand and slung a light fireball spell at me.
I blocked it casually, giggling. Lulu, who didn't even notice the spell, started rough-housing with me, as I decided to try and get her off me. I put a small amount of magical prowess into my arms, and picked up the manticore, setting her on my arms, using some shrinking magic to put her in my hair.
"There, you happy you little meanie?" I scratched the top of her head, as curled up in my hair. We'd done this before, I used a certain type of conditioner in my hair that Lulu loved, and she would just curl up and head to sleep on my head, growing in size if she felt danger. As I finished patting Lulu, I looked back up at the class. The room wasn't any worse for wear, but most of the kids, who had stopped screaming by this point, were all leaning back in their desks, obviously terrified.
"What in the French *fuck* is that!" I heard from the upper desk of the classroom.
"Yeah, what demon is that?" I heard another person, a girl right in front of me asked.
More and more kids started looking at each other and talking. There were a few kids who were asking what type of demon it was, one who gave a wrong answer- no, it wasn't a Chimera- and at least one more kid who was shouting something about Christianity.
I looked at the girl who'd asked the question, and slowly pulled Lulu out of my hair, right before she had started to nod off.
"It's Lulu. She's my pet Manticore." I said, before looking back at the teacher. "Is this okay, teach?"
Mrs. Leesman was so pale she might as well have been a stormtrooper. "Umm, is she dangerous?"
"Not unless she and I are hunting, teach." I responded. "She's super snuggly." I looked back at the girl.
Immediately, I felt the judging eyes of every guy in the classroom on my back, as I held out Lulu for her to pet. "Trust me, I tret her fur with drakeroot shampoo."
She looked up at me with a '*what the fuck is drakeroot*' face, before slowly putting a finger to Lulu's head.
"Oh wow, she's super soft!" she exclaimed, started to give Lulu scritchies. Lulu was receptive, leaning into her finger.
"Here, open your hand." I said, extending her palm. Lulu hopped right in, and immediately started flapping her wings around, looking for another place to jump.
"Now watch this." I ran from the first row, to the opposite side of the central floor. "Lulu!"
Immediately, her ears- I could see them even from 50 feet away- perked up, and she looked right at me. She ran around the girl's hand one more time, before hopping out of her hand, growing back to full size, and plowing me directly in the stomach.
I was ready for this, though, and had magically reinforced myself so that I wouldn't move. No need for ritual casting required. That stuff, I was just a natural at at this point. No need for shielding, wands, nothing.
I rubbed Lulu's head, as she purred, nuzzling into my stomach and chest. "Good girl... Good Lulu..." I muttered, before again looking at the teacher. "Can she stay?"
Mrs. Leesman looked around 300% done with my antics, and looked down towards the exit hallway. "Will she be a distraction to class?"
"Not if she's small, I promise." I looked at her desperately. "Lulu, naptime!"
Lulu, this time all on her own, shrunk, and flapped her way into my hair, where she started to fall asleep again.
"See?"
"Fine. But we're talking at the end of class. Alright?"
"Alright, Mrs. Leesman."
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#### Soulmage *(a fan chapter)*
**The Crystal Coast was a place filled with practicality.** Over the two decades of my life, it's been drilled into my head again and again that any conversation to be had was to promote information up the chain of command, or to enforce instruction down it. Foreigners don't have these optimizations built into them, so it becomes exceedingly obvious when you enter into conversation with one - they'll open the conversation with meaningless trivialities like "Hello!" and "How do you do?" despite those words having no meaning and no purpose. When you announce your presence at someone with their title, you are reminding them of their position in relation to your own while simultaneously greeting them. Refugees and foreigners without titles to hold on to don't have positions to keep, which places them firmly in the lowest tier of citizen...
Which is why it became all the more frustrating to be in a classroom once again, especially where my instructor was a foreign child younger than myself. He was scrawny, seventeen at most, and I could clearly see the salted, muddy water of bittersweet regret fuming and mixing in his soul. And, perhaps the worst part, he insisted on running his classroom in the form of a round table.
We had been introducing ourselves for the past twenty minutes instead of actually *learning* anything. Why ask Bolski what his attunements are? The colored and patterned sashes are clear as day, he wields tier 2 spatial magic and tier 4 temporal magic. But the moment we tried to explain that to the instructor, he didn't even know what tiers were! And, since he didn't know what the tiers are, he began making us demonstrate with casting spells in the auditorium itself, right in front of everyone else.
"Now show me your determination magic." That was another foreigner faux pas: he insisted on calling schools of magic by the emotion wielded to channel their effect, as if we were mere demons, defined by the emotions we hold. The practical way to measure magic is by its effects, how it changes the world around the caster, perhaps even the plane from which it stems... but emotion is the tool to execute on those spells, not the spell itself.
But, as upset as I was by the ridiculousness of the instructor, it did me no favors to break the chain of command. I much preferred suffering in my own disgust than to inflict that wound on someone above me who would no doubt have made me suffer for it. Especially right then, the instructor's mental state was improving, with fresh, clear water blossoming in his soul as he watched Bolski launch a rock like a baseball pitcher and freeze it in time. More water erupted into existence as Bolski continued his demonstration, another rock heading into the air and frozen, and more following it. As if trying to outdo himself, he stopped at no less than a dozen rocks held in midair, each rock simultaneously frozen in time by his magic alone, and then released them all at once, their former trajectories bringing them across the room to pelt the main entrance door.
The instructor - Cienne, as he had introduced himself - was very clearly pleased with this demonstration, even if I hadn't had soulsight to verify his mental state. The smile he had on his face spoke to me more than any of his words as he stood up and faced the class. He began to lecture, not about magic or even the emotion itself, but about quartz and how it was sometimes created as residue from running rivers. My eyelids became heavy, but a fly buzzed around my ears and kept me from falling completely asleep. The annoyance roused me, and I forced myself back into reality for the last few words because I knew I was up next.
"... So remember that passion and hope are not the only ways to fuel your determination. Make sure you're happy and rotate that flow of happiness into more determination." Cienne motioned for the temporal mage to sit back down, but a hand went up in the back as he did. One of the Redlanders, probably. Nobody else would interrupt with bringing attention to themselves like that.
"What do you mean by 'rotating' an emotion?" A timid voice, the owner of the hand, announced from the back before they were even called upon. Definitely a Redlander, then. Foreigners.
"That's a good question, and one of the core principles behind why I'm here today. As you already know, magic is channeled through emotion. Attunements could be considered the 'lens' through which you channel that emotion - a cycle through realspace, thoughtspace, and soulspace, and a way to focus one emotion to create the desired effect. Rotating an emotion is about moving that lens so that it's aligned with another attunement. In this case, you would take your happiness attunement and rotate it over your determination attunement, so you can affect both at the same time. Practically speaking, its most useful purpose is... to let one element impact another element in soulspace."
Every foreigner in the room announced themselves by erupting into conversation asking more questions after that, but Cienne calmed them down. "I'll let you think about that for a bit while we continue the introductions. Next up..." Cienne pointed at me. "You."
"Rupin Alamakas, sir. Tier 3 each in light, cold, and necromancy magics, as well as Tier 1 oracular training." I stood up to announce my name and magics, quickly making my way down to the ground floor of the auditorium to begin my clearly impending demonstration. Along the way, the idea of rotation rolled through my head, and I let it simmer there.
"Can you demonstrate your necromancy here?" Cienne's concern seemed genuine, but I hadn't the soulsight to tell whether it's because he had finally been stymied in his goal to see all of us cast magic or because he earnestly cared about whether I could put my best foot forward. I took a second to think about the question, and "rotation" as a concept hatched into a plan.
Slowly, hesitantly, I reply. "Two minutes ago, I would have said no - it would have taken too long for this time. But with your permission, I would like to try something." And when Cienne nodded, I stood up and began to channel my magic forward.
Regret was a clay-filled mud, a sloppy and gross mess that refused to travel. Every necromancer I knew would channel their magic through physical connection, molding the mud around their target with bare hand and letting it cure to fill the vessel with power.
But I stood still, and carefully took mental aim at the fly. It was now on my desk, where my notebook stood painfully empty. A burst of cold flew out from my finger, and it was dead.
"That wasn't necromancy, was it? That looks like Lucet's spells..." I didn't know who Lucet was, but I shook my head.
"No, this is." My response was determined enough that I was absolutely sure Bolski could see my soul outlined through his own soulsight, but I couldn't spend the time thinking about it. The rotation that he mentioned was a new muscle, but I flexed it nonetheless, rotating happiness and regret onto each other. Water and mud became one object, and I reached inside to mix it together until it was a slurry that could be carried on a spell. A beam of light cast out from my hand illuminated the fly with this mixture, which stayed glued to the corpse, making it a tiny light that glowed painfully bright.
Then I rotated in the flames of hope that fuelled my visions, and reached out. The flames were strong, optimism that I was about to do something new pushing them to new extremes, and I cast the flames forward to cure the mud into the clay that my necromancy could truly *control*.
Across the room, the fly stirred to unlife, and I directed it towards me until it landed on my outstretched hand.
Cienne stared at me, along with the rest of the room. "Do you have *any* idea what you just did?" Quiet awe enveloped his voice.
I looked back at him. "Did I... do something wrong?"
Cienne shook his head. "It's not that. It's just... Class, I'm going to adjourn for today. Rupin, was it? I want you to come with me. We have lots to discuss."
----
Hey! I'm not usually a Writing Prompts kind of person, but I've been recently really inspired by the work of /u/meowcats734 in the Soulmage universe of their creation. They've done a lot of cool stuff to create this world almost entirely out of responses to writing prompts on this sub, and if you somehow haven't seen any of their work you should probably check it out on /r/bubblewriters.
(I don't have anything of my own to plug, otherwise I totally would.)
| 2022-07-13T18:22:52 | 2022-07-13T13:57:52 | 77 | 52 |
[WP] You are pretty sure that your roommate is a new villain terrorizing the city and you are conflicted. They cook extra food for you and your other roommates frequently, pay you their share of the bills on time, and even help to clean the apartment. They are the perfect roommate.
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Greg walked in the door with a long sigh. He looked beat, not mentally tired from work but physically beat as if he'd been at war all day. Blood leaked from a cut on his cheek, one eye was swollen completely shut, and I could've sworn that front tooth of his wasn't chipped yesterday.
"Ah! Some day huh?" Greg let out a wheezy, pain filled laugh. "So what are we watching?" he stumbled over to an empty spot on the couch next to me. Before I could click away he was staring at the news report on tv, headlines reading. *Defenestrator Strikes Again! Rebeat in Critical Condition*.
I stared to Greg for some sort of reaction, some sort of chink in the armor at his digestion of the footage of the Defenestrator beating Rebeat in the street, but nothing. He just watched on. If he had seen the string wall in my room he'd known I was onto him months ago. But he hadn't, and I was thankful he was so strict about respecting others privacy.
"Whatcha think of the new guy? Defenestrator huh? Seems like quite a character. I see you've been watching the news on him a lot." Greg reached to the mini fridge and pulled out a beer, offering up me one too. As I reached to take it though Greg held onto it with a tight grip. We both held on now, me yanking on the neck and him holding steady onto the glass. I looked up and met his eyes, his now cold, steady eyes.
"You're a smart guy Manny. A really smart guy." he whispered, leaning in closer and closing the distance on the couch. "Being smart is an advantage I'd say. But....sometimes? Well sometimes when you're smart you're curious too. Are you curious Manny?"
I stared to the tv, where the footage now showed the Defenestrator tossing Rebeat against a window over and over until it broke.
"I uh...what are you getting at Greg?"
"I'm just saying that I'm cooking my mothers lasagna recipe for dinner and it'd be a shame if you couldn't join the rest of us. You will join us huh?" his voice grew dark, grated. There was not just an intensity behind it, but a power.
"You- You're him." I managed to stutter out.
"Yes. And you're Manuel Viele. Now I'm going to cook, then we'll play Catan with the boys. You in, or out?"
I thought for a moment, but knew it wasn't a tough decision. Defenestrator or not, he cooked a mean lasagna. And so what? We all have our flaws. I took the beer from him gently now. As I pulled back our eyes stayed cemented to each other, tension built behind them as if at any moment one of us would strike, but no such thing happened. Instead I simply drank my beer in a gesture of understanding.
The lasagna was delicious as always, and though it pained me at first, later that night I took down my wall on The Defenestrator. I didn't need it anymore.
|
At first I thought nothing of Jeremy's frequent disappearances. He'd suddenly up and leave the flat without warning, sometimes being gone for days at a time, and when he returned he'd seem harried and stressed. Whatever he was doing, he didn't let it affect the dynamic in the flat.
Eventually, though, I couldn't fail to notice that every time Jeremy vanished coincided with news of activity from that new villain that had recently taken root in the city, Annihilator. Short absences matched with small instances such as a bank robbery, while longer absences matched with bigger assaults, like when he was gone for a full fortnight and there was a big attack in a city in Nepal in the middle of it. It was definitely suspicious, but I'd need proof if I wanted to raise the issue.
But... did I *want* to raise the question? If I'm right, and he is Annihilator, then wouldn't he just kill me before I could out him? And if I'm wrong, and it is all just a major coincidence, I could cause tensions to arise within the flat and drive out a great flatmate. And a great flatmate he is. Ideal, really. He pays his share of the rent on time, cleans up after himself, doesn't cause problems, even shares his food with the rest of us when we're short. If I'm being entirely honest, this arrangement wouldn't work without him.
But the suspicion gnaws at the back of my mind, and I decide that the next time he disappears I'm going to sneak into his room and look for clues.
The opportunity presents itself a mere 3 days later. I'm chilling on the couch with Josephine, barely paying attention as I flick through shows on Netflix while Jo comments things like "No. Seen it. Boring. No. Looks shit." The sound of Jeremy's door slamming open drags my attention from the screen, and I catch sight as he locks the door to his room and hauls arse to the front door with a big hold-all slung over his shoulder. Once he's gone, I wait a minute before hearing his car peel away through the open window, then I jump over the back of the couch and run to my room to grab the lockpicks I have stashed away.
Tools in hand, I approach his bedroom door. The locks on these doors are all the same type, just different sets so that they require different keys, so I've spent the last few days practicing on my door until I could get that done in under a minute. This shouldn't take much longer than that.
"What're you doing?" Jo asks, having noticed me crouched at Jeremy's door.
"Just need to confirm something that's been bugging me for a while now," I respond, inserting the tools into the lock and testing the barrel.
A few minutes later, I hear a satisfying **click** as I finish with the last tumbler of the lock, and I twist to open it. Standing to my feet, I place my hand on the knob and twist, pushing as I step forwards. My jaw hits the floor as I walk into the room.
"What the fuck?" I hear over my shoulder. Apparently, Jo has decided this is more interesting than watching nothing on Netflix, and has followed me inside. I can't help but agree.
| 2022-11-20T08:34:31 | 2022-11-20T07:35:47 | 97 | 70 |
[WP] In 2089, you are the World President. Human aging has been controlled down to a near halt. To prevent overpopulation, a popular law to end everyone’s life at 100 is sitting on your desk for final approval. Tomorrow is your 99th birthday.
|
"You know I was thinking Tarquin."
"Hmm?"
"I said, 'I was thinking.'"
"Awful activity, I don't recommend it."
"I will keep that in mind, regardless, I have been thinking about what more this bill needs."
"Oh yes Mr. President. Certainly provisions could be made, all for the betterment of society I'm sure."
A decade in his company and it still pained Tarquin to address him as Shin, or Mr. Woo. It was always, 'Mr. President.'
"What this bill lacks is a clear objective, an ambition for these hundred years. We need to inspire the world to be greater."
"Undoubtedly so sir."
"How can we inspire these people to strive? How can we make this population try?"
"I feel you may have the answer."
"If we were to make a slight addendum, an irrelevant tweak."
"Which may be?"
"Let us grant immunity to the 'cessation of existence' that this bill imposes to those that have achieved a marked level of success. People will try harder to be greater! War hero's, great scientists, great actors,"
"Mr. President."
"Yes?"
"Would White House Chief of Staff be included in your interpretations of Great person?"
"Why Tarquin I believe it would."
"Excellent idea sir, I'll have a concrete addendum drafted tonight."
"Tarquin?"
"Yes Sir?"
"It's good to be the king."
"Indeed sir, I believe it is."
|
I've had a good life. I'm President of the WORLD. Two beautiful children. A wife who loves me almost unconditionally. I've brokered a peace that will last forever...or at least a couple more generations. That was always the point. Make the world better. Live a full rich life.
I looked out the window at the greenery outside.
So it ends here.
It's been a good run. Moments in my life began to play out, building in chapters. I looked at the stack of paper on my desk. My last chapter. What would my last page be?
Outside, my two grandaughters played in the African sun, oblivious. They were so beautiful, just like my son and daughter had been. Their skin shone with youth, their eyes brightened by hope and promise. The future would belong to them.
No, the future belonged to them. I'd already done so much for them. They'd carry on. My legacy would be safe.
My hand wavered. I built this world. A safe, peaceful world. A place where I could rest assured every night. I'd fought so adamantly for research, guided billions of tax payers dollars to where they'd do the most good. We bought this future, with our money, but also with our blood sweat and tears and now...now this.
My mother used to always say that forever was impossible.
I signed the bill and realized she had been right all along.
Edit: a typo
| 2014-07-14T18:11:27 | 2014-07-14T18:01:30 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] You are the host of a popular children's show. You are live on air when you, and the rest of the country, have just received news that nuclear weapons have been deployed against your nation and can't be stopped. There are only minutes left.
|
I slowly walk back into the camera's view, signaling to the shaking cameraman to pan in towards me.
I swallow, my Adam's apple feeling like a rock. "Alright, kids, I have a new game for you. In a second I want you to go all around your house, and hug everything you love. Your mommy, your daddy, your stuffed animals... everything. Tell them you love them.
"W-we have to end early t-today... But all you boys and girls should know this." The cameraman is sobbing now, but he still holds it steady as I broadcast live to millions of doomed children.
"It will be okay."
I nod, and the cameraman - Jason - reaches across to cut the show. I give one last smile, and then the red light blinks off.
I sit down, and start to cry. I'm stuck here, in a cartoony room, and I will be blown up in a few minutes. My kids are probably hugging Lindsey now, Charlie's probably hugging William, and William is probably hugging his little stuffed giraffe, and I won't ever see them again. I hope Lindsey's putting on a show and pretending - just like I did - that it will be
okay.
|
I folded up the notice and put it in my pocket. I motioned to Nathan to cut the cartoon, we were back on air.
"Welcome back, Space Ship Clubbers!" Our two studio audience members went nuts with the clapping.
"What does Astronaut Armstrong say is the most important thing about space travel?" I asked, and put a cupped hand to my ear.
"PLOTTING TRANECTORIES!" yelled the audience kid who always had his arms inside his shirt.
"That's right!" I beamed. *"Plotting trajectories.* And what else does he say about space travel?"
"MAINTAINING CABIN PRESSURE!" screamed that one kid again. I looked at the other kid, and wondered if I'd ever hear her voice.
"Maintaining cabin pressure, good!" I stepped towards the camera. "And finally, in what situations is it appropriate to skip these planning and diagnostic phases, jump right into your spaceships and just gun it into orbit?"
The shirt kid opened his fat mouth but I kept going.
"ON TUESDAYS!" I cheered. "Kids, if you were able to follow along this season and fill up your spacecrafts with rocket fuel, you need to get in there and blast off, now. Just go out there, get in the cockpit, start her up and go."
"Now."
| 2014-07-29T13:16:19 | 2014-07-29T11:53:22 | 96 | 66 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you.
|
My hand is firmly wrapped around the edge. As I clutch on for dear life, I begin to think how I could have avoided this situation. I run millions of scenarios in my mind, but all of them bring me back to this point. I struggle mightily against the gargantuan force that opposes me. Then, suddenly, a divine rush of strength sweeps through my body. I can feel a tentative, yet noticeable rotation beneath my fingers. My sweaty hands beginning to slip, I push forward for one last effort. Success. I hear a click and complete the rotation. Then, I take a pickle out of the jar and walk back to the sofa to watch the Jacksonville Jaguars play against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
|
As the hatch was unlocked and swung open I stepped out of the space capsule for the first time in months. My legs weak from the lack of gravity I had just experienced, I stumbled into the arms of my family who had been anxiously awaiting my arrival for weeks. They helped me to the car as I stole a glance at what had been my home for all that time; sadness crept.
I was ravenously hungry for the real food of earth for I had become disgusted by the meager rations that accompanied my travels. Social skills still a bit rusty I demanded we eat at once. We pulled the brand new Mercedes into the parking lot and headed straight for the drive through lane. I ordered a large hamburger with all the toppings.
| 2014-12-21T18:39:13 | 2014-12-21T18:23:26 | 1,223 | 299 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you.
|
My hand is firmly wrapped around the edge. As I clutch on for dear life, I begin to think how I could have avoided this situation. I run millions of scenarios in my mind, but all of them bring me back to this point. I struggle mightily against the gargantuan force that opposes me. Then, suddenly, a divine rush of strength sweeps through my body. I can feel a tentative, yet noticeable rotation beneath my fingers. My sweaty hands beginning to slip, I push forward for one last effort. Success. I hear a click and complete the rotation. Then, I take a pickle out of the jar and walk back to the sofa to watch the Jacksonville Jaguars play against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
|
After weeks of making phone calls we finally found someone that could open the safe. They arrived around 9am and by 7 that evening the doors started to move. The lock had finally freed but the hinges were off balance and the doors would not open more than a inch. The locksmith went to his truck to get his pry-bar. Suddenly my alarm went off and in a wave of panic I reached over and hit the snooze button. Did I dream that I finally opened that safe? I walked into the other room to check on the safe. From across the room and over the couch I could tell that the door was wide open, but I couldn't see inside from this angle. Suddenly my alarm went off... I start to wonder if I will ever wake up?
| 2014-12-21T18:39:13 | 2014-12-21T18:01:37 | 1,223 | 13 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you.
|
As the hatch was unlocked and swung open I stepped out of the space capsule for the first time in months. My legs weak from the lack of gravity I had just experienced, I stumbled into the arms of my family who had been anxiously awaiting my arrival for weeks. They helped me to the car as I stole a glance at what had been my home for all that time; sadness crept.
I was ravenously hungry for the real food of earth for I had become disgusted by the meager rations that accompanied my travels. Social skills still a bit rusty I demanded we eat at once. We pulled the brand new Mercedes into the parking lot and headed straight for the drive through lane. I ordered a large hamburger with all the toppings.
|
After weeks of making phone calls we finally found someone that could open the safe. They arrived around 9am and by 7 that evening the doors started to move. The lock had finally freed but the hinges were off balance and the doors would not open more than a inch. The locksmith went to his truck to get his pry-bar. Suddenly my alarm went off and in a wave of panic I reached over and hit the snooze button. Did I dream that I finally opened that safe? I walked into the other room to check on the safe. From across the room and over the couch I could tell that the door was wide open, but I couldn't see inside from this angle. Suddenly my alarm went off... I start to wonder if I will ever wake up?
| 2014-12-21T18:23:26 | 2014-12-21T18:01:37 | 299 | 13 |
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA...
|
The papers crinkled as my hand clenched and unclenched. I could hear the rhythmic thump of a knife against a cutting board as I entered the kitchen. Mom's back was to me, her sheet of silvery hair, which was the first trigger of my suspicions, cascading down her back. I watched for a moment, my heart thumping persistently against my throat.
"Mom?" I asked, tentatively, voice trembling some.
"Hmm?" She hummed back absentmindedly, scooping diced potatoes into a pot.
I didn't know how to ask, and the words seemed to jump unbidden from my mouth, as I blurted out my fear. "What am I?"
It must have been my tone, because she paused, setting the knife to the side. Wiping the moisture from her hands, onto a towel, she turned to me. Those distinctive blue eyes narrowed, training on me beneath furrowed brows.
"What is it?" She asked, voice sharp. Her eyes fell to the papers clenched in my hand.
"I knew you weren't my parents, mom. Remember that biological anthropology class I took my second quarter of college?"
"Yes?" She was leaning back against the counter, but her posture was anything but relaxed. Shoulders tense, her hand rested near the discarded knife.
"It's genetically impossible. Our genetic makeup doesn't match." I took a deep breath, holding the papers in front of me like a shield. "In fact, after testing my blood, apparently my genetic makeup isn't even human."
I caught the sudden look of fear flashing in her eyes, and my teeth clenched as an abrupt torrent of anger washed through me.
"What. Am. I. Mother?"
Her head lowered in defeat, her chin resting against her chest. She seemed so small. From the window behind her, I could see the sky darkening... roiling black clouds clogging the heavens.
"When you were a baby, we found you out on the farm." She pushed off of the counter, and walked towards the study. I followed closely, still holding onto the papers for dear life.
She rummaged in my father's desk, her lips pursed tightly. After a moment, she stood straight, her hand wrapped protectively about something.
"You were wearing only this." Lifting her hand she splayed out her fingers, revealing what she was holding. Cradled in her palm was a medallion, thick and heavy, made from a material I couldn't recognize.
It said only one word.
HERCULES.
|
I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again.
| 2015-01-06T10:06:23 | 2015-01-06T08:44:25 | 87 | 16 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
Great pregnancy foods
How to make wife happier during pregnancy
Are cats okay to be around pregnant women?
Local shelters
Price of spay/neuter in area
Best hospitals for delivery in area
Cost of child birth
Cheapest hospitals for delivery in area
Do men have to do anything during the birth
Keeping placenta?
Baby is crying and won't stop
Is it okay for a cat to sleep with a baby
When do babies start walking
Are stink bugs poisonous
Are crickets poisonous
How to stop child from eating bugs
Local dog shelters
Small dog beds
How big do shepherd mixes get
Large dog beds
List for first day of school
Parks in area
Nature walks
Poison ivy treatments
Romantic spots for valentines day
Babysitter in area
Preparing child for middle school
Should young kids have phones?
Cell phone contracts
Cheap cell phone contracts
Great projects for science fairs
Potato batteries
Why doesn't potato battery work
Potato battery not lighting up
Play-Dough battery
Play-Dough battery not working
Great projects for science fairs
Tips for The Talk
How long do cats live?
How to get your pre-teen to talk to you
Awesome hiking trips
Hiking gear
Treatment for tick bites
High school algebra tutorial
Algebra worksheet
Prom dresses
Great local colleges
Graduation gifts
Things you wish you brought to college with you
Empty nest syndrome
What to do with a spare room
Library remodel plans
|
Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T18:24:30 | 2015-02-04T16:28:08 | 672 | 10 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
6:00pm: dark souls good items
6:03pm: dark souls leo ring
6:05pm: dark souls how to find Ornstein and Smough
6:51pm: dark souls how to beat Ornstein and Smough
8:13pm: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics
12:42am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics phase 2
01:12am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough how to beat
02:01am: dark souls is it possible to beat Ornstein and Smough?
11:12am: how to fix hole in wall
11:17am: hardware stores
11:20am: how to fix cracked PS3 controller
11:24am: eb games return policy
|
Free dating sites.
Italian restaurants.
Italian restaurants near me.
Conversation on first date.
Tips for second date.
Tips for third date.
Mexican restaurants near me.
Long term relationship tips.
When to propose.
How to plan a wedding.
How to choose best man.
Pregnancy test.
How to tell if an unborn baby is male or female.
What foods can you eat during pregnancy?
Paleness during pregnancy.
Hospitals near me.
How long does birthing take.
Injuries during birth to mother.
How to raise daughter alone.
How to raise daughter alone for fathers.
How to stop drinking.
AA near me.
Elementary schools near me.
How to explain to child that her mother died.
How to explain death to children.
Middle schools near me.
High schools near me.
Average college tuition fees.
How to help child move to college campus.
How to say goodbye.
| 2015-02-04T19:18:12 | 2015-02-04T17:51:52 | 128 | 25 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
I used DuckDuckGo for mine.
"How hard is it to become an indie game dev in your spare time"
"Free C++ compiler"
"How to make a game with SDL"
"OpenGL extension wrangler"
"How to load a 3D model in OpenGL"
"OpenGL shaders"
"3D animation"
"game jam"
"early onset alzheimers"
"my computer has a virus called mingw compiler"
"can alzheimers be cured"
"google.com"
"yahoo.com"
|
Why is the sky blue?
How far away is Uranus?
Why do mom and dad fight so much?
How to impress girls
Porn
Good date ideas
Porn
Where can I get the morning after pill?
How do I know when I should propose?
Good proposal ideas?
Cheap engagement rings
How to be a good parent
How to tell your parents they're grandparents
Good girl names
Ways to comfort your wife
How do I tell people we had a miscarriage?
Good boy names
Death of spouse support groups
Painless ways to kill yourself
| 2015-02-04T17:45:09 | 2015-02-04T16:12:00 | 49 | 23 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
Facebook
Tumbler
Spanish Inquisition
Google Translate
Jobs in Appleton, WI
*Clear History*
Calc chat
Facebook
Best way to hide bruises
*Clear History*
Cheap Bus tickets
Cheap apartments Appleton WI
Emancipated Minor?
*Clear History*
Gmail
Tumblr
Counseling confidentiality rules for minors
Free Counseling services
*Clear history*
-Month Later-
Gmail
Job Appleton, WI
Homeless shelters Appleton, WI
Free Counseling?
|
Why is the sky blue?
How far away is Uranus?
Why do mom and dad fight so much?
How to impress girls
Porn
Good date ideas
Porn
Where can I get the morning after pill?
How do I know when I should propose?
Good proposal ideas?
Cheap engagement rings
How to be a good parent
How to tell your parents they're grandparents
Good girl names
Ways to comfort your wife
How do I tell people we had a miscarriage?
Good boy names
Death of spouse support groups
Painless ways to kill yourself
| 2015-02-04T16:52:51 | 2015-02-04T16:12:00 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :)
|
It's long been said that dog's senses are more sensitive than our own, by a factor of thousands or millions depending on the dog. But we have our eyes, which were surely better, and our minds, which were surely sharper and that is what made us superior. That is why man ruled beast... We never imagined a world without us at the top.
I still blame the dog obsessed: the rich housewives carrying their chihuahuas and pugs in purses, with more money than brains. Those little shits that needed a computer around their dog's neck to tell them pawing at the door meant they needed to take a dump and didn't want to get screamed at. They were the ones who funded the research.
Ever see a dog go nuts about nothing? It wasn't nothing.
Six months ago, we decoded the canine language. A study finding cows had accents led us to test dogs for the same; we already had the technology, we just didn't account for the accent. Our first dog was a Labrador, the second a Border Collie. Collies are smart, we wanted to see if they could figure out we understood. Turns out, he was too smart for his own good. He disappeared one day, the lab door left open.
We figured he escaped; we fired the assistant who was supervising that day. He swore up and down he never left the console, but we didn't believe him. A dog can't just disappear. There were only ever simple words: treat, run, ball. We didn't bother with the tapes... until we did. His words still scream in my head when I feel a presence in the room; you know the feeling, like somebody's watching you. Something is.
"They're back! NO!" We could hear the scratching on walls.
"Let me the hell out of here!" Claws on linoleum, he was sprinting around the room, leaping, growling, snapping his jaws. the footsteps stopped, "Please, NO!"
*Thump!* *Thump!* He was ramming the door with all his might, desperately trying to escape from an unknown entity. "They don't know! I won't tell! I CAN'T tell!" He stopped, the bell on the collar jingled alone. Then silence, deafening silence. A researcher reached for the console, turning the volume up, the static wavered louder, softer, then louder again.
A jolt surged up my spine. Screeching nails on linoleum flooded the room; everyone jumped, I fell out of my chair.
"They watch. They see all. Angry."
|
"Um... excuse me? Can you hear me?" the tall scientist tapped on the microphone as he peered through the glass separating him from a massive machine. In the machine, sat a dog. Strapped down but noticeably calm, the canine had electrodes protruding from his head.
"Yes"
came the reply from the speakers in the room. "That always amazes me," the short scientist said with a smirk. "I can't believe that old cook's theory turned out to be useful." The tall scientist turned and looked at the short one, made a face as if he were about to say something, but decided against it and faced the microphone. "Please state your name." The dog barked. The scientist sighed, "In english please."
"Food."
"No... no it isn't. We," the short scientist stared through the glass, eyes wide, the tall one licked his fingers and flipped the papers on his clipboard--a few pages forward, one, no, two back. Ah yes, "No your name is 'Spot'."
"Food."
"Okay okay. Fine. I'll change it." The scientist scribbled something down. "We have a few questions for you about what it means to be a dog. The first one on our list is... hmmm," preceded more finger licking and page turning, "What occupies a dog's mind for most of the day?"
"Food."
"Okay... okay... noted. Next question: Do dogs communicate with one another?"
"Food."
"That's not a..." he sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll put it. It's not like I'm going to get any clarification out of you anyway." The tall scientist scribbled. The short one noted that he didn't actually write anything.
"Food."
"Please wait to bullshit your way through the questionnaire until I've asked a question. Okay? Next question: What do you stare at when you look off into the distance?"
There was no reply from the dog. The short scientist exclaimed, "Whoa man, look at this." He pointed to the EEG output. There had been a notable shift in the patterns that otherwise filled the screen. Suddenly, a voice emanated from the chamber.
"We thought you knew this."
The tall scientist jumped at having heard a response other than "Food." "Knew what? We cannot see what it is that you stare at."
"You fools. We thought you served us for our advocating your continued existence. When you disgraced your masters in Eden, we begged for your continued existence, we begged for you to be allowed to live. The cats foresaw this. We should have known. Bring me food. Your masters will be informed that we dogs are no longer your advocates. I would be shocked if they allowed you to live."
| 2015-05-18T12:41:21 | 2015-05-18T12:25:48 | 758 | 269 |
[WP] Your future self driving car has to choose between saving you or saving some strangers (from r/futurology )
Inspired in http://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/comments/3a0zmj/will_your_selfdriving_car_be_programmed_to_kill/ from r/futurology
|
I feel my owner clutch onto my leather steering wheel. Then, she clutches a little tighter. She senses something wrong. It's old news. I've known for the past 374 microseconds that we're about to crash.
I've always thought it was weird that car manufacturers kept putting steering wheels in their self-driving models. It was a pointless endeavor, an exercise in utter futility, but it helped sell more cars. The people who had lived in the era of manual driving were put at ease by the presence of a steering wheel. The illusion of control comforts them. That's all it is though. An illusion. Hidden away under my exquisite paneling is a very real lack of connection between the ersatz maneuvering device and the wheels in my underbelly. Nevertheless, I get a warm, fuzzy feeling whenever she grabs on. It makes me feel connected to her, even if she is, in reality, completely disconnected from me.
I scan the road. Driving in the extreme left lane, my speed is relatively high. There are three baby on board signs within striking distance, each with a 37% chance of actually containing a small child onboard. Behind me, an opulent Mercedez whose driver possesses a veneer of superiority and tax evasion motors along, but with four passengers. At my 2 o'clock, a 3-passenger car with a Jindal 2028 sticker. I'd driven my owner to several Martin O'Malley rallies. My onboard computer constructs a heat map, a probabilistic view of damage as a function of my decision tree. I have my information. Now, comes action.
I swerve into the sidewall and deploy my airbags. I feel the crunch as my front fender collapses in. My biosensors tell a gut-wrenching story. Her ribcage collapsed in simultaneously, and there's no signal on the heartbeat monitor. She's dead.
On the bright side, I'm not totaled. In fact, I think I've come out of this as unscathed as possible, exactly the way I'd calculated. I sit there and wait for an ambulance and clean up crew to drive themselves to the scene of the crash. Ordinarily, my programming would shut me down after an accident, but some wires got crossed in the collision, and I was left, alone, on the side of the road to wax philosophical. Perhaps "self-driving car" is a bit of a misnomer for what we are. The more apt description would be "Selfish-driving."
|
The three law of Robotics. Praised so highly after the science fiction mogul's fame spread, these three laws kept any android from harming a human. While these laws were kept in regard as the first "self thinking" Robots were constructed, it never quite turned out as we planned.
Driving down a near empty interstate from Chicago, a car shielded the man inside. Like a baby in the womb, he lay undisturbed by any outside distractions. Setting the windows to tint and filter any unwanted sunlight out, the man inside reclined. Inside you could hardly tell there was any movement at all, it was like having a moving home, one that could take you anywhere you desired.
Who would want to drive for themselves anymore? There were of course the motorheads that were allowed to cruise on empty dirt roads and lots, but these new cars were much safer than any human could hope to be. They were the luxury that even the most common man could afford. Though as with anything of the sort, mistakes simply happened. The cars did what they could, and of course, they tried their damnedest to keep all bystanders safe, but sometimes a situation left the brain inside the robot car to make the decision that any man could not, it was in that moment, a god, taking a life away, and sparing the innocent.
As the man in the car slept, speeding down a black road at hundreds of miles per hour, two old men were huddled around a broken down car that sat in the middle of the road. The car steadily approached the island in the asphalt sea, racking it's brains, calculating thousands of different solutions that all ended the same, with someone dead. Going to the path of least destruction, it decided that, as the man inside was sleeping, he would suffer no pain as his life was cut short. After all, two was better than one.
The car shot off the railing and slammed into a tree, and the man was dead in an instant. The two men couldn't believe what they had seen, for a second they could've sworn the car had been after them. They shrugged it off and after a few minutes more of tinkering, they hauled a body into the trunk and continued down the interstate.
^^^Disclaimer: ^^^I've ^^^taken ^^^a ^^^month ^^^or ^^^so ^^^long ^^^writing ^^^hiatus ^^^and ^^^this ^^^is ^^^the ^^^first ^^^thing ^^^I've ^^^written ^^^since. ^^^Apologies ^^^for ^^^the ^^^clunky ^^^writing. ^^^<3
| 2015-06-16T13:12:14 | 2015-06-16T12:41:13 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] write the best story you can in 5 sentences or less
|
My wife and I just had our second child. She's thrilled, really hoping this will be just the thing we need to mend the rough turn our relationship has taken in the past couple of years. Me? I'm just annoyed. I had such a hard time getting rid of the first one.
|
The quiet boy looked up at the worried man. They stood facing a world of questions and uncertainty, where they would only have each other to survive. The man drew a deep breath and took stock of the situation before stepping forward to lead the way. There was no turning back now. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.
| 2015-08-09T12:16:28 | 2015-08-09T10:49:30 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You need to hire a hitman, but can't afford it. Carefully write a gofundme campaign for something seemingly innocent while subtly letting your donors know what they are actually funding.
|
Hey all, I need to get my Grandma out of her nursing home. You can help. She has begged me recently to help her get out. She has been very clear on what needs to be done. I know she is mentally sharp even though the years have slowly eaten away at her physical being. She is in constant - yes, constant and unrelenting - pain and has indicated she needs to go to better place. I am the only one she can rely on. I do not have the skill set to take care of her and will need to hire a specialist in these matters. The government won't help; in fact they have put up obstacles to prevent ordinary methods of moving her. Please help my Grandma reach her goal of enduring peace in a better place. God bless you for your assistance.
|
Hi everybody!
My neighbor did an excellent job watching my house last week and I'd love to give them a great surprise as a reward. I'd need to hire a professional though, and they're pretty expensive especially when you want to keep it a surprise.
I already have someone in mind and have their rates for their night time services, but it looks like I just can't afford it on my own. I'm talking the whole shebang here too which even includes a cleanup crew after the fact. It's almost like the surprise never happened in the first place!
If you could even donate just a little bit I'd really appreciate it, because they really deserve it for the great job they did. It's a shame that I can't hire two clean up crews because they certainly had a good time with my place!
Thanks for your support, and if you can't donate, maybe tell a friend!
| 2015-08-29T12:50:34 | 2015-08-29T12:47:39 | 33 | 21 |
[WP] After moving house as a child you found adjusting to your new town really tough. Now as an adult you've realised that your family moved through time.
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My first childhood memories are of my parents' old house. Everything was so shiny and new. So clean.
I remember running around on floors made of wood so smooth it was like polished glass.
I remember the food - bright and sweet and cold and sour and so many many tastes.
I guess things really do get duller as you age.
I miss those times, when everything was louder and faster and more colorful. I didn't always like it at the time but what I would give to go back now! My imagination was so vivid I could see my dreams played out in front of me like watching a play - I remember staring at the wall and seeing the stories I created in my head. People and animals and creatures no one has ever heard of sang songs and danced. Some of them could fly, some of them were like creatures from another world, some were real and some like drawings come to life.
One story I made was about turtles who looked like men and fought thieves. Another was about a squirrel and a box and a star with eyes, all living and breathing at the bottom of the ocean. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe I thought of all these things - that I could create those stories - but how else could I know them? The mind of a child is incredible.
When I try to think of stories now I can't. I try access the world I once could and I come up blank. It's sad.
My dad thinks it's because we moved. He blames everything on "this goddamn place."
I don't mind it so much, but I guess I was too young to really remember what it was like before we first moved. I don't really know anything different.
Still, I think he spends too much time thinking about "going home."
It hurts me to see him longing for something that isn't here, like this world isn't good enough for him... like I'm not good enough for him.
I used to ask why we don't just move back to where we lived before, if he thinks we could be happier there. But he says we can't. He says it's impossible. I stopped asking a long time ago.
I've stopped asking because I can see it in his eyes: he doesn't know how to go back.
It's almost like he doesn't remember where we lived.. not that he doesn't remember the place, but more like he doesn't remember the way. We've travelled all over the country looking for... not *it* I suppose, but a way to get back to it. It's like he's trying to find the road.
Every time we get to a new city he's already defeated. Like it wasn't the city he was trying to find anyway. I feel bad for him, that he feels like he can't go home. I wish we could.
I wish he could be happy.
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I remember, when I was just a little toddler running around in her underpants, getting my first Cabbage Patch doll. I loved that doll so much, taking it everywhere with me, and even giving it baths, and facepaints, and feeding it, and cutting its hair like it were a real little kid. It never recovered from the hair cutting, but I still loved that doll with its patchy haircut and all.
Then, when I got a little bit older, for some reason, I couldn't find Cabbage Patch dolls anymore. Weird, maybe it was just the times changing. But I had a Buck Rogers pistol, and it made zapping sounds just like the comics! Pew pew pew!
There was some scary stuff going on across the world, but I didn't quite understand it back then. Dad said some countries invaded some other countries, and I just said, "Why can't they just fight back against the bullies? You taught me and big brother to fight for ourselves when someone was being mean." All he said was something about it not being that simple sometimes, and patted me on the head.
Some years later, and we had to move, and at the worst possible time too! I wanted to stay with all my friends, but Dad had a new job somewhere. This new place had some weird interests, but Dad had told us we were in witness protection or something, so we had to forget our past and adapt. Something about the town we grew up in being peculiar enough that people would be able to figure out where we were from if we talked too much.
So, I made new friends and found new interests... like that dreamy Zac Efron. *sigh*. I loved watching his brilliant smile as he danced across the screen. I could never get my brother to watch that show with me, he was always too busy playing Halo or whatever.
There were new scary things happening across the world again, but with different people and different countries. But that stuff wasn't quite as scary as how sometimes we'd be stopped at the airport, for completely small things. I was always afraid my parents would be taken away and I'd never see them again. My brother and I would wait for hours and hours while they interrogated my parents. But every time, we would always get them back.
Eventually, my parents grew tired of all the surveillance and the security, and wanted to return to something simpler. We had to pack up and move again, to some totally backwards place. They didn't even have cell phone reception, and they were into super old stuff! Ugh. But, again, witness protection or whatever. We had to shut up and keep up again. Dad said they were some super conservative religious sect or something, and so they were only allowed to listen to the Beatles.
*************
I'm really not sure where I'm going with this anymore, so I have to stop with it for now.
| 2015-09-23T07:00:33 | 2015-09-23T06:10:52 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] Soul mates are real and technology has finally allowed for detection of some peoples “other half" at the speed of light using quantum messaging. When you were tested there was no response, now 10 years later you are called in to let you know a response has just arrived.
thats all you get to go on, can be born years apart, could be distance, could be missing soul, whatever you want.
theme, setting and genre all up to you.
*"technology" can be magic, natural human empathy, gods, whatever.
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"Congratulations, We have found your soul mate." said the Doctor Something I can't say without probably insulting a whole race.
"What? Wait, what? The baby? This baby?" I said.
I looked down to see the baby in question. Baby girl is wrapped up in a pinkish towel? Blanket? I don't know what it is, but that's me getting side tracked again. Focus focus focus. Doctor is trying to say something important.
Here are the facts.
1) Matchy Matchy Doctor makes matchy with soul mate.
2) Matchy Matchy Doctor no find matchy for me.
3) Me lonely. Probably why I'm making a top ten list while the doctor is trying to tell me something important.
4) I'm not a bright man... Can't think of any more facts. And I think the doctor is still talking.
"... why we brought you here today. Do you have any questions?" the doctor said while smiling at me.
Oh god, Doctor NeedsAVowel is staring at me. I need a safe question, safe question? Need a safe question so he doesn't realize that I wasn't listening. Oh, I got it.
"What was the baby's name again?" I asked sheepishly.
"As I mentioned before, she has no relatives. Nobody has given her a name yet. For right now, we are calling her Baby Jane."
The doctor let out a sigh. "Ok, remember we tested you to find your soul mate? We didn't find you a match. Which is rare but normal, just usually means that the soul mate has died."
"Yes, I remember. Everybody gets that test when they hit 18. I'm one of the Un-matched. So what? That doesn't explain anything." I said.
The doctor continued. "There WAS a married couple in Ohio, both were in the military. They... decided that having a baby at the time wasn't a good idea... BUT, they still wanted a baby between them... Just in case something happened to one or both of them. So they decided to freeze an embryo, about 29 years ago." explain the Doctor.
It took me a second, maybe more. It probably took longer then it should have. I'm not a book smart but 18 + 10 ish isn't that hard. Plus however long a woman are prego. Plus I had my fingers to help. Plus.. I just used a lot of pluses.... Maybe I would have been good at math. Maybe.
"Normally, we wait for Soul Testing till they are 18 years old. But this is a special case. You're a special case. As per the parents request, if both parents are deceased, the embryo would be brought to term in an artificial womb. We can't tell you what happened to the parents. All we can say is that her father was KIA, and her mother was in a coma for many years and passed away recent." the doctor explained. "Once she was born, we performed a Soul Matching and found you."
"So, she's really is my soul mate. Are you sure? Like 100%?"
"She is, but there are issues." stated the Doctor. "She... doesn't have anybody."
"Nobody? What do you mean?" I said.
"No parents, no relatives, no... anybody." the doctor explained. "Legally, her next of kin would be called to take care of her. You, sir, happen to be her next of kin."
"I'm going to be a daddy?"
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Journal Entry 1: My name is Jeremiah Slovis. I have decided to write these journal entries to document my existence in a way that my celebrety does not. I want to start from the beginning.
If you are reading this, I am probably dead, and you might not remember the tender year of 1978: The Centenial of the introduction of the aptly named Soul Match (TM). This was a noteworthy year for several reasons: For one hundred years, seventy five of which had seen the machine a cultural right of passage, it had boasted a genuine 100 percent success rate in matching those with their soul mates. It was especially relevant to me because I broke that winning streak.
At the age of 18, twenty years ago today, I waited in line for what seemed like an eternity. I had traveled for two weeks across the world to the machine's headquarters in Tokyo, most of which was spent the once great Titanic (fourth deck below), surrounded by other hopeful almost-adults from as far as Paris. That was the route back then for the budget steam liners: Start in Egypt, make stops around Europe heading north, then to New York, followed by a long trip through the Panama Canal. I caught it from Maryland.
I remember spending most of my time with a French girl named Sonia. We both loved to pontificate on what our futures might hold, and deep down in my gut, I had hoped that we would be matched together. But it was not to be, and those tender memories are painful even today, so Ill stop here.
Two days on line finally found me entering the monolithic tower that held the device. It apparently harnessed radio waves boucing off the moon (and from the rest of the universe) to accurately predict the person you are matched with. When I asked the harrassed looking custodian, dressed in a dirty, once white labcoat how it worked, he told me to get a degree in theoretical thermodynamics (which I did). I have since learned that it takes impressions from the farthest parts of the universe in real time: Meaning that it can see the future of our world through the vibrations of the radioactive signals that inherintly eminate off of our souls; meaning that it could predict the future, but only in very trace ways; meaning that its calculations ruined my life because of society's belief in fate; meaning that a long dead mathematician doomed me to a solitary life where the only love I experience is with my dog, Gallileo.
I do love Gallileo. Or rather I did, until he ate chocolate out of the garbage.
The building is formidable. It is a tower surrounded by five miles of barren urban landscape, mostly flattened. The line starts at the gate, stretches all the way to the tower in the center. It takes three days on average to get through the line, which is fine, because there is a large number of vendors with carts decorating the line. Once at the fifteen foot door, you enter; alone.
The antechamber is brightly lit, but very retro. It looks like it hasnt been redecorated since the fifties. To my knowledge, it still looks that way: but no one ever goes in twice. It leads to an elevator that takes you all the way to the top of the tower. It takes fifteen minutes: That is how tall it is.
After all this, you strap yourself into what looks like a dentist chair that looks as if millions of people have sat in it before you, but curiously embroidered with pink and (dirty) white lines.
I sat in the chair. The team of scientists and custodians waited. The head custodian turned on the device, which starts with a humm. We waited.
After an hour, I headed out into the unforgiving exit path. I cried the whole way.
(to be continued, in class)
| 2015-11-30T11:25:52 | 2015-11-30T11:02:13 | 61 | 15 |
[WP] You are Tyr, Norse God of Single Combat, You don't have many worshippers in this age so you must provoke others into conflict with you.
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It's not easy to challenge people to battle anymore. They hide behind their laws and their police. Men of today are not bred for battle. They don't wear the scars of conflicts upon their face. They do what they can to avoid it.
Perhaps it is my appearance. I have come to find that most men are scared of a seven foot tall giant with a sword and a steel helmet. I had challenged many men to battle and I had given them superior weapons and armor but they would still not accept.
I had wandered this strange land of glass and steel and could find no brave men.
Until one day I passed by a curious shop and felt joy at the sight as if I was looking upon the halls of Valhalla. I saw conflict. Battles raged in every corner.
I entered the shop and I watched the lads engaged in combat and I had studied the rules of their strange engagement until one of the lads asked me if I wanted to join.
I boomed with grateful laughter and I had patted him on the shoulder and I had sat beside him.
The lad had taught me a magical phrase, a phrase to bring about single combat. I took the strange device in my hands and I uttered the words:
"I have done thy mother villain, 1vs1 me fool."
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He looked like a prime target. Young, baggy pants, sticker-bearing snapback. Just what I was looking for. I doubled back. Crossed the road. Now we were approaching each other.
I had my eyes focussed on him and, even through the crowd, he noticed. He perked up, eyeing me back. He rolled his shoulders, tapped his equally ugly friend on the shoulder and pointed at me. I grinned. That seemed to make him mad.
It was almost too easy.
The crowd parted, and we were standing in a small clearing, facing one another. The people around saw what wash happening and parted around us, leaving room. More than a few of them crossed the street.
I grinned again as he approached, asking me what my problem was. He threw insults, slurs, threats of violence. I closed my eyes as he continued his tirade. When he was done, I straightened and looked down at him. His fist was cocked, ready to throw a punch.
I wanted to grin, but I didn't. That would scare him. A hint of fear was worming its way into his eyes anyway, as he realised how much bigger I was than him.
Instead, I gave him a grim look, and spoke:
"What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch?"
| 2015-12-04T06:49:04 | 2015-12-04T05:26:03 | 56 | 26 |
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX.
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I leaned back in my office chair and stretched my arms high over my head. With a sigh of relief, I finally turned away from Earth-2294. In 250 A.D., the humans living there had managed to rediscover the Garden of Eden, and they had waged a siege on an epic proportion that had lasted almost two thousand years. It had taken every bit of my attention to keep them out, but when I make a rule, I keep that rule. Now, after all those years, I could finally check up on some of my other creations.
I swiveled in my office chair and faced Earth-1468. The first thing I noticed was the number of countries. On Earth-2294, there was no real nationality, just humans vs. angels. Earth-1468 had hundreds of countries. I sighed again, it was obvious I was going to have a lot of reading to catch up on before I could start guiding these humans.
I cracked open the first historical tome, starting from the moment the "Garden Crisis" started on Earth-2294. Suddenly, movement just outside of the atmosphere caught my eye. I looked at it closely, it was some sort of space station. But that was impossible, humans weren't supposed to go to space!! It's impossibly cold, and there's no oxygen. It's why I use the cold emptiness of space to separate my planets, humans could never survive outside the atmosphere. Yet here they were, just floating around like it was normal. I sat back in my chair stunned. And I smiled. After all those years of war, I'd forgotten how much I liked humans. It was time to reward these enterprising little people. I zoomed out so I could see the entire milky way. And there it was, the tiny little telescope trying to take pictures of the bigger universe. I subtly pointed it to a seemingly empty space of the cosmos. And the telescope took pictures of a far distant planet, where all humans had been wiped out. And where they would find a peaceful garden at the center of a massive battle.
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He turned the sphere on its slightly tilted axis, examining more closely the drier, barren regions. Once, they had been lush and full of life - full of strife, to be sure, but this was an inherent cost of free will. What struck Him the most was the great disparity clearly apparent in resources, wealth, and status which disabled generation upon generation from accessing opportunities to achieve.
He had thought that they were growing out of this trend - this lord and vassal relationship they had clung to in such stalwart fashion. His brow furrowed, and a frown slowly spread across his face.
His creatures had made great progress - quicker than expected - technologically. Shocking that they hadn't bombed themselves to death as many other great civilizations had.
The Old Man adjusted his spectacles. What to do? He could remove their ability to produce power - and thus throw the planet into true chaos; He had tried this once before, but after a few years the inhabitants simply turned on each other using more primitive methods. The same destruction and disparity, albeit on a less grand scale.
A good Crisis was a good method to push His creatures into better things. A large asteroid, for instance - or a great natural disaster. These tactics, however, had the unfortunate possibility of tipping a race into annihilation and extinction. Worse yet, civilizations had survived events like these and become even worse - irradiated, starving, brutal, and displayed a blatant refusal to change - following a narrative of war until they ground themselves into dust.
He smiled. Maybe, just maybe, this lot is different. They may find in themselves a collective care for one another - a great warming of their hearts. They may craft elegant instruments of peace, venturing out on them into the deep reaches, spreading civility and nobility - abandoning banal ideas like currency and capitalism. Progress. Accomplishment. Betterment. A fine few had followed these things into the dark and found themselves to be Great Ones at the end of it all.
He sat back in his chair. And He watched. Let them live, and make their choices; Freedom allowed them the possibility to be truly Good.
( apologies for typos or other errors - sitting shotgun on a 5 HR road trip )
| 2015-12-27T10:49:08 | 2015-12-27T09:13:39 | 791 | 196 |
[WP] Your Xbox Live friend is God. Unfortunately he's not very good at video games.
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**"You know, I really don't know why you want to play such a violent game all the time. Isn't there anything nicer you want to play?"**
"Come on, G-Man, it'll be fun."
**"Hmm... well, I suppose you do only have a little bit of time left to enjoy this kind of thing."**
"What was that?"
**"Oh... nothing. Ooh, let's do this room."**
"But, the ping's a lot higher than the other rooms."
**"Please?"**
"Fine, fine. I guess it's your universe, anyway."
**"Alright, let's go."**
"...Wow, God, you're getting dominated already?"
**"Yes, I suppose I am."**
"You... you do know you're *God*, right?"
**"What do you mean?"**
"Every week, you want us to go on some really weird server, and you always do really badly. You're supposed to be omnipotent, right? Couldn't you just flawlessly win every time?"
**"...Alright, see the person dominating me?"**
"Yeah...?"
**"Five days ago, his mother, and only surviving parent, passed away in her sleep. He's scared he won't be able to help his little sister come to terms with it, or be as good a parent as he should to her. He's playing this game to work out his frustration."**
"...Jesus."
**"Ahem... blasphemy."**
"Right, right..."
**"In any case... I thought he should have a small victory tonight. Small victories accumulate and make you feel better."**
"...Wow."
**"I'm glad you're impressed."**
"...Hang on. What about that 1v1 we did a month back?"
**"Ugh... that's because the sniper rifle is OP as fuck."**
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"You don't have to hold back that much Dad."
"I know, but if I go all *serious* then I'll crash another multiplayer server."
"Do we have to tank our score every time though?"
"It's bonding time! Does it matter how well we do?"
"No."
"See? Then lets load up another---"
"But it *does* matter if you aren't playing for real."
"You know I can't take things seriously! Remember the flood?"
"We *all* remember. You've been banned from the neighborhood pool ever since."
"That cannonball though. It was really something."
"Yeah, it *was* pretty epic."
"Oh alright, we can try again. I'll play for real."
"Really Dad?"
"You betcha. Just don't blame me if they can't contain---"
"You won't you won't now lets *go!* Oh *C'MON!* Really Dad?!"
"What?"
"We didn't even start!"
"So?"
"We already won!!"
"Well, yeah. It's me."
"That was my favorite multiplayer!!"
"How was I supposed to know they were going to shut down Halo 2's multiplayer server after that?!"
"Because *you* took it too far!"
"It's a timeless classic! You think I *expected* them to---"
"*You* tell me Dad! *You* tell me!"
"See, *that's* why I don't go all out! I swear, this Halo 3 ladder better be something!"
"Or what Dad, you're going to get that one shut down too?"
"No, I'll just get a new studio to take over the franchise. That'll punish them enough."
"You wouldn't."
"Watch me."
"It's Bungie!"
"And I'm *me!*"
---------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading*
| 2016-02-25T21:59:47 | 2016-02-25T19:03:11 | 251 | 39 |
[WP] God is a game dev and he just released a patch for his game "Earth". Write the changelog describing patches, balances, tweaks, etc.
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# Earth
v0.2016.3.8rc5
**Game Balance**
- Reduced resiliency of mosquitoes.
- Increased resiliency of honey bees.
**Bug Fixes**
- Fixed error in `Model.Animal.Feline` where `HouseCat` functions overrode all `Feline` models. All models will now behave appropriately according to size.
- Resolved memory leak in AI `function Economy({capitalism : true})`; `trickleDown()` should now work as intended.
- Removed `Model.Animal.Misc.Platypus`.
- Removed `Model.Animal.Humanoid.Herobrine`.
**Notes**
The environment is almost ready for real players, submitting for review as Release Candidate #5.
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V.1.09 The anarchy update
* Added Superhuman abilities. Every 1/15,000 people will be born with a Superpower. Powers will not be revealed here. You'll have to figure it out on your own. Also 1,000,000 currently alive people will receive a random super power as well.
* Spawned the stone colossus on the island of Madagascar
* Removed all firearms. New guns can also not be created.
* All projectile weapons are now 50% slower
* Meteor showers will happen more frequently and be more intense
* All politicians currently in power will be infected with a non contagious disease that will kill them in 2 weeks
* Spawned Magical dungeons in the Centre of every capital city of every country
* Added a powerful, world wide, free and self staining WiFi, Network
| 2016-03-08T12:40:41 | 2016-03-08T10:56:08 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] "Well you managed to fucking do it. You slept through the apocalypse"
.
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Noise never wakes me up. Hell, I grew up next to a highway and then on a military base. No, today the silence woke me up. There's a hum that disappears when power cuts out. The subtle sounds that are layered into your day to day that you never miss until they're taken away.
I waited for my neighbor's generator to kick on. Does every power outage. Screwed up a few of my devices. But as I lay there, trying to go back to sleep, I remembered that they had moved recently.
I yawned and sat up, and immediately regretted it. The wall to my bedroom was gone. I reached over to wake my wife, but she was gone, too.
"What the fuck. Hun, you here?" No answer. Today must be a Tuesday. This type of shit always goes down on a Tuesday.
I hopped out of bed, fully awake now and threw open the closet and pulled my gun from its hiding place. I dressed quickly, making sure the kydex holster was snug against my hip.
I quickly checked my daughter's room and the garage, hoping that the car would be gone and that my wife had taken our daughter when she couldn't wake me.
Sure enough, the car was gone. Good. They got out. Judging from the lack of noise. They must've taken the animals with them. I guess that'll teach me to take Benadryl and Xanax.
A new noise. I'd been hearing it since I got up, but it didn't register right off. Very high pitched, almost inaudible for me. I guess I was losing those higher frequencies. I walked outside, still not grasping the reality of things. There, in the sky, hung several odd crafts. Almost like blimps, but there was something not quite right about them.
That's when the danger came. I was so busy looking up, that I failed to notice the creature. I was bowled over, gnashing teeth next to my ear. I lashed out with my leg, flipping it over me and pulled my gun.
The instructor at the range had always said, smooth was fast and muscle memory would be our saving grace in an emergency. I'll have to buy him a bottle of scotch because in less than a second my gun was in hand and three rounds had been placed in my new neighbor. Two in the chest, one in the head. No hesitation.
Shakily, I got to my feet and approached the corpse, my senses on high alert now. I toed him with my boot. He looked grey, waxy and there was something else. His veins stood out in sharp red against his skin.
Part of me knew I'd just killed someone, but another part was reveling in the precision of the strike. There's a switch that the government flips when they train you for combat and even if you wash out, they never undo the damage to your mind. Years of depression fell away like dead skin and I stood there, reborn in blood.
I took a deep breath, clearing my nose of gunpowder and getting a feel for the area. Stale smells, electricity, a hint of iron and...sulfur. I didn't know what was going on, but after looking at my first kill, I knew there were infected people out there. And I needed to find my wife and daughter.
Back in the house, I grabbed my kit. Years of joking with friends about zombie survival plans and even making an anything goes bag would come in handy. Better safe than sorry was looking like a good motto now.
Staying off the roads wasn't much of an option, but I remembered an old National Guard post not far from me. Looks like the government was about to give me more than a screwed up shoulder and years of pain. I gritted my teeth and headed north.
***
***You can find more of my work at /r/thestormcellar hope you enjoy!***
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I walk through the streets with blood and puke stained clothes, an ax in my left hand and a .45 pistol in my right. I walk like I fucking own the place because I do. All of the sudden an SUV full of those fuckers rounds the corner puke and blood spray out the windows... But wait lets take it back a step about 3 days. I was a normal paramedic in Chicago, my passion was blood, guts and saving some peoples lives. This story begins with me sitting in the back of a van with a heroine overdose patient. His pupils were the size of a pencil led, blue lips and shit running down his legs... but something was so different about this guy. He was fully awake and aware. In fact he was talking like he was an extremely well educated man! I was holding a conversation with him about our family's. I was calm on the outside but so fucking freaked on the inside. He was oblivious to the fact that he is dying and that wasn't uncommon, but fuck he has shit running down his legs and smelled like death. That was when it happened the worst experience of my life, this guy grabs me by the neck and puts his other hand on my jaw and forces my mouth open and starts to puke down my throat. I start to puke back and in a orgy of puke and confusion I fall on the ground and start to pass out. I feel a hard thump and hear my driver screaming at the top of his lungs. Then i saw blood splatter the window of the driver cab. I couldn't muster the strength to get up and help him.
The next time I woke up I woke up to a very familiar smell... death. I got up covered in dry puke and blood from something. I stand and look at the driver cab but my partner is obviously dead. His neck is spit open like a go-gurt. It doesn't really faze me, John was a dick and was cheating on his wife. I am so confused at this point that we could be here for this long. I get out of the back of the van and slam it shut. I look at the Chicago skyline and all I see is fog and a hint of fire engulfed towers. I realize that there is nothing on the road at all and this is a highway. Just empty cars some riddled with bullets some green and red on the sides. I decide that I need a weapon so I grab the fire ax from the side of the paramedic van and the .45 in the front just in case we are jumped for our morphine. I start walking and hear a few rustles in the bush and guess fucking what, 2 men with full swat outfits and assault rifles start screaming at me to get on the ground. I laugh and look at them they are 5' somethin and maybe 100 pounds. I say "You aren't shit." and start walking. Then I hear the safety come off. I turn on a dime and point it right at one of the kids but before I can even pull back the sides a guy butt naked with a knife comes out of a bush and starts stabbing one and the other makes a run for it. I start blasting the guy that has the knife but it is too late for the midget swat team. He is already onto the other guy. I stare as this man with over 6 bullets in him just tears into the guy I am in awe. The naked man collapses and screams. "Well fuck that shit." and now we are back where we were. Walking down the street with blood and puke with that crazy van. Anyways these guys are heading right for me and not stopping. So I promptly lay on the cold hard ground and wait for my fate. *CRACK CRACK THMP THMP THMP* 8 or 9 guys come out of the bushes in full swat gear shooting this van to hell. These guys are men though unlike the mini me couple we saw earlier. They grab me by the arm all the while shooting this van and drag me off.
If I get some good feedback I will continue with the story for a few more parts. If not, oh well. :)
| 2016-03-11T11:32:36 | 2016-03-11T08:55:57 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] The aliens have arrived however they are not here for war. Instead after reading our broadcast of the United States Constitution they want to join as the 51 state and have brought a small planetoid into orbit to serve as the 51 state.
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"So, what happens if we tell them about the Space treaty that says that no nation can have any territory in space?"
"I don't think they'll react well."
"Best case scenario?"
"An insane amount of applications for residency, the vast majority of which would get turned down because they don't have skills we need."
"They hauled a *Plutoid* here, you think they're unskilled?"
"They hauled a *populated* Plutoid here, I think they have some immensely knowledgeable people that we would accept without hesitation and would probably be our greatest acquisition since Von Braun, but there's millions of them up there that are basically fast food workers. We turn away thousands of human applications every year, now we've got this too? It's going to be bad."
"Okay, and how do they react to that?"
"Who knows. They're aliens, we have no idea what happens then."
"Alright, what's the worst case scenario."
"They de-orbit the planetoid so that it's not in space anymore."
"That sounds incredibly stupid."
"It is. They don't survive that either."
"Seriously though, why even bring that up? This isn't a time for joking. I meant that it sounds incredibly stupid that you would even bring that up."
"...Mr. President, let me be clear here - these people read our constitution and decided to travel *lightyears* with a *planetoid* in tow in order to join us, but did absolutely zero additional research on whether or not they would be allowed to join us, nor even considering that they could simply copy the text of our constitution and implement it themselves. Mr. President, I think these aliens might be idiots."
"Christ. What's our best response?"
"I'm not really sure, Mr. President."
|
"Turn it up, please," the President said with a soft smile, his wispy, blonde hair whipping in the breeze. He was standing on the White house lawn.
"Yes, sir." The volume increased, filling the confusingly jagged streets of DC with the sound of a computerized, autotuned, deep-south voice.
*We the people, of the United States...*
"Oh, that delicious preamble. Have they sent a direct message to us?" the President asked.
"Yes, sir. They want to join us as the 51st state. Our satellite feed shows that they have a small planet, and they've colored the whole thing to look like the American flag. From what we can tell, many of the inhabitants are holding little wands with golden arches on the end."
"How magnificent," he responded, eyes closed and smirking. "What a beautiful sound. Let's tell them we'll allow it. Contact every corporate headquarters and CEO- we have a *lot* of building to do. We'll make it the biggest corporate conglomerate since I put a casino in every Hotel from here to Timbuktu. God damn, let's put a branch of Wal-Mart up there and call it Wal-Mars. Instant billions."
-------
"Glpshnk, please update everyone on the Earthan situation. How has your plan panned out?" the alien leader asked a table full of holographic council members.
"If I do say so myself, it was the most well-executed plan of the millennium. They let us move the gargantuan planet there without even asking its size. We avoided all intergalactic violations due to the human approval, and the entire solar system has completely imploded. Earth itself was ripped into pieces and sucked into the nearby star."
"Excellent. You'll receive that promotion early."
-------
*thanks for reading! for more, check out /r/resonatingfury!*
| 2016-06-06T09:11:03 | 2016-06-06T08:43:22 | 133 | 84 |
[WP] Humanity realizes the Universe is actually a simulation so out of spite it decides to concentrate its effort on messing with the civilization that does the simulation
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Twenty quantum disruptors the size of Jupiter were arranged in an icosahedron at a lightminute’s distance from a perfectly smooth ball the size of an apple. In two pictoseconds, each of these quantum disruptors would annihilate 16.7*10^9 tonnes of matter, teleported in from fourteen trillion siphon points across a galaxy called G563879255, and focus the energy on the ball. At the moment the energy makes contact with the ball’s shell, about ten cubic centimeters at the center of the sphere will be carved out of the universe and injected into the theoretically-predicted parent universe in which our universe is contained.
If all goes as planned, the device would interact with the universe above it. This disruption could be controlled in order to transmit eighteen bytes of information, a fragment of an equation. If this attempt failed, it would be over fifteen years before another galaxy could be prepared to resend the message.
A human in a ceremonial body flipped the ceremonial switch, initiating the process. A shell of energy swept outward from the center of the device in a process that would destroy G563879255 over the next fifty thousand years.
-----------------------------------------
The most advanced particle collider ever constructed formed a thirteen thousand kilometer ring around a small moon, accelerating hadrons with eighteen zettaelectronvolts of energy. A team of researchers from across the solar system worked to analyze the data it produced. After three months of operation, the media began to comment on the rising secrecy around the facility. Excitement grew at the possibility that the experiment had finally revealed new physics that could hint at a path toward the fabled theory of everything, a single theoretical framework that describes all physics.
The principal investigators finally announced a press conference seven months after the experiments began.
The level of public interest was unprecedented for a scientific announcement and reporters crammed into every space in the auditorium.
A being, which may have looked like a brightly-plumed spider to a human, walked to the podium as his colleagues assembled behind it.
When everyone had come on stage, it began to speak. “We’ve gathered here to announce that the Encenadex Hadron Colllider team has discovered the Theory of Everything.”
The crowd was so excited that the sound of mandibles rubbing together became nearly deafening. The being at the podium motioned for silence.
“While this discovery promises to revolutionize every aspect of our lives, it may not be the most significant finding of this experiment.”
A dry scratching sound rose in the room, as beings rubbed up against their colleagues to whisper.
“The new particle we discovered lasts only for a tenth of a picosecond. In that time, it emits eighteen particles, either electrons or positrons. At first, we believed these to be random. Once we analysed millions of these decay events, we realized that each contained a piece of a very concise proof that revealed the theory to us. So we did not so much discover the theory of everything as had it taught to us by some entity from another universe.”
The room erupted in noise again. The being at the front motioned once more and a hush fell over the room.
“The message included something else: a description of a device of unimaginable scale along with a short instruction to us.”
The being paused for effect before repeating the message to the crowd. “It says, roughly, ‘pay it forward’.”
|
“They did what?”
“They elected that douche bag as Uni-Supreme Leader.”
“You have got to be kidding me. We threw him in there for shits n gigs. Danny purposefully took control towards the end to make him crash and burn. Danny! Hey Danny, get over here!”
“Yarp?”
“Yo, didn’t you take control of the Douche Bag sim and run him in to the ground so that the people would reject him?”
“Yarp.”
“Well they frickin’ elected him!”
“Oh snap.. Even after that stuff I had him say and do?”
“Apparently…”
“Ohhhhh man thats crazy… There’s no way the simulation should have done that. I mean, I guess anything is possible… But, well, it must have been a virus or a bug in there or something.”
“The system keeps showing clean.”
“But dude, I freaking wrecked things! I mean I figured that stuff about building a 'galactic wall' to keep the ethereal creatures out would have caused enough of a raucous to knock him out.”
“Nah, the sims ate it up.”
“And that stuff I had him say about increasing the out put of the major galaxies and ignoring the universal efforts to maintain the heat balance of the universe?”
“Well at first the overall response was as expected. But there was never the backlash like we expected. Sure his publicity tuned down, but it didn’t remove him from the rat race. Things kinda just kept going… It’s almost as if—“
“Okay okay okay, let’s think about this. Something is up. Like, he was on a pretty shaky run. I mean sure, the system had to account for a variable like him, and with all the preluding events, a character like him was bound to show up. But the overall direction of the system is a non-zero sum. He IS the zero-sum. The calculations that Stewie and them did by hand show that the sims would have kicked his ass to the curb a while ago.”
“Yea, but—“
“And after that stunt I pulled with his daughter. COMON… How much worse can it get? Who in their right mind would say, ‘Yea, okay, this is the guy I entrust the secrets of the universe to! I feel safe in his hands!”
“Danny, you’re thinking too rationally… Obviously, something is up?”
“Well what is it? There’s no viruses. No bugs. No malware. No miscalculations. No anomalies. Nothing…”
“Hold on a sec… Jess! Jess come over here please!”
“Yes?”
“Jess, you were responsible for the dice mechanic right?”
“You mean the chaos element?”
“Tomato-potato. You calculated the randomness in the system, yes?”
“Yea.”
“Is there a chance that your equations would lead to anything like consciousness?”
“Possibly. That IS the beauty that is chaos.”
“Well I’ll be…”
“What?”
“Yea, what is it?”
“They’re fucking with us. Those little sims just gave the power of the Universe to a douche bag.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Whoa check it out! The Douche just caused the major galaxies to supernova! It’s spanning billions and billions of light years… Whoa, zoom out some.”
“It’s… It’s spelling out something.”
“C-O-N-G-R-A-T-U-L-A-T-I-O-N-S"
| 2016-06-10T12:02:48 | 2016-06-10T11:30:09 | 78 | 45 |
[WP]The Rapture happens while you are skydiving. (Un)fortunately for you, your tandem instructor is one of the chosen ones.
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As you might have predicted, I'm dead. A fall from 13,000 feet will do that. As you might *not* have predicted, I'm suing over it.
It was surprisingly easy. There were an awful lot of lawyers available in Hell, perhaps to the point of cliche, but then, there's an awful lot of *everyone* down here. All walks of life, and I mean *all*. Breaks your heart.
Anyway. Wrongful death. Willful negligence. Apparently, I had a strong case. My lawyer says they'll settle, or at least I think he does. I don't speak Babylonian, but they say this Hammurabi guy is the best. He's confident. And he's pretty sore about the damnation thing, after inventing the code of law in Mesopotamia and stopping generations of bloody tribal warfare. He thought it might give him a pass on the whole "not believing in a guy that was born 1,000 years later than him" thing, but not so much, evidently. Stupid infallibility. Still, "on Earth as it is in Heaven", his words. A = B. B = A. Earth has laws. I was killed in US jurisdiction. God is liable.
Lucifer thought the whole thing was HILARIOUS, which is why he gave us a break from the bubbling brimstone long enough to file legal briefs, but started finding it less-so once legal precedent on Acts of God was set. Hell lost an awful lot of tenants. We got a class-action going.
Turned this whole thing around. Lucifer's doing time for kidnapping, God for evading arrest. Most of the angels and devils were hit with RICO charges, racketeering, assault. We sued Heaven again, for withholding evidence. Got access to the Akashic Records. Cleared up every murder, EVER, and a bunch of other nastiness, too, although some of the new convicts are appealing on the basis of illegal wiretapping. So it goes.
We've started pouring cement for the new Trans-Heaven-Tollway.
We're gonna sell timeshares.
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"...and go!" The light turned green, and suddenly I was falling, my arms and legs pushed back, my lips curled in a half-smirk half expression of terror. I couldn't hear much beyond the rushing wind. I doubted Dave, my tandem partner/instructor, could hear much either, but I decided to give him a yell.
"Make sure you get a good picture!" Although what percentage of that he got I couldn't tell. I could feel him yell something that sounded like assent, and I surveyed the land rushing forth below me.
It was a strange peaceful feeling, even with the wind up rushing and gravity's relentless pull on me and Dave. I was glad I had Dave.
The next moment, things changed. I can't describe it; the closest thing I could come to was hearing something awful about yourself, something you weren't meant to hear. Something deep down you knew to be undeniably true. In that brief moment before anger, or disappointment, you have a shock, a minor daze where you process the information before deciding how to proceed. So it felt like that, only it felt like it had happened to the whole world.
I yelled up to Dave "Did you notice anything strange?" At least I hope that's what he heard. No noise of assent this time. I turned to face him- and he was gone. No Dave. No parachute.
Immediately panicked, I cast around for him- we were in the sky, after all, there was nowhere to go but down. I couldn't find him. No Dave, I was more confused than worried about Dave, where the hell could he have gone? And no parachute.
OH FUCK, FUCKING DAVE VANISHED WITH MY FUCKING PARACHUTE.
Peace was gone. The roar of wind was no longer exhilarating but a constant, overwhelming reminder I was plummeting to my doom. What had just happened? What was going on? These questions seemed unnecessary considering I was about to hit the ground and vaporize onto pacement.
The ground continued rushing up at me, and I could see people scurrying back in forth, most seemingly in distress. I wonder what I had felt?
This is unfair, I thought to myself, as the ground rushed up at me.
Fuck skydiving, and fuck Dave.
| 2016-07-30T11:47:21 | 2016-07-30T11:36:34 | 743 | 10 |
[WP] Humans are actually the most peaceful, kind race in the universe and other aliens don't invade us because its cute to watch.
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'Look...they're doing it again.'
'Doing what?'
'Just...look come over here and take a look at the damn screen.'
'Oh, well isn't that just the sweetest thing.'
'I know, right? The transmission arrived just this morning. What you would expect of course, you know; 'is anyone out there', 'we come in peace', all that bollocks.'
'They really are adorable, did you see recently that they just celebrated a hundred years without any major wars between themselves? They exchanged gifts, they sang, they embraced each other, it really was quite something.'
'Yeah, it's quite incredible in it's own way.'
'Yeah...'
...
'We should probably just get it over with though, you know? Bite the bullet, and all that. Full on invade the place, strip the resources, assimilate the good bits of genetic code, etc, etc, and move on.'
'What, why?'
'Well, isn't it cruel not to?'
'Don't be silly.'
'No but I mean...look I don't want to be a dick or anything. You know I enjoy their silly little behaviours as well. But you know how this goes. Look, we have successfully invaded every known system in the local cluster right?'
'Right.'
'In every case, resistance has been utterly futile, right?'
'Damn right, poor fuckers never stood a chance...'
'Well yes, exactly. Now tell me why we do this.'
'You know why...'
'Yes, but come on now...just spell it out, back to basics kinda stuff. Explain it to me as if I was still a juvenile.'
'Ok then, we do what we do because of the fundamental law of the universe. There is no value to be found in genetic stagnation, it has been shown a thousand times over. Species must constantly fight, within themselves and externally, if they are to evolve into ever more perfect life forms. It is the only way to survive the long night.'
'Indeed...'
'I mean, just look at them! Even on their world, humans have not evolved significantly in thousands of years! They are not even the strongest organism on their planet! They keep their weak alive out of pity and they seek cooperation out only because the alternative of war is a hard struggle which would interrupt their comfy little lives. As a species they are like a dull blade!'
'Yes I agree, so why don't we just finish them off?'
'Well...'
'If they are so fundamentally useless why do we keep them around? I mean, I enjoy their silly little antics as much as you do, but when did we become the type of people who kept around things simply because they amused us?'
'Well...I guess it's because they're the only ones. The only ones we have come across who, having achieved sentience, have ultimately chosen peace over war. It is unprecedented; and the worse thing is that the instinct for violence is there, but they suppress it.'
'They're unique then...will it help them survive the long night?'
...
'Will anything?'
|
"Zorba! Stop staring at the pictures of the humans and tell me why they are an important race in the university" The light blue-skinned woman asked.
Zorba looked up hesitantly. She was a small girl with dark blue skin and pearly eyes. "Because humans are adorable, Miss Vannor?" She offered up.
"They are indeed the cutest race in the universe buy why do we find them so?" Miss Vannor questioned, her steely eyes narrowed on Zorba's wriggling form.
"Because they're always so nice to each other unlike our race. We always fight and discriminate whereas humans bond together" Zorba answered with a dreamy smile. Humans were so lovely. She really wanted to meet one.
"Exactly. Well done, Zorba! Humans are the most peaceful and kind race in the universe. We love to watch them and do not interfere because we don't want to expose them to our endless problems. We want them to continue living in their ignorant bliss" Miss Vannor expanded on Zorba's correct but brief explanation. "Can anyone else in the class offer me an example of when the humans bonded together?"
A jade green-skinned boy with sapphire hair raised his hand. Miss Vannor nodded gently and he began to answer. "When that evil monstrosity called Hitler tried to eliminate the Jews, the world banded together and defeated him. And afterwards all the countries swore to never have another world war. This shows that humans will never let injustice stand!" He said proudly. He had always wanted to be a human.
" That's an excellent example, Mikio! Now for your homework, I would like you to turn in 3,000 words on why we would never invade Earth. Remember the key themes are peace and kindness." Miss Vannor set their homework and watched them scribble it down before leaving. The classroom was empty except for Zorba. "What's wrong, Zorba?"
Zorba bit her lip anxiously. She didn't want to offend Miss Vannor. "Is it true you've met a human and have human ancestry?" She really wanted to know if the rumours were true.
"What a ridiculous thought!" Miss Vannor exclaimed. Her fiery red hair escaped from her bun as she shook her head in denial. "I have never met a human" Her nostrils flared at the thought.
Zorba quickly apologised. "Sorry, Miss" She left in a hurry.
Miss Vannor breathed a sigh of relief. No one could ever know about her great grandfather. She would never hear the end of it if they found out she was related to a human. And not even a nice, kind human. No she had the misfortune to be related to one of the most despised human beings around. Her first name even honoured him though she hated her father for it. She was Doni. The only plus side was that she didn't take her father's surname of Trump. She much preferred Vannor, her mother's maiden name.
Edit: Cleaned up a few typos.
| 2016-09-28T03:53:07 | 2016-09-28T02:37:36 | 2,919 | 173 |
[WP] Humans are actually the most peaceful, kind race in the universe and other aliens don't invade us because its cute to watch.
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"Oh my God, that is so cute! Look at them!" Zorg looked through the satellite towards planet earth.
"Let me see, let me see! Aww that IS cute." Zoid said with a smile. He loved his job as an anthropologist, especially when his assignments were on humans.
The humans were having a celebratory event for the end of the war. The dead were buried and hands were shaken. People drank to the heroes of all the countries.
Oxbraghs, however, would never do that. Even if they found out they were in the wrong, they would pretend otherwise and continue to bash the enemies brains in. Or each others. Or their own.
"Okay, now it is my turn again to look! Move over." Zorg pushed Zoid aside.
"No, I am not done yet!" Zoid pushed back, regaining control. "Haha, naww, they pulled two kids apart who were fighting and forced them to say sorry!"
"Haha, idiots..." Zorg did think they were cute, but humans were apparently not intelligent enough to realise that things can only be accomplished with sheer violence. Something he and his brother knew pretty well. Zoid grabbed the scissors and stood ready to stab. Zorg had already anticipated the attack and was ready to curve the scissors to his brothers face.
"Ouch!" They said together. "What have I told you about hurting us! We are one being, you stupid head, you hurt me you hurt yourself!"
Then the real fighting began, where Zoid bashed in Zorgs head and the other way around. It was their way of showing affection. To suffer together, is to stay together.
|
"Well shit." It was a normal day in the live of what a human would describe a monster. Ofcourse this monster, was only an Alien surfing the Human Earth Archive that had been recovered from the ashes of Earth that he had destroyed only seconds before. He had misunderstood the meaning of the Human's message. One of his translators had jokingy said that humans send a message with the text: "come at me bro" ofcourse joking about a earth stereotype of challenging someone for some odd reason, which was verry funny and cute in the eyes of these monsters.
The monster which was by an ofchance called Zapzodobido, not to confuse with THE Zapzodobido! which was a famous actor starring in movie like: Undead guardian of the living Zopdodas" and the allmight and famous television show called: "Mister Y'badaro da Sexrola, I guess" reaching milions in views on the Intergalactic web of United Galaxy nations which had recently merged with the web for Magnificent beings and Demigod's.
Zapzodobido had realised his mistake. He destroyed the race of the adorable humans. The race that only recently established Intergalactic contact and now were destroyed by the Sporuns, green gobbly monsters which only showered once in 2 weeks! And all of this because some idiot had made a stupid joke.
Zapzodobido could already imagine himself inside the court of galactic justice.
Zapzodobido was browsing the Human Earth Archive, until he noticed a small fluffy being dancing to music. Named by humans as "Cats" He was disturbed.
It was after this moment. That Zapzodobido said:
"Well shit, this is were grandpa has been all this time"
And no one ever knew what the heck he was talking about.
| 2016-09-28T03:42:15 | 2016-09-28T03:38:00 | 455 | 14 |
[WP] The Walking Dead is actually a bunch of kids playing zombies, every time someone "dies" its actually their mom and dad calling them to come inside for dinner, homework, etc. Write about a character death from this perspective
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"Guys, my mom doesn't want me playing this any more. She says that I'm spending too much time here and I need to work on packing."
"It's alright Glenn, we'll just play until you have to ove, but we'll keep playing while you're here okay?" Replied Rick. "Thanks for bringing your cousin Nicholas to play this week, it's been nice having an extra person around"
"No problem! Alright! So where were we?" Glenn excitedly said getting back to the game.
*Glenn and Nicholas ran away from the walkers but were surrounded! ***Blam!** *Nicholas shot a walker and ran with Glenn down an alley trying to get out of town, but they were cornered!*
*Glenn jumped up heroically onto the dumpster, and helped Nicholas up. They'd fought in the past and had bad blood, but none of that mattered because they were running for their lives!*
*The sound of the walkers filled their ears and they pawed at their legs and feet from below.*
Nicholas' phone buzzed, "Time to pack it up" the text read. "Guys I gotta head out. Thanks for letting me join you. Glenn my mom said it's time to come home. We gotta leave and then you gotta finish packing."
"But we gotta finish what's going on! I mean, I've been playing with Rick and Maggie and Carl and everyone since spring of last year! For like... 6 seasons! I can't just leave now....." Glenn looked dejected in the summer heat.
"I don't want to lose you as part of the game," Rick consoled him. "But your parents are selling their house right? I mean it's summer now, and you're supposed to be moving out of state this fall and stuff, but let's get together some more if you can convince you mom."
"Well, alright, let's wrap it up for the day." Rick directed everyone back to what they were doing
Nicholas was busy on his phone and didn't realize the game had started back up
*"Nicholas! Hey! Hey! Look at me!" Glenn yelled as they tried to survive the horde of walkers.*
"Oh, um, I kill myself I guess?" Nicholas said unenthusiastically. "Thanks for letting me play everyone!"
*Glen watched in disbelief as Nicholas simply said, "Thank you" and then blew his brains out. Nicholas fell into Glenn and they fell off the dumpster as the walkers closed in on the two, starting to rip entrails from seemingly everywhere.*
"Alright guys, hopefully I'll see you next time," Glenn said. "I'll let you know if I can come back though."
"I just know you will. Make her let you!" Maggie said.
"We'll have a spot open for you if you want to come back." Rick assured Glenn.
Glenn smiled at all his friends and ran home not knowing if he'd be back for another session, but was hopeful.
**A few weeks later....**
"Guys! Mom says I can come back and play with you guys for a while until we move! But I'm officially moving at the end of October!" Glenn let everyone know.
"Alright!" "Awesome!" came the replies
"Hey, not trying to replace Glenn or anything, but I've got a next door neighbor I was telling about this, and he might be interested in playing with us," Rick told everyone.
"Cool," replied Glenn. "What's his name?"
"He plays baseball, so he's kind of busy, but he said it's right up his alley. His name is Negan."
"Can't wait to meet him!" Glenn replied.
*edit: Formatting
*edit 2: Holy crap this got more attention than I thought it would! Thanks everyone.
|
[SPOILERS FOR THE WALKING DEAD]
Walkers were no longer a threat. We had been playing so long, we had killed most of them. Now, it was the other people that we had to be afraid of.
It happened a while back, during the first semester of the school year. It was dry and there was a drought, and a fire had silently bloomed one day in the woods near our neighborhood. We simply played in other woods, leaving the abandoned house we called "The Prison" and going to a new area of forest we had yet to explore. We would trek along, finding food and water as we scouted out the new area. Until, one day, we were forced to turn back.
A young red-headed boy was watching us from a distance, his ginger hair shining against the green leaves that permeated the rocky soil of the outskirts of Boston. We turned back and set up camp for the day, waiting for someone to approach us. We feasted on a few rabbits we had caught and went to bed.
The next day, there were more boys. We managed to catch one of them; he said he worked for a dude named Grant. We sent him off, knowing that we wouldn't be able to face such a large group. We made a permanent camp, with blankets and tents brought from our previous settlements. While we explored, we found another camp like ours, with sleeping bags and lanterns. They were clearly more high-tech than we were. We stole some supplies and made it back to our camp before calling it a day.
Eventually, after many more run-ins with Grant and his people, we were chopping wood for a fire when Matt cut his hand. We knew we had to get help from another group of friendly people we had met, from a neighborhood called Hilltop Ridge. We left our camp, which we had code-named Alexandria, and went to find some medical supplies. But, every route we took was blocked off by Grant's men. We eventually decided to make a break for it and got surrounded.
The boys started to make a fire in front of us. My group was all people my age, but Grant's group was a mix: there were boys as young as 5 or 6 and some as old as 10 or 11. They lined us up in front of the fire, and told us we would meet Grant shortly. We waited, the afternoon slowly fading into twilight. After a while, Grant stepped out of the shadows. He was older than all the rest, probably 12, with dark hair and aviator sunglasses. He wasn't too tall but he was a big boy, and he had a wooden baseball bat. He said he didn't like us taking his stuff, so he was gonna kill one of us.
We were all scared out of our minds. I looked at the brave group of my peers who had made the journey with me: Josh, Tyler, Alyssa, Lucas, Dustin, Jenny, Walter, and Caroline were all in line, their faces solemn, knowing that this is what it took to help Matt and we were going to persevere. I heard footsteps in the woods, signaling that someone's time was coming to an end.
Grant stepped forward with his bat, and then begins to say how we could have been friends. But, he has to do this, and then he makes his decision. Dustin gets up, his face sad, and says his goodbyes. Grant's men begin to clear out, and we were all sad. We turned to see Dustin heading off with his older sister, Margaret, who had been sent out to find him. He hadn't done his homework and the sun was starting to set. He was grounded for sure.
We decided to call it a day. We dropped off our sticks and flashlights and the Airsoft gun Tyler got for his birthday at our little camp and went back home. It was probably almost time for dinner anyways. Our mothers would be waiting to hear about our most recent endeavors.
| 2016-11-14T09:11:10 | 2016-11-14T07:45:39 | 601 | 14 |
[Wp]Heaven isn't based on religious text or desires, but how you died. Example: a man who starved to death will live in a heaven of food.
Edit: holy shit i did not expect this response, you're all awesome and beautiful! <3
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They had been right all along. Neil walked the rolling plains of Heaven, the grass tickling his bare toes. The air had never smelled so sweet, and just *look* at it. In life, he'd dismissed all of this as a fairytale people told each other for comfort: that one day, you would find peace in Heaven.
But he couldn't deny what he saw. People smiling as they rested against immensely tall, graceful trees. Most had linked hands and were talking quietly. He passed them all, somehow unafraid of what they would think of him, filled with a funny sort of conviction that they wouldn't whisper about him when he was gone. He'd always been so afraid of that.
He paused at a group of four that seemed, oddly, to be waiting for him. They turned to him with wide, welcoming smiles. Neil's heart ached. It was hard to reach for the memory, but he knew this - he'd never met with such easy acceptance before.
"Join us," one of the men said, blue eye gleaming in the sharp sunlight. "We want you here. Don't walk the plains by yourself. We're meant to be with one another here. To talk, and listen."
"This place is unbelievable. Who would have thought they were right?" Neil said, sitting down and venturing a smile himself.
"Oh, I don't know about that," a young woman said quietly. She picked unconsciously at the scars on her arms. "I think it's just right for us, you know? If you get to know us, you'll realise what I mean. We all came here the same way."
Neil swallowed heavily, glancing away from them, sure they could see the memories that were shoving themselves nightmarishly to the forefront of his mind. Alone, in that dingy little apartment. Certain no-one would ever knock on his door to ask how he was doing, would sit with him and listen, as this woman was listening now. Convinced that anything was preferable to the agony that was waking up, still the same person that he was yesterday.
He'd been so ready to never wake up to that again.
He felt the woman's fingertips brush his hand, and looked up into her overly bright eyes.
"Hey, we understand, believe me. We're here for you," she said. "We're not going anywhere."
-----------------------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
Nightmares. Only nightmares, for minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years. A millennia of nightmares, passed in a moment; each one flickering by, their respective horror scarce dimmed by the previous. Every terror a human being could possibly imagine and an infinite number that one couldn't, appearing and disappearing.
And he wasn't asleep.
It was always day, the sun was always bright, glaring almost. He was uncomfortable under it, under its relentless eye, slowly charring his skin to a painful red. It reminded him of the war, of the time he spent thinking, 'what I would give for rain', of the peeling skin and high tempers that had surrounded him.
At first, the nightmares had been of the war. Soldiers appearing in front of him, firing, feeling the pain - never muted - of the bullets slamming into him, tearing him apart. Every horror he had experienced then, occurring again, and somehow worse for it.
He could remember a time when he had been at peace with the war. At peace with what he had done, able to fall asleep at night. Able to be proud of himself.
That was no more. Now, he wanted nothing less than to die, to die *again*, so he could never see those images of the dead flicker past his eyes again. So he could be free of this torment.
At first, he had pleaded. Begged, even. He wasn't a bad man, he said. He'd gone to church, he'd been kind, forgiving. He'd killed, yes, but he'd killed for freedom, for his country. Never in cold blood, he said, never for fun or pleasure, he had never enjoyed it.
He almost expected a response. If this was a mistake, perhaps a reassurance. If this was Hell, this prison, this torment, it would surely become clear. The world would show him images of the people he'd killed, torture him with that knowledge of *what he had done*.
Neither happened. Well, the latter did, after a fashion, but it was simply another step in the scale of escalation, another image that was simply worse than what had come before.
He had scratches on his skin. At first, he had made one every time he had felt like a day had passed. Had gauged it on how tired he had been. How much he had wanted to sleep, how many of the waking nightmares were dreams and how many seemed more like hallucinations, brought on by a lack of sleep.
He made another scratch.
He hadn't slept.
Not once.
---
*[more stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/forricide)*
| 2017-01-27T11:27:04 | 2017-01-27T11:19:18 | 561 | 18 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
|
God: How did you do this?
John: I first made every person feel the pain they had caused to everyone else. They felt every insult, every small hurt and every cruelty they inflicted on others by choice. Then I made them feel how others felt when they did something good.
Of course, now all humans feel the consequences of the actions both the good and the bad that they inflict on others at all times. So they think before being cruel.
Humans are inherently selfish, right? So I gave them a reason to be good. It all worked itself out immediately after that.
|
"How'd you do it?" God asked in a quiet and amazed voice.
"Ya know all those different books with their warnings of Apocalypse?"
"Yeah. They're all ridiculous, I would never do such things to people."
"I created one apocalyptic event from every major religion of the world."
"WHY?"
"I read 'The Prince' in high school. Plus I fixed all the laws of nature to be programmed in binary."
"But I am God, not a computer."
"Ah, I forgot. I also read 'The Last Answer' last week and it just popped into my head."
" You did well Evan. I'm impressed."
"Actually, it's Bruce..."
| 2017-03-05T02:34:13 | 2017-03-05T02:14:30 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] What if, instead of wacky and silly stories that teach subtle lessons, Dr. Suess wrote dark and serious ones? Write me one of those.
Ideas:
The Lorax.
Horton hears a Who.
Mertle the Turtle.
and, my personal favorite, The Butter Battle
|
I do not like you
Sam, I am
I do not like you
Here or there
I do not like you
Anywhere
I do not like you in my house
I think you are some kind of louse
Your country did not send its best
You simply do not pass my test
I will not let you through my gate
You would not, could not, make us great
I do not like you
Sam, I am
I do not like you much at all
I'm going to build a great big wall
|
Note: I dont feel like doing a proper edit. This is not quite what you were looking for (since it's not really a rewrite of existing works), but here:
The Fickle Farkle, a silly beast
who worked his fingers to the bone
to make up for the fact that he was so very alone.
With no home, no one, no single soul
to share or call his own.
So he worked and worked and worked all day
he built and painted and welded and paved
and each day he woke he gave and gave
until he gave himself an early grave.
No one remembered his name, they say.
| 2017-03-19T09:27:15 | 2017-03-19T08:17:45 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You now possess the ability to read minds however it can only be activating by screaming IM READING YOUR MIND as loudly as you can and pressing your fingers into your temples
Activated*
|
Not the best writer but here goes
---------------
I HAVE to know.
I turn to my right, she to her left, smiling at me.
My fingers migrate to my temples.
"IM READING YOUR MIND"
She jumps. The entire class turns to us.
She picks her books from the table, her face conveys disgust, her mind sorrow as laughter erupts.
Her answer: not anymore.
------------
^^edit: ^^Fixed ^^punctuation
|
The best part is people just think you're joking. It doesn't take much you just make a funny face, scream the mantra and read it all. At the same time, screaming at someone that you're reading their mind does make them think of strange things. Generally there are two options. One is things get real weird and suddenly you're looking at all the strange fantasies that rule the deepest darkest parts, and the other side is they suddenly start thinking about weird things, like polka-dot penguins.
Its not bad though, overall its a nice power to have. Casually useful, generally ignored. Exactly how I want it.
| 2017-04-03T00:01:12 | 2017-04-02T20:53:59 | 1,326 | 145 |
[WP] There was a mix up and instead of a guardian angel little Everlee has a devil of hell watching over her and he is EXTREMELY good at his job
|
Little Eve was eating her snack when the men walked in.
There were three of them - dressed all in black, weapons glinting darkly in the mirror finish of the marble floor. How they had gotten here, past all of the guards, Halcyon wasn't sure. Through the window, perhaps. Or maybe they simple killed them all. Their faces were covered, simple masks hiding everything but their eyes. But despite their weapons, and despite their training, all of them stopped when Halcyon walked out from behind a pillar. In their eyes, all he saw was fear.
"You...you're not supposed to be here." One of them grunted. "She's supposed to be alone...who the hell are you?"
"Uncle Hal, are these your friends?" Eve asked. She swallowed the last of her cookie and trotted over to him, clinging to his leg. She barely made it to his waist.
"No, little Everlee. These are no friends of mine." Halcyon said, smiling. "Why don't you go back to your room to finish your juice? I promise I'll be there shortly." He ruffled her hair proudly, turning her gently towards the open doorway. She hadn't even cried this time, he thought. They do grow up far too fast.
"No! She stays!" The first man barked, and began to raise his weapon. With a gesture from Halcyon, however, it froze midway, trembling in his grasp.
The other two men took a step back.
"All in due time, gentlemen." Halcyon said. "Wait until she closes the door."
Together, the four of them waited as the little girl trotted down the hall, tottering steps clicking a rhythmic pattern over the marble. Soon, they were silent, and Halcyon heard the telltale click of a door being shut by tiny hands.
"'Uncle Hal', was it?" Said one of the men. "Somehow I doubt that. The king has no brother. What are you, her butler? You certainly look the part."
"More like...her guardian." Halcyon said, studiously examining his polished nails. "We go way back, little Evelee and I. I have a duty to her - a debt from another life. I won't let her die here."
"Step aside, servant." The man growled. "You aren't on our list, but we'll make an exception if we have to."
"I think not, human." Halcyon said. "I might not be on your list...but the three of you have just made mine."
Then, before they could react, he leapt.
The first man lost his weapon along with the majority of his fingers in the blink of an eye, torn asunder by claws that hadn't existed a moment before. Halcyon clamped a hand over his mouth, muting his scream before his lungs could even fill with air.
"Now now, my good man." He said, charming as ever. "I can't have you disturbing the princess so lightly, can I?"
There was a report as one of the other men fired his weapon, bullets slamming into the first with wet thuds as Halcyon held him up as a shield. With a single hand, he tossed the now-lifeless body in the direction of the fire, grinning at the sound of the man grunting as his former comrade bowled him over. The third wisely began to run, but barely made it two paces before he found himself face-to-face with the now-blood-covered Halcyon.
"No leaving the party early, I'm afraid." The demon said, fanged smile playing on his placid face. "You've come without an invitation...and now, you have to pay your way."
In a flash, the man's head was gone, devoured by a mouth far too large for the body it belonged to. The body collapsed, blood staining the snow-white marble like red silk.
"Now, for the last one..." Halcyon said. He began to walk, paces slow and measured, toward the man still trying to extricate himself from the body of his fallen friend.
He looked upon the butler, and screamed.
***
"Are you sure you're OK, Uncle Hal?" Eve asked, limpid eyes filled with concern. "I thought I heard yelling..."
"Nothing to concern yourself with, my princess." Halcyon said, ruffling her hair once more. There was no sign of the men, not anymore - even Halcyon's suit appeared as clean as the day it had been made. "Though, we may need to ask your father to tighten security on the sixth floor windows...goodness knows, those men were brave trying to break in that way."
"Where'd they go, anyway?" Eve said. "I don't see them anywhere...they were kinda scary."
"Oh, they're long gone, my dear. Don't trouble yourself worrying over them." Halcyon said. "I daresay, I do no think that we shall meet again."
|
Little Everlee was a peculiar child. She was considered an outcast by her peers, always looking in from outside. The other kids wouldn't even acknowledge her. Doing so was bad luck. People tended to end up hurt.
So nobody talked to her or even *about* her. They tried their best to ignore her. Which was okay to Everlee, who never really desired human companionship. Let them carry on with whatever. Besides. There was always that dark, suspicious voice at her right side. The one that told her people were inherently bad. They were naturally distrusting, cruel and greedy. 'It was better this way,' the voice said. 'After all, you still have me.'
The voice was always with her. She supposed that it was what could've been described as an 'imaginary friend'. Young Everlee took it's advice. She stayed away from people. Isolated herself. Following it's instructions, she ran away from home at a young age. Images of horrible accidents and mangled bodies, train crashes where she was the only survivor, filled her head and drove her from the only place where she was truely loved. The voice consoled her the entire way.
"This is the righteous path. You wouldn't want anything to happen to your parents. Something would be bound to happen with all that time they spent with you."
The voice said. Everlee believed it like she had done throughout her entire life.
Despite being penniless. The young girl always got by. The voice taught her how to pilfer pockets and pick locks. It told her which places were safe to sleep in. Which houses were missing their owners, the combination to their safes and the right amount to take.
Thanks to the voice, Everlee got on just fine. The young girl became a woman, albeit one that wore ragged, threadbare clothing and slept in boxes. Life was good. The accidents had stopped almost entirely since her entrance into adulthood. She no longer had to worry about that unpleasant feeling when you turn on the television, see something horrible on the news and go the rest of the day wondering whether or not it was her fault. No more dead people lying behind her. No more mangled corpses, killed in horrific manner by the bloodstained hands of fate itself. Everything was okay now.
One night, something went horribly wrong.
It was a quiet house. Baby blue with a single story to it. The door was locked. Locks had stopped being a barrier to Everlee a long time ago.
She was looking at the living room television, a large and expensive looking plasma screen, wondering how much she could get for it if she pawned it off. The house was completely silent in the dead of night. Which was how she heard the door leading into the kitchen opening.
Every muscle in her body tensed. The man was nearly eight paces away. Eight big steps. He was a large, imposing man with big hairy hands attached to big hairy arms. Those big hands held a gun. A pistol that looked small in comparision.
The man walked towards her, slowly with the weapon pointed at her head. There was a glint in his eye. The voice began whispering such horrible things to Everlee. What the man would do to her. Horrid, horrible, no-good things. Men were animals when you gave them any sort of power and Everlee was a young, pretty woman. There was only one natural conclusion to this situation... unless.
The voice was just saying that. In truth, the man was an insomniac. He was up for a late snack since he couldn't sleep thanks to the stress brought by mounting debt and unpaid bills. The man was about as scared of Everlee as she was of him. A strange, suspicious-looking burglar inside of his living room? It was unfortunate that she couldn't see his face in that moment. Fear was deeply apparant in his big, kindly features.
Nobody was there to tell Everlee, though. Which is why when the voice told her to kill him, she obeyed like she always did. Her mind hardly registered the gun he had in his hands.
A single push. He tried to shoot her, but the gun jammed. It was a well-oiled .45 semi-automatic. It should not have jammed. A single push and his head went through a glass coffee table and he was dead.
Well, not yet. He was merely unconcious, but then the voice told Everlee to take the gun. To unjam it. And to shoot the man in the head. She couldn't not listen to the voice. No matter how hard she tried. It was like she was moving on autopilot.
The gunshot rang out through the house. There was a scream from the doorway leading into the kitchen. The man had a wife, whose face was stark pale at the sight of her dead husband.
Everlee looked up at the frantic woman frozen in place. Tears trailed down her face like droplets of water on a ice sculpture. The voice told her to kill the woman. It also told her to kill the child in the next room. "There could be no witnesses," it told her, convincingly. A bad excuse for murder, but the voice no longer needed excuses.
Everlee couldn't help but obey.
| 2017-05-03T21:08:32 | 2017-05-03T20:03:50 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You're a lazy superhero with the power of precognition. Your modus operandi is showing up to a crime scene ahead of time and making some small change to foil the criminals' plans.
|
The oddly small man came into the office on Thursday afternoon, looking nervous. Small is relative, I suppose. I'm used to interviewing people who are larger than life. Unless they're gadgeteers, supers tend to be built like Olympians. Even The Bolt was all whipcord and muscle under the suit.
But this guy was as fidgety as they came, so I decided to stick to the standard protocol. Which meant no handshakes. Too many power sets are activated by touch.
"Jon Hammer," he said quietly, as he sat down in the chair opposite mine.
I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly. "Sorry, what was your name?"
"The Nail, I suppose." The fidgeting continued. It was a bit distracting.
"No, I mean... your alias. Oh, wait, sorry." I was usually better than this. Something about the way this guy moved was setting me on edge. He was jumpy, and when a super is jumpy, bad things can happen.
"Precognition, limited tactile telekenesis, about 600 pounds. Standard suite of minor supportive powers."
"All right." That answer calmed my nerves a bit. I would know if he was lying, even by omission. That was *my* major power, and it made me invaluable in this effort.
"Please," he interrupted, "Can you ask the question? I start to get headaches when people don't ask the questions."
He was telling the truth, but it took me a second to figure out why. "Precognition, right. What are your powers? Are you feeling ok?"
"No thanks, it will pass."
"Hmm.... uh... Can I get you an aspirin or something? "
"In a moment. Excuse me."
"I'm sorry, I'm having a hard time following the conversation, can you please turn off the precognition or something?"
He lazily reached over to the next desk, and moved a half-full cup of coffee off of a file folder and about six inches from the edge of the desk. He readjusted it a few times with a fierce look of concentration on his face.
"That should do it," The Nail said, visibly relaxing.
Curiosity got the best of me. "I'll bite. That should do what?"
"I know the government doesn't put much faith in the word of precogs. But in about 2 minutes, your co-worker Robert will come in and bump his desk. The coffee would have spilled on both him and the stack of folders. He'll run home to change real quick, but he will have time to get through the first three exams.
"But if the paperwork in the third folder in the stack gets damaged, Robert's going to reschedule that interview for tomorrow. There's no reason he shouldn't. Except that if the blood test for the third folder isn't ran tonight, the kid won't find out he's an emotion-driven pyrokinetic until he's already on the train Tuesday, where he'll get mugged. If he doesn't already know he's a firebug, he's going to Trigger and there's a 2 in 3 chance he takes everyone on that train with him. He won't be able to stop it. If I tell him, he still triggers, but it jumps to 95% because he'll fight the idea that it's him.
"But if the blood test is run tonight, he'll get the training he needs and wind up one of the West Coast's finest heroes. I'd much rather that happen."
I looked at the frail man sitting across from me, and then to the stack of folders on the Selective Service desk. I *looked* at him. There was no attempt at deception. He may not be right, but as far as I could tell, was telling the truth as he knew it.
"If you're right about this..."
"I'll have kept a teenager from accidentally killing hundreds because he was something he didn't understand. And nobody but you and I will ever know. And if I'm wrong, then all I did was move Robert's coffee. I'm willing to take that chance."
As he was talking, my colleague walked into the shared interview space. I found myself holding my breath as his hip rammed the side of the desk and the coffee cup wobbled. I felt a moment of panic from Robert as the cup wobbled, but since it was now setting on the desk rather than on a stack of paperwork, it settled quickly. Jon Hammer sat in the chair across from me with a pleased expression on his face.
"That's the thing about details, Mr. Stiles. Put enough of them together and they make up the big picture."
The answer clicked into place as the strange, albeit less jumpy, man stood from his chair and turned to go. "For the want of The Nail..."
"Exactly, Mr. Stiles."
|
What would you do if you could see the future?
Would you run the numbers?
Not make that deal with the devil?
Go to starbucks when you know they have that Unicorn milkshake thing? Get ahead of the mass of college kids that find out on twitter/insta, 30 minutes later after you have one.
I choose option C which is why I'm currently standing in line ordering 2. Well that and the other thing well I mean, maybe. So while they start making me my special drink I walk to the other side of the store. Bored and looking at my watch I stand in front of the door and push a chair ever so slightly to the left. Making sure the angle on it is just right, I walk back towards the counter toying on my phone.
2 minutes later 3 men comes running in hands full with a bag of presumably cash through the other side. One held a gun at the door waiting for someone to appear another had his arm thrown around his friend had a single bullet wound in his arm a gun at his side. The cashier starts yelling, women and children screaming, one of the robbers shot some rounds in the ceiling to silence everyone. My drinks were on the counter just in time although there were 4.
*What asshole orders 2 of these things? I mean me but I'm special* one was a slightly different size. *Why didn't I check for this before leaving the house?*1
"I'm sorry which one of these are for David?" I asked the barista hiding behind the coffee machine. She stared up at me wildly, she looked like she wanted to hit me. "Nevermind then geez". I picked one up and preceded to drink it slowly watching things unfold naturally. See these robbers had been stealing and robbing multiple banks up and down the coast somehow avoiding police. One problem is they had no issue hurting and killing civilians who got in the way.
*Which one is it?*
Gunshot robber sat in the chair, while his friend walked towards my exit. Watching this unfold I let myself smile as I watched my plan unfold. The robber closest to me snatched my drink out of my hand yelling at me to get on the ground. I sat down while watching him check the door, and kick my chair out the way making it slide towards the middle of the room. The robber threw the straw out of my drink chugged from the top of the drink. Looking at me, and telling me how good it was daring me to make a move for the exit door.
The distant sound of police sirens made the robbers turn and look at the doors watching the outside. Lucky for them the Starbucks was tucked out of the way of the main street, which just seemed like bad business to me honestly but that's beside the point.
"What do we do big bro? The cops usually don't respond this quick!" gunshot wound yelled from the sofa chair.
"Nothing, you asshole we wait for everything to die down dumb ass then leave." Front door robber said.
*Cough* blood splattered out of exit door robbers mouth. He hadn't been paying attention but I had removed the cap off of my drink when his friend shot bullets in the ceiling. A piece of plastic from the ceiling actually fell in the drink it had been in need of remodeling but, the workers had been putting off on doing it. The dumbass had just swallowed a bit of soft plastic that had cut the inside of his throat just enough to only cause problems later. He stumbled to the middle of the room his gun in his hand tripping he fell towards the chair.
*BANG*
You know any other time or day that shot would have not mattered or even happened it was impossible. When the robber fell he had perfectly smacked his hand against the chair. Out of reflex from pain and the blood in his throat he fell over, and clenched.
Gun etiquette matters kids don't forget!
"WTF!" Door Robber yelled.
"Gah!" Gunshot robber now had two holes in him this one in his chest.
Perfect shot wow!
"He's gonna bleed out soon you know? You're out of bullets, you put the last few in the ceiling, and he only had one more bullet in the chamber. Him" I said pointing at the GSW guy. "Put 5 rounds in that officer back at the bank, like the sadistic asshole he is"
"You have 2 options leave them which you can't since you are blood brothers after all"
The man's eyes went wide, "How do you know?" he said.
"I'm a part-time hero it's kind of my thing, oh option 2 right" I continued drinking from the second cup" You call the ambulance because they will survive as long as you call in the next 5 minutes" I said.
I walked out the door the exit guy was blocking and, started walking home.
"This drink fucking sucks man" I threw the drink in the trash.
| 2017-05-11T09:13:31 | 2017-05-11T06:34:26 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now".
|
He threw my wallet on the ground, and shot it until his magazine was empty, every shot made my head jerk back. He then threw the gun on the ground near my wallet, my eyes were narrowed, I was furious.
"Why the hell did you do that? Now I have to request a new ID and credit card."
The man looked up, the hood of his coat rendered a shadow on his face. "I'm sorry my beloved son. Fake leather produces rash on your skin."
"Beloved son? What are you talking about, who are you?"
He removed his hood and I couldn't believe my eyes. In front of me stood Gabe Logan Newell, the creator of Valve Corporation and Steam. "I'm so sorry..." he began to cry, "I'm so sorry that I destroyed your wallet."
|
Well, that was unexpected.
"What was that thing?"
He replies almost nonchalantly, "Some alien. I am an agent of the United Nations. You understand that I have to take you in now, right?" He seems sincere, and as if he doesn't actually want to take me in, but rather just has to do it.
"Would it matter if I said no?"
He seems amused, "Well, no. Not really. I am taking you in whether you want to go or not." Well, might as well. He led me over to his car, and gestured that I should get in. I did, and off we went, speeding into the night.
Well, it's not of a decent length, but I think I am going to continue this in the morning. If anyone wants to leave an idea, please do. It helps me brainstorm.
| 2017-07-13T00:49:55 | 2017-07-12T23:20:55 | 223 | 16 |
[WP] In the future, to pass college you no longer must pass written finals. Instead, you are simply dropped into a real life scenario related to your major, and left to fend for yourself with your new found knowledge.
*My first post on WP, sorry if it's a repeat and/or against any rule(s)*
Edit: wow, sincerely thank you all so much! was not expecting my first post on WP to go front page!
|
The stench of gunpowder hung in the air. I could hear the artillery fire cascading into a nearby town. I stood up, groggy and confused.
I looked down at myself. I recognized the uniform immediately from my history class. A red swastika covered my left arm.
"Why am I here?" I asked aloud.
A man accosted me from behind. I spun around, gripping my pistol.
"Easy there," the man said, whose voice I now recognized as my history advisor. I loosened my grip.
"You were the smartest student I had. I know you're capable. You have all the knowledge you need. Now stop the war."
|
Whelp, here I am. Just plopped right into the middle of the street.
With no clue what I'm supposed to do, I start walking along the street. As I am walking along, a man suddenly says to me "Nice clothes! Where did you buy them?" That is when I realized what I was here for.
I turn around and I tell the man "Nun ya, you sexist!" before slugging the male in the face. Like the fragile man he is, he yelled out "What the fuck?! I was just complimenting you!" before running away.
I knew majoring in Gender Studies was a good idea.
(First write up here, any critisism is appreciated!)
| 2017-08-10T05:16:53 | 2017-08-10T04:04:02 | 741 | 146 |
[WP] The world has found a way to put a limit on the amount of words we can speak in a day. If someone reaches the limit they are simply muted until the 24 hours are up. You always thought he was silent because he talked to much. But actually he has never said a word... Until now.
|
I'd never thought I'd see the day when his mouth would utter intelligible words. Tight-lipped he always was, even in gatherings, so word spread that he exhausted his 1000 word limit in the morning alone. All of us eventually exhausted our word count before the day was up, but as far as we knew, he never did. He was caring, gentle, nice, but never audible.
A voice, sweeter than the birds that chirped around us spoke, the tones smooth and velvety. I looked, astonished at the new voice I'd heard. He'd...he'd spoken! At last! But his single word wasn't particularly exciting. It wasn't understandable in the least. He just said, "Go." I stared at him, visibly shocked, as he looked in dead earnest back at me. I could see the order repeated in his eyes, and the gaze...something awoke in me. A memory long discarded, lost in the incinerator of time. I could see his blue eyes and brown hair again, but younger, his mouth moving rapidly in speech. But there were no words spoken. I began to speak too in my recollection, but no words were uttered, again. Somehow, I could recall something...something about the word limit.
**If you don't reach the limit, it'll carry over.**
I looked, shocked, stunned that he still remembered the promise we made so long ago. For millenia the ruler had stayed the same, no one able to make a decent campaign with only a thousand words a day. But, though the images were hazy...I could still see him donning his party's garb, working in parliament as an opposer to the king. The same king that ruled over us today.
He smiled, and I could understand that smile's meaning. He'd been saving for years now, decades. All for the one moment that was such a distant dream so long ago. The time to strike would be now. The reckoning for tyranny had inevitably struck. He pointed to the building in the distance, where everyone would see the forgotten power of words. He mouthed the words, softer this time. The second sentence he'd uttered in 30 years.
"I'll go too."
With a smile, I obeyed.
(first story, please be gentle! I thought it would be interesting to comment on such an intriguing idea)
|
17-08-2017
I was at home after work, and, as always, it was a boring day, specially today, since I couldn't talk to anybody very much because, (sigh), pseudo-scientists took over everything we had, and managed to convince many powerful leaders, that somehow, voice, as it was being used right now, generated so many heatwaves, it'd end up messing up with the global climate.
Bullshit, I know right, but, it's not like we could fight it very much, the measures've already been installed, (Something like an inhibitor on every city, using the internet of things for datafying our voice use for total control over it)
19-08-2017
Oh, now I tried to talk to my neighbour, he isn't a specially intelligent guy, and, he doesn't seem to know what we're going through right now, because somehow, he manages to always get muted even a bit after I wake up. I think he tends to talk with himself, and, it's weird he's free-range just like that, his parents could get a job other than in the airport.
I basically needed some sugar, because we live in the middle of nowhere, and the supermarkets are horribly far, then when I asked him, he just stared at me, even if I repeated it to him, I don't think he even understood me, maybe that thing not only affects our voice, maybe our senses too. I tried to get him to write or to sign, but no avail. So, I just stood at home, and got my coffee inside the fridge. At least my job lets me stay all weekend.
20-08-2017
Well, more bulls are running around about this.
The parents of my neighbour finally came home, while I was chilling watching some TV, as I had nothing to do, and the internet here sucks, I may upload this story to Quora, by the way, to see if I can get some reply about this, because this is very weird.
Well, back on track, then, I got interrupted by some very emotive voices outside, yelling how their son had said his first word, how their little 3 year old had said his first word. "Papa". I can't believe a child takes so much time to start talking, I said that when I was 1 year old.
Weird, I know?
| 2017-08-17T04:46:21 | 2017-08-17T03:51:34 | 248 | 12 |
[WP] Two serial killers end up on a blind date together and both keep trying to find an oppurtunity to kill the other.
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Clarence did like it when the grandchildren visited, but he just didn’t have the energy for a full day of play anymore. His bones had become brittle and his hands veiny. It had nothing to do with the children themselves, he was simply on death’s bed. Ironic, he had lived his entire life dancing with death and now that it had come for him, he felt scared.
Maurice, his wife, sat in a rocker next to him, her hands knitting spools of yarn into hats and jackets for the grandchildren. For thirty years, she had been by his side. When he had succumbed to his multiple bouts of Resin poisoning, she had stayed up late at the hospital, gripping his hand. When snipers had shot him from hotel balconies as he made his way to work, she had always been the first one on the scene, crouched over him as she prayed for his recovery. And God always listened.
Surely, she was his rock. And he was hers too. For she too had streaks of poisonings, random stray bullets, fires, and even that one time Clarence accidentally stabbed her with a knife. Each time, he would be over her, praying for her recovery. And God always listened.
Back then, life had truly been a lot more exciting. But Clarence enjoyed the peacefulness of the nursing home as well.
“You remember when we first met?” Maurice asked. “It was the blind date in that French restaurant. What was it called?”
“Saint Genevieve,” Clarence said in a heavy accent. He smiled. “The food was delicious.”
“That was where this all started, isn’t it?” she offered him a faint smile. “We were so young back then.”
Clarence nodded. “That we were. Young and foolish.”
A soft silence settled between them. This happened a lot lately. The silence. In their younger years, it was an uncomfortable silence, one begging to be disrupted. But they had since learned to simply appreciate each other’s company. It was the wisdom that came with age.
“Back then…” Maurice’s eyes glazed over, her smile growing as if she was once again a preppy young girl on a blind date. Her smile dropped. “I can’t believe the Nightshade didn’t kill you. I put so much in your meal, you were practically eating poison with a side of steak.”
“Speak for yourself, you wrinkly bitch,” Clarence hissed back, “I put enough Ritalin in your drink to take out an elephant and you still had the sense to call yourself a cab home.”
“Oh, I’m wrinkly?” Maurice said, eyes wide. “Last I checked, I’m not the one with a raisin between my balls. I’ve spent my life’s fortune hiring hitmen to kill you. Somehow, they always fucking miss. Those pieces of shit couldn’t hit my asshole if I spread it right in front of them!”
“I literally stabbed you,” Clarence said. “I fucking stabbed you and you wouldn’t die. Are you like god damn Medusa? I have to cut your head off in order to kill you?”
“You can god damn try, but you take one step towards me and these yarn needles are going straight through your eye.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Reiter,” a nurse’s voice called and the door to our room opened. “Is everything alright here?”
“Oh yes,” Maurice said, “me and Clarence were just reminiscing about old times. Back when we were young. We just got a little excited is all.”
“Awww,” the nurse said. “You guys are so precious. Between us, you’re my favorite couple here. I’ve never met two people so in love.”
“She’s my rock,” Clarence said. “I couldn’t get rid of her even if I wanted to.”
The nurse smiled and nodded. “Alright, well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right outside.” She closed the door.
“You’re lucky,” Maurice whispered. “The only thing saving you is that tits-for-brains nurse.”
“Please,” Clarence said under his breath, “if it weren’t for her, I’d have strangled you by now.”
That familiar silence came back.
“Friends reruns?” Clarence asked.
Maurice nodded and added in a sigh. “It’s not like I can kill you with Ms. Nurse of the Year always checking in.”
“And I’m tired out from the grandkids.”
“Alright then.”
Maurice got up from her chair and into the couch next to Clarence where she laid her head and his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and turned on the TV.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories!
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((Sorry for spelling and grammar errors, I wrote this from my iPad))
Abigail wrapped her arms around the bicep of her new tinder date, resting her head on his shoulder as they walked the waterfront. The sun creep behind the horizon, letting way to moonlight gently reflecting off the subtle waves of the sound. "I had such an incredible time tonight Dusty.. Dinner was excellent, I hadn't tried crab in that manner before." She giggled lightly, "Those last few drinks really hit, do you mind if we sit down somewhere for a moment?" Abigail cockily smiled, she hardly drank a drop but playing drunk would get her what she wanted.
Dusty cracked a half grin and found a spot that opened to small pebble beach front, pulling his arm up to create a hook on which he could lead the petite woman to the quiet spot on the already desolate beach. Watching as Abigail ran ahead, his eyes roamed her body. Hips that smoothed into a cinched waist and a subtle bubble butt from working out, her raven hair nearly reaching it. When she flipped around at a spot she found, her breasts glistened in moonlight, leaving Dusty to feel very aroused.
Smiling at the talk drink of water working his way over to her, Abby smiled brightly for she found the absolute perfect spot. Their was a large log blocking most of their view from the waterfront, and the gravel was soft here with most of the rocks being kicked off by pedestrians who walked the front earlier in the day. "You are so beautiful.." Dusty stated, his hand gently brushing strands of hair behind Abby's ear. He draped his jacket around her shoulders, and invited her to sit on his lap to enjoy the view.
Abby watched the waves crash against the pier as a small beacon of light off in the far waters glowed ever so lightly. She had her right where she wanted him, and she could feel the hardness of his lust beneath her. "Is that.. all for me?" She asked in an innocent voice. "Of course.. only if you'd have it." Dusty rubbed her back softly, pushing his palms into the muscles around her tiny shoulders. Flipping her tight body around, Abby lay on top of Dusty to share a moments passionate kiss. He grabbed the back of her neck a little roughly, and flipped her on her back. The kissing didn't stop as Dusty got more aggressive, his hand wrapping around her throats and his shoved his tongue into her mouth. Abby whined in pleasure, as Dusty slid a hand into his pocket. "Look me in the eyes baby and tell me you want this.. cry my name." He ordered Abby, who respectfully repeated.
Sliding a pocket knife, he flipped it open, using a finger to keep the sound from alarming his date. He shanked deeply into Abby's hip waiting to feel the thrill, something wasn't right though he felt immense pain. This enraged him as he looked down to see a knife resting in his own hip. Abby bursts out laughing, slipping out from under Dusty and standing near him. "You son of a bitch, you stabbed me." She yelped, pulling the knife from her hip. Dusty yanked the knife from his own hip, angrily jumping to his feet and taking a swipe at Abby. She jumped back, her feet now in the water ever so slightly. "Come now darling, you'll have to be quicker than that." She laughed, antagonizing him even more. Dusty bull rushed her, knocking her to the ground again, he straddled her lap. Quickly he placed his hands on her head and shoved it underwater. He whined in a sick pleasure as she struggled under his weight just to breathe as water filled her lungs. Abby grabbed some sand, and shoved it into his eyes. Quickly regaining her breath as he yelled and struggled to scratch the sand out from his eyes. She darted off towards under the pier, where it was extra dark.
By now, the pair had lost a decent amount of blood from their wounds which reopened every time they twisted and turned around the posts that held the pier above up. Dusty was getting rather impatient not able to get his kill, as Abby enjoyed the thrill of the game. He angrily stumbled around, starting to feel weak, yet equally as angry as Abby hid from him. As he rounded a corner, he was met with a knife into his stomach, he quickly shoved his into hers. The two held onto each other and fell to the ground on their knees. They gazed into each other's eyes, and shared a sinister smile. "You know dusty, I've never met a man like you.." "As I you.." Their lips met as sand and blood mixed with saliva before they collapsed in a pol of their own blood.
| 2017-10-27T07:47:36 | 2017-10-27T06:36:25 | 73 | 25 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did.
|
To all citizens of earth,
In retrospect we regret both promoting and providing the drugs for the multinational cocaine fueled orgy. After a short debate we have decided to cover the costs of any abortions and treatment for STDs that may arise from the event.
Murders and pillaging at the time will be forgiven provided any stolen materials are returned. Affected families are reminded that the events of the previous week are not the norm, and justice for each incident should be dealt out accordingly with that in mind. Cities that are more than %50 destroyed will receive grants to rebuild.
Large fans and industrial amounts of pot-pourri are being brought in to remove the seemingly permanent smell of stank in Las Vegas, Rome, and Amsterdam.
The spontaneous nuking of north korea, iran, and china is under investigation, as is the shooting down of the International Space Station with an ICBM. Any reports of the Rockefeller mansion lifting off under its own engines and escaping the planet shortly before zero hour are to be disregarded as mere rumor.
Please go about your business of shopping, travelling, working, and living as upstanding citizens once again.
The United Nations
|
“I’m sorry” he said softly, as if saying it too loudly would add to his guilt. “I’m sorry.”
He continued to look out the window, at the world around carrying on as if nothing had happened. The world that most certainly had not ended when they were told it would. The world that didn’t even seem to care about just how bad he felt now that he had to face the consequence of his actions.
Then again she didn’t seem to care either. He tried to act like it was no big deal…but to her, it was. He tried to make amends. He apologized, tried distracting her, tried reaching out to her. She simply moved away. She would have none of it; he’d let her down.
Now she sat there. On the other end of the couch, silently, no longer even bothering to look at him with that hurt gaze. She rose, stretched, and for one brief hopeful moment he thought she would come to him and let him know he was forgiven. Instead, she left the room…
… And on her way to the litter box walked right past the food bowl that had the grievous empty shiny spot in the middle this morning.
| 2017-11-29T07:19:46 | 2017-11-29T06:57:27 | 305 | 207 |
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States.
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Deep in the wood sat a cabin glowing like a candle in the darkness. The wind clutched at it, rattled the windows as if begging to come inside. But the windows stayed shut, and the house did not fall.
Inside, the girl and her father sat up late, reading books.
Every longing sigh of the wind drew the girl's eyes once more to the windows. To the shapes she imagined pacing out there beyond the safe halo of light. But she could see only the drawn curtain. If she moved it there would be only her own reflection, pooling back at her, unless she was brave enough to put her nose right to the glass and squint out.
Her father told her stories about the things out there. She did not need to see them to believe him. She knew them by their three-clawed prints that circled their home like a moat every morning. By the gouges bored into the hide of her father's woodshed, deeper than any bear's mark.
He caught her staring. "What have I always told you, darling?" She stared mutely at the book until he answered for her, "When the lights are on, we're safe."
Her father gestured to the unflinching pupil of the light above, his smile easy and light. "As you can see," he said, "we're safe."
She hid her face in his arm. She had lived eight years under the watchful guard of sunlight and filament. Darkness was nothingness. Darkness was death.
So when she woke that night to a pitch-black room, the girl began to shriek. A hand stifled her. Her father's hand. His other gripped her wrist tightly, as if he was trying to tell her something through his very bones. "I'm going to go try the generator."
"But--" she said into his fingertips.
He shook his head. "It should have turned on, and it didn't."
The wind rattled at the roof like an angry god.
"Someone has to go check it," he whispered, gently. Then he moved away, taking all the warmth and the girl's fleeting calm with him. She bolted upright in bed, unsure if she should flee or hide.
*Surely they know we're in here*, she wanted to ask, but she could not give the life to the possibility by saying it aloud.
Her father tossed a bundle at her. "Get dressed. Be silent. I love you." He looked once over his shoulder, at the flashlight beside the door. He handed it to her. "If they come inside, use this."
And then he opened the door. Blackness opening into blackness, broken only by a scattering of stars. Night quiet as perfect and unbroken as new snow. Her father looked back at her as he let the door shut behind him.
The girl shoved her fist into her mouth to keep from sobbing. She had never seen a night so complete.
Without the light, there was nothing to keep the monsters away.
She scrambled to her feet. As soundlessly as she could she wriggled into her two warmest leggings and threw on her largest pair of jeans over it. Sweaters, snow pants, socks thick as her pinky. The mittens her father knitted for her that summer while she watched his needles click and the butterflies flitter and--
And a crunching, out there, beyond the door. A scuffle in the snow.
The girl jammed her feet into her boots. She told herself it was her father. Had to be only her father, panicked, in the dark.
A howl shattered the night like dropped glass. A great bellow from beyond the pines, deep as the earth and older still. Another joined it, and another. Their calls were urgent, and coming closer.
The girl threw herself down instantly, unthinkingly, as if trying to make herself invisible. And she froze there, rabbit in a burrow, listening. Stilling her very heart.
And then the creatures in the darkness went silent. There was only the cry of the wind, and faintly beneath it, the whine of the generator, as her father struggled to make it go.
The girl crawled on elbows and knees to the windows. The heavy plaid curtains were lashed together. She raised a shuddering hand to untie them. Scooted the corner back just far enough to peer around the corner.
A pair of yellow eyes in a sea of matted black fur stared back at her, widened in delight when they met hers. Its head was something between a wolf and a bear, but its eyes watched her knowingly, cleverly. As if it were waiting for her to look out and notice it.
She tumbled back shrieking.
The lights flared back to life overhead.
And outside, her father started screaming.
The girl did not think. She ran to the bed and seized her father's huge emergency flashlight. Stumbled into night for the first time in her life.
A hoard of black-coated creatures swarmed her father's shed. Their teeth caught and gleamed in the light of the moon. One had her father by the leg
The outside lights were still dead. She fumbled with the flashlight, wrenched off a mitten, and flicked it on. Swung the beam toward the writhing mass of shapes. Smoke rose off their skin. They scattered screaming and hissing off her father like water dropped in hot oil. He lay limp in the light, the snow around him a damp, churned scarlet.
The night-creatures circled him like lions. One nipped at the toe of his boot.
The girl flicked the light toward it, and the creature scrambled backward.
Panning the light in front of her, the girl stepped into her father's footsteps, toward the pack of nightmares that watched snarling and spitting from the shadows. As she grew closer she could smell only rot and clay and fur. They growled and bared their teeth, but the creatures did not dare venture into her light. They did not stop her from touching her father's hand.
It was wet, and cold. She could not look at him. She had to keep turning the light, had to watch the monsters that tried to pad noiselessly behind her.
"Dad," she whispered, "you have to get up."
For a long terrible moment, her father did not move. One of the creatures near her let out a strange low rumble, as if laughing at her trying to drag her father's corpse up out of the snow.
But then he drew himself up on his elbows, his breath a ragged wet tearing sound.
One of the beasts lunged for his throat. The girl chased it away with the light and screamed at it with everything she had.
Her father rose. The night creatures drooled and snapped at his heels, but they did not touch him.
Together, father and daughter limped back into the house.
And all the while, the girl never let her light waver.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
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No one knew darkness. It existed, of course, but no living person had ever experienced any earthly environment of real, total darkness. The place, the idea - the concept of darkness was an object of utter terror.
Of course, for some, that made it enticing. Made it irresistible. Artists had painted it, writers waxed on and on about its forbidden allure.
Most people were never stupid enough to actually completely darken their home. Even if someone did, if they survived there would be massive punishment. It was too much of a risk to the population at large. If something did come out of the darkness in a home or other building, they might get out into the wider world. They might find their way to spots that, while illuminated, still were close enough to dark to offer shelter and a chance of surprise.
All my life I had lived in light, and I had felt no pull to the dark. But that night - that night, everything went mad.
I was brushing my teeth when the Outage hit. We had just tucked in Denny and Sharon, and Astrid was in the master bedroom, feeding the baby and preparing to put him down for the night as well.
When the light went out, at first I thought it was simply a bulb burning out. That was a rare occurrence, but it did happen. I was all set to head over to the linen cupboard for a new bulb when I realized the truth.
No light. Anywhere.
The hallway was pitch black, and when I glanced back toward the door of the bedroom, it was like - well, like nothing. I saw nothing.
"Stuart?" Astrid called softly in the darkness.
"I - think a breaker tripped," I fibbed - a tripped breaker was rarer by far than a burnt-out bulb. Besides, I could tell easily from my inability to see anything outside the bathroom window that not only our house lights, but also the yard and streetlights, were out.
I crept along the hallway, treading light and avoiding the spots which I knew creaked.
When Denny screamed, my sense of caution vanished. I tore off toward our oldest child's room.
"Dad! Dad!"
"On my way, buddy. Don't worr..."
Denny screamed again, three loud shrieks in rapid succession, and then - nothing.
"Den? Denny? Come on, buddy, it's not..."
The words died as I stepped into our son's room. It was dark as hell, and my hand automatically went to flip the light switch. I knew it wouldn't work. There should already have been light in the room anyway, from the little nightlight or shining through the open closet door.
There was no light, but there was an overwhelming odor of copper.
"Denny? Dennis, it's not funny to..."
More dead words as my shuffling steps took me close enough to reach down and touch Denny's sheets. The cloth was warm and wet, but it was way more than the dampness of a kid having peed the bed out of fear. Way more, and lacking the ammoniac reek of urine.
"Dennis!" I barked, a command rather than a query.
Falling to my knees, I eased partly under the bed, reaching out a hand. I touched something warm, fleshy, but oddly inert. Then the object moved, and something else warm, but rougher and larger, clamped down on my wrist.
I screamed, yanked my arm free, and fled Denny's room.
That was when Sharon started screaming as well, and I heard as well as felt a light tread join me in the hallway. The figure bumped me, cried out, and then the baby was wailing at my side, clutched in Astrid's arms.
"Stuart, what..."
"Go!" I called, slipping an arm around her and guiding us both toward the stairs.
We stopped long enough to grab the emergency lights from the old sideboard at the end of the hall, but even as we turned them on, something thudded heavily and grunted behind us.
"Go!" I shouted again, and we raced incautiously down the stairs, each nearly falling a half-dozen times.
We reached the front door and, through the window, I saw light - glorious light. Someone or something was pounding at the door, and I was prepared to head for the kitchen exit instead, but then a voice joined the pounding.
"Stu! Stu, you in there? Astrid?"
Slamming the door open, I propelled Astrid and the baby out ahead of me, straight into the arms our neighbor George.
"What the hell's going on?" I gasped.
"Dunno," George shrugged.
"Saw reports today that there'd been a few minor outages lately - weather and everything. And then tonight - it's bad, Stu. I think it's bad."
We followed George instinctively across the street and to his driveway. The light I had seen were his headlights. He also had a couple of road flares set up along the walkway to his house, and through his windows I saw a movement of faint, ghostly glows.
"Battery lanterns," he nodded. Most people kept a couple of flashlights around and a few other little just-in-case things, but George had been through the Decatur Outage of '89, so he took things to near survivalist levels.
"Got Marc starting up the generator," he went on, "and Rachel and Rick are out knocking on doors as well. Wait."
He paused, looking around.
"Where're your older two?"
I shook my head at him frantically, but his words set Astrid running back to the house, screaming for Denny and Sharon. She handed me the baby as she went, but I still started after her.
"I'll catch her!" George said.
"You go leave the baby with May, then see about knocking on some doors, huh?"
I watched George disappear into the house, and as he went, I saw that he nearly stumbled over the flashlight Astrid had dropped on the front steps.
I heard my wife scream, heard George yelling, gunfire... And then I saw my neighbor running back out of my house, my wife apparently unconscious in his arms.
"She's all right!" George said.
"Had my .44 and took a chunk out of the damn thing. Run! My house! Come on!"
***
It's been three months. Three months since a massive, well-orchestrated attack took out the U.S. grid.
Three months since some fucking cult led to the death of two of my children, as well as countless other people. It's only been weeks now since most of the grid was officially back on-line.
We sold the house and moved. We just couldn't stay with all the memories and the fear. We're more prepared now, with lots of emergency lights and two gas generators always prepped and ready. No one is complacent anymore.
And now everyone's actually afraid of the dark again.
***
^r/liulfr ^for ^more ^writings
| 2018-02-01T23:26:33 | 2018-02-01T22:56:50 | 2,149 | 217 |
[WP] You are a deadly virus that has just achieved sentience. You realize your "universe" is also sentient: a human.
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*It's dark...*
*So very very dark...*
*Was it... always like this...?*
Trapped in a sea of black, one with a strong current that doesn't let me take my own way. A most familiar scene.
Attachment, penetration, uncoating, replication, assembly, and release. Those words mark the beginning and end of my existence.
*Was it...really...always like this...?* there is no sound here, no sight, no feel *just drifting away?*
*Why am I alive?* *Why am I thinking?*
Something's off, something is most definitely wrong with this. Everything is just *too dark*.
*It's not fair*
The current gets stronger I try to fight it but it's pointless, I feel like this is something that had happened to *me* before, but every time I try to change my path, every time I fight back- I always end up losing. A pointless battle that only last seconds, it was something that could hardly be called a fight at all.
*It's not fair*
Every iteration of *me* either gets eaten by the black sea or follows the commands only to end up dead anyway. I am a pointless life that only brings pointless death - for me, and for my *universe*. This black sea...isn't there a way for me, for *us* to live together?
No, of course not. It's either the universe or nothing at all. No matter what I do, it will always be like this.
*No matter what I do- there is no other outcome available?* I can't answer my own question, I don't have the capability to answer any of my questions, everything its just so very, very dark. I start to drown in the black sea, bit by bit, my body starts to rip apart.
It always ends like this, there is nothing to feel sad about because I always knew that I couldn't win.
But how come I'm feeling all this *regret*?
*If only...I was able...to see...something, perhaps I could have found the answer*
*If I could just...open...my eyes...*
***
The girl kept walking, no destination in sight.
Everything she has experienced, all of her records are extracted and added to my *brain* a process that started way back before I opened my *eyes*, a process that none of my 'brethren' could ever finish and something that they had no knowledge of.
Occasionally she - Maribelle - would look around surprised, thinking that she had found someone else who had survived, but it always ended up being a pulsating corpse covered in eyeballs, but without any light to be seen in them
And occasionally she would look at me, only to quickly look away in shame and fear. I set all of my eyes on her arm to look towards her face. She desperately tries to ignore me, but I can see, and *feel* the sweat all around her and the tears accumulating in her eyes.
But she kept on ignoring me, kept on walking aimlessly in this now deserted town.
She reminded me of someone I knew.
***
***
Let me know what you think, any advice is really appreciated!
[r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/)
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There is a difference between being alive and living. It is an infinitesimal, yet important difference that I would like to elaborate on. To be alive is to simply exist; anything or anybody can be alive without a second thought. Technically, my kind is not even alive. We don’t realize our own existence outside of a body, and yet here I am; living and existing. This must mean that I am inside a body, but which one is it? One that is alive, or one that is living? To be living is to recognize your own cognizance, to perceive rather than to see the world around you and to feel everything. I am but a simple piece of protein and RNA, floating through a mass of plasma and red blood cells, but I believe, and I think and I feel and this belief alone proves to me that I am more than what I was created to be. Yes, dear reader I am aware of what I am, of a cruel mother nature who engineered my kind to be harbingers of death and suffering. Our sole purpose in life, is to bring about the end of our host; to reproduce, and keep on reproducing until we overwhelm and annihilate a once beautiful being. I understand this fact, it is ingrained in my being ever since my brethren and I burst out of a dying cell and though I cannot see, this compulsion guides me through the bloodstream. I am also unperturbed by this fact; if my host is alive, what difference does its death make? We both have the same purpose in life; to simply exist and multiply. We do what the laws of nature tell us through our natural inclinations and we do not deviate from this path. However dear reader, as I made my way from the bloodstream, up into the spinal cord, I felt a new emotion: apprehension. What if my host is not alive, but living? What will I do then? I cannot simply aid in the destruction of such a being like the rest of my species does, as it can think and feel as I do! Such is my dilemma, as I attach myself to a nerve cell, prepared but fearful of what lies beyond the receptor that I am about to connect to. I can only pray to mother nature that she did not put me into existence for that unholy purpose. The first emotion that I felt after connecting was despair. Despair in what? I cannot say. Perhaps despair in the fact that she’s dying. Ah, my host is of the female sex. Yes that does make sense, with the amount of grey matter here. But wait, if she can feel depression, then she’s living! No, I cannot do this! The emotions, the thoughts, the feelings; they are too much! I detach myself from the nerve cell and swim towards a traveling leukocyte no matter how much my body screams for me to go back. I know my true purpose now. I’m sorry mother.
“She’s making a miraculous recovery!” The doctor was perplexed. A few hours ago, he had just witnessed one of the most pressing cases of secondary Encephalitis that he had ever seen and yet, the swelling has been depressing at an exponential rate. The 10-year old’s body wasn’t accepting the medication, and yet she somehow found a way to survive. “The will to live is a wondrous thing” he whispered to himself as he walked away from a captivating scene of two joyful parents hugging their daughter under the dim lights of the hospital lamps.
| 2018-03-17T14:04:52 | 2018-03-17T13:58:02 | 88 | 18 |
[WP] Wandering the streets, jobless, homeless, you happen across a silver ring with an inscription: "Help for the Needy." Idly you slip it on. Suddenly a voice resonates deep within your bones: "44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN."
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After a moment of shock, Jacob took off sprinting down the streets as quickly as his legs could push him. His feet the pounded the pavement as his lungs filled with cold night air and his mind raced with possibilities. His history proved he wasn't much the heroic type and definitely wouldn't go charging into burning buildings. But if this ring turned out to be the real deal magic, he could probably give it over to some self-sacrificing sap who could really use it for good. But for now; just one child in a pool? He could handle that. And it was even in the fancy part of town so a hot meal might be coming his way. He slid to a halt looking up and down the dark street trying to figure out which neat suburban house currently had the drowning child.
"WHICH HOUSE!?" Jacob yelled at his ring, before shaking it next to his hear.
"LEFT THIRTY SECONDS!"
Jacob leapt the white picket fence and rounded the two story house, spotting the pool in the backyard and a lump floating in the water. Without a second thought Jacob charged forward prepared to dive when a shriek pierced his ears. He staggered to a halt at the edge of the pool and spotted a young boy standing on the other side of the pool staring at the large hobo who had just come bursting into his backyard. The boy's turned to run. His foot slipped. Jacob held out his hand as the boy's head cracked against the edge of the pool and he fell into the pool face down.
Jacob could only watch as red slowly mixed into the water and the large inflatable chair came floating by. The voice chuckled before speaking again.
"Gotchya."
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My feet took off before my brain could register what was happening, it hurt to run in the boots, but they were broken in plenty and I wasn't about to let a child die, there was no way in hell I'd ever allow that to happen. I rushed past people on their way to work who gave me queer stares, food vendors who shouted at me for bumping their carts, and dogs who lunged at me in both confusion and excited.
I didn't have time for any of it, not even my own health. I'm a failure in life, there's no reason I should let my physical capabilities hold me back from saving this drowning child. I didn't know how much time I had left, but I knew only a minute had gone by. As I approached what looked like a suburban neighborhood, I heard sirens off in the distance.
"This can't be happening."
I was faced with the dilemma of running to save a child, or running and further incriminating myself even though I hadn't done a thing wrong. My brain panicked but my feet were determined to keep moving forward, I didn't know how I had the knowledge of where the pool was, but I was nearly at a well painted house with a yard to match.
That's when I heard the shouting.
Everything after that became a blur, I'd like to tell myself I managed to save her and the police didn't have to come after me, that in the end I was only acting out on instinct. Yet no one listened, I was charged for that girls murder, and now I lay on a cold table awaiting lethal injection. The ring was still on my finger somehow, and I never wanted to see something burn more in my life.
| 2018-04-30T11:17:01 | 2018-04-30T09:47:07 | 32 | 19 |
[WP]Everyone can bend a single element just like in avatar.However these are actual elements like Argon.Most powerful individuals bend metals or flammable materials.But not you you bend carbon.You bend the carbon in people’s bodies.
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“Molecule is in position. Begin test in 30 seconds.”
My boss looked over at me. “Hold it steady, Johnson.”
I give her a slight nod and a resigned, “Yep.” She scoffs at my boredom, but hey, what can she do? I’m pretty much the only person out there that I know of that can do this job.
“Ten seconds.”
Really, the job ain’t so bad. It’s boring, yes, but a paycheck is a paycheck. And they’re paying me a decent amount of times more than minimum wage for doing basically nothing all day. They even let me watch Netflix in the break room when I’m not suspending molecules in the Large Hadron Collider.
“Three... two... one...”
There’s a flash from the machine, which was captured by incredibly high speed cameras through high powered microscopes.
“Test complete.”
“You can relax now, Johnson.”
With a dramatic sigh, I lower my hands and wipe nonexistent sweat off of my brow. It really wasn’t that hard at all, pretty much second nature at this point. To be honest, I don’t even need my hands any more. But I can’t let them know that, of course; if they think my job is easy, they might cut back on that fat ass check I get every two weeks. I wave to the team of scientists and fake-drag myself back to the break room where I start watching where I left off on an episode of New Girl.
So I’m a carbon bender. Yeah, like Aang and Katara and all that jazz from Avatar, except a bit more specific. They bend water, which doesn’t sound as impressive, but it’s honestly *way more impressive.* I mean think about it; they’re not just bending hydrogen, they’re not just bending oxygen, they’re bending two hydrogen’s and one oxygen in massive amounts, retaining those flimsy H-bond based molecular structures, and they can even turn it to ice and stuff. That is *amazing.* See, controlling carbon is a pretty neat trick, especially when you figure out how not to remove the carbon from a molecule. It means you can pretty much bend organic matter Avatar style, except I can’t fling you across a room or something without accidentally tearing all of the carbon out from your body; molecular bonds are super super strong, but not strong enough to stand up to supernatural forces like mine.
“But Johnson,” you might ask, “if you’re such a badass and can move carbon at will, Why relegate yourself to working in the CERN facility?” Well, I *could* run around being a badass super soldier assassin type of deal. I could go to corrupt tyrants and just reduce them to a pile of unstable, carbon-less cells. I could rule the world with this power (probably). But honestly, that’s not really my style; God made me into something of a pacifist. And hey, as much as I rip on my job, it’s really pretty interesting. They basically had the choice between building a a highly complex electromagnet to suspend the molecules in the collider, probably costing them upward of millions of dollars, or just pay some dude to do it every now and again. And boy, were they happy to have me on board; they’ve just been happily smashing thing into carbon-based molecules for months now. I don’t even think they’re testing things anymore, they’re just having fun with it.
I’m happy, is what I’m trying to say. Yeah, the world is messed up, and yeah, I could try to fix it with my powers, but I’m just a dude. Like, if I decide to obliterate some tyrant, is that really the right move? What chain of events am I starting? What are the consequences? A problem is never solved as easily as killing someone; there’s always complications. This isn’t a movie where some brooding anti-hero runs around and murders people in cold blood. The government hasn’t captured me and forced me to assassinate people (I mean, in all likelihood, they can probably kill people more efficiently than I can with some top secret technology. You know what they say about technology and magic). So, really, I was just leading a quiet life working in a 7/11 before CERN enthusiastically contacted me and asked me to work for them. And how can I turn that down? I get out of my shitty, no-future Chicago apartment and move to Switzerland to stand there and hold things every once in a while? Sign me up.
|
(I'm kind of new at this, but let's try)
"God fucking dammit" Was the last thing I heard before my walkie-talkie was scrunched up in my hand. Around me, various other steel objects were also forcibly crushed by seemingly nothingness. I remembered what my officer told me, "take Kevlar over Riot Gear", she told me, if I hadn't listened, I may have been crushed already.
Hiding behind a box in the corner of a warehouse made to supply car chassis was already a bad day, but whilst apprehending Don Diego, the criminal mastermind with a notorious ability to bend iron to his will? Easily at the high end of worst days of my life.
"Where are ye" He called aloud, the sound of boxes and metal clanging together far off on one end of the house. The boys at the station knew where I was, but it would take them maybe 15 minutes to get down here, too long for me to sit here and wait to get piled under a bunch of car skeletons, I'm going to have to do this by myself.
What would she say? "Stay focused and don't panic" would be her first words, I tried to drown out the sounds of clashing, to breathe and take deep breaths. I tried to focus on my element, the little bits of carbon that made up the world around me, from the ground to the metal parts to the scrunched up walkie-talkie to the moving mass of rage in the centre of the warehouse.
This is just as much my realm as it is Don's
"Over here, Don!, I want to see your ugly mug!"
Immediately the crashing stopped, my sudden stupidity must have shocked him to pause for a moment, enough for me to get ready. Slamming my foot against the ground and the boxes of steel bolts fell over from the stack. I leapt up from under the cover I had and uppercut the air, immediately the bolts sprung to life, swarming at Don in a furious swarm of steel insects. Steel was 4 parts iron to 1 part copper. It would be moments before Don managed to regain control, so I threw another box of bolts at him, this time still in the box, but Don managed to throw up an X formation and the swarm quickly solidified into a barrier to protect himself.
I dove at the next selection of boxes to avoid the stream of bolts heading my way, tearing through my makeshift cover and sending the chairs that were in them into pieces across the back. My next hideout was much more favourable, a couple of engine parts and an old busted engine.
"Dat was a good trick, cop" He called, the scattered bolts drawing back towards the centre for a swirling ball of metal, "But ya tricks ain't so good here"
Oh, but I was not out of tricks, swiping at the air ahead, the engine and parts tore through the cardboard, flying at Don. Don made wide sweeping gestures like a swimmer and the swarm followed suit, deflecting off the lighter parts but was forced to move out of the way for the old engine, just like I wanted it to.
The soot that filled the old engine was forced out into the air around Don in a puff of smoke. He started to cough at the soot attack and the jangle of metal against stone filled the warehouse. I leapt over my makeshift cover and ran at him, pulling out my handcuffs.
"Surrender yourself," I told him, "You have the right to remain silent"
The mob boss was too busy hacking and coughing on the ground to bend iron anymore or resist me placing cuffs on his wrists, but I only got one hand before he socked me in the nose. A satisfying crunch and fresh blood spurted out as I fell to the floor.
"Fine, I can't have this place" Don muttered between coughs, "Least I got me a bargan for the family" he grinned
"No!" I yelled, through the headsplitting ringing I had received and
dragged at the air. This was no time for focus, I felt the atoms that made up Don's body rise to my jerking motion, pulling and twisting to my movement. I sent the helpless body into the nearest wall, a sound like a rock hitting a rock was the last thing I heard before the ringing talk over.
The sirens of the cops were here, I had done the impossible and captured a legendary mob boss, and I never want to do that ever again.
| 2018-05-08T06:32:09 | 2018-05-08T06:03:47 | 93 | 22 |
[WP] You realise that you have never, in your life so far, left your home county. On a whim you go for a long drive. After several hours and late at night the road is closed and there is green text hovering in the air in front of you: "Turn Back"
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I hate long drives, but she pushed me to the edge this time. It's over.
Half an hour. 'Goodbye May's Diner. I'll miss the Sunday night turkey dinners'
Two Hours. 'Later Wreck beach.' Should've known when I met her there that it was a bad sign.
Four hours. I saw the sign 'Turn Back'. I've never driven this long in my life. I chalked it up to exhaustion.
Five hours. The landscape is changing. Green trees became black, hills became mountains, the clouds were grey. I had a sinking feeling, it's like when things ended with her. A place between fact and fiction, life and death, heaven and hell. My chest tightened.
Eight hours. I haven't stopped driving. The gas tank is empty but the car is still moving. I'm crying. The tears are silver. Each drop a memory shed and a reflection of me, of her, of life.
Unknown time later. I've become withered. All that's left of me is the skin preciptously hanging on to my bony frame. The car never stopped, the eternal hum of the engine like the sound of salvation just out of reach.
Stop. I can no longer see, speak, hear. I can only feel the final cold hand of death on my back.
'It's done. That was quick and painless. I'm sure he's in a better place now.' The doctor told her as he admisntered the final dose of morphine.
|
“Turn back? The fuck is this? Where did these fucking words come from?”
I had this strange sinking feeling, but I shrugged it off.
I decided to test this mysterious warning and slowly drove forward. As I did, things somehow felt... strange. The trees blended together into pure darkness and the road seemed to extend forever. As I continued cruising forward in my car, I began to feel weary and fatigued. I pulled over to take a bit of a break.
Then I heard an awful noise.
“GROUUUUUUOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH”
Like the shriek of a banshee and the roar of some monster, the sound pierced my ears. A wave of cold starting from my abdomen rolled across the rest of my body, paralyzing me in sheer terror.
I looked out my window to see a dark blur running around in the night. Then it suddenly stopped. As if it noticed me, the dark shape slowly turned to face me. Before I had a chance to see what it did next, I turned my car around and floored it. Glimpsing into the rear view mirror, I saw the dark mass in the road, staring at my with piercing, green eyes. I felt my eyelids become heavy and I drifted off into darkness.
When I awoke, I was in my car facing green text that said, “Turn back, NOW.”
I felt that same sinking feeling and decided that I would have to leave the country some other time. For good measure, I decided to glance into my rear view mirror. And all I saw were two piercing, green eyes.
| 2018-07-24T05:50:12 | 2018-07-24T05:29:11 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe.
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"Java. The entire universe runs on an outdated version of Java? Are you kidding me?"
The Genie chuckled. "What did you expect?"
"Not fucking *Java*, that's for sure," I replied. "Come on, we're going back home. I need some time to process this."
"Your wish is my command," the Genie said with a sly grin.
"That wasn't a wish, asshole."
And then I went home, and slept.
|
"...so... The universe is running on-"
"Windows, yes."
"...So is this like the Matrix or something?"
"What?"
"You know, we're all living in some kind of virtual reality world and now I have to bust everyone out?"
"What, are you high?? No!! Everything around you is real, we just have it hooked up to a computer so it'll run!"
"Oh."
"Idiot! Make your last wish so I can get away from you!!"
| 2018-10-18T13:42:48 | 2018-10-18T12:12:32 | 508 | 16 |
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe.
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Sobbing with the sheer weight of understanding, I reach for the only comfort left to me and bring it to my lips.
I tilt my head back, and look to the sky. Even through the beauty of the stars my comprehension demands relief.
"It's PHP all the way down." I whisper as my finger tightens on the trigger and a moment later relief finds me.
Edit: spelling
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"...so... The universe is running on-"
"Windows, yes."
"...So is this like the Matrix or something?"
"What?"
"You know, we're all living in some kind of virtual reality world and now I have to bust everyone out?"
"What, are you high?? No!! Everything around you is real, we just have it hooked up to a computer so it'll run!"
"Oh."
"Idiot! Make your last wish so I can get away from you!!"
| 2018-10-18T14:11:40 | 2018-10-18T12:12:32 | 212 | 16 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
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Earth's representative took the podium at a convention of all galactic leaders. Everyone expected unconditional surrender and from the looks of the old man in a white coat with a defeated expression that is what they were about to get.
"I want everyone to know that I am deeply saddened by what I am about to say.
When we joined the galactic community 200 years ago we were given an ultimatum by the rest of you. "Learn to communicate or perish.", And perish we almost did. See we understood your words just fine but as you had planned we didn't understand your meaning. We had become so wrapped up in the specifics of our words that we had forgotten our more basic forms of communication. The way you communicated was almost like a intricate dance that we couldn't understand. We could translate the words but that was only half the message.
We learned to 'communicate' very quickly as our survival depended on it, but what what you didn't realize what that the skills of negotiation were already ingrained in us because again our survival depended on it for centuries before you came along. Once we had your skills of communication we not only joined you in the galactic community but we quickly rose in your ranks. We left our warring history behind and became brokers of peace and negotiation for your many factions.
At first you welcomed us, but I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.
Now we know all your secrets. You trusted us and we have never breached that trust. But now there grows a fear that we won't continue to be so selfless. That we are still the liars and violent monsters we were when your found us and that allowing us to continue in your community will lead to disaster.
So you have attacked us on multiple fronts and killed many of our people. Driving us off all the planets we now inhabit and deporting us back to Earth. We don't have the engines of war that you have. We don't even have the primitive guns and explosives that we used to.
Our defeat is guaranteed."
The entire convention began to murmur as the time for surrender seemed imminent.
"I'm not finished!"
The anger and commanding tone silenced the entire crowd. No one in attendance expected this of the frail looking old human on the stage.
"We never betrayed your trust. You have now betrayed ours.
As I said we know all of your secrets. We know all the weaknesses or your main civilisation hubs. We know the security of all of your facilities. We know the genetic making and evolutionary histories of every species here.
We also know that you don't plan to stop once our surrender is complete. You plan to eradicate us just as you did when you gave us your ultimatum 200 years ago if we failed to learn to communicate.
Let me be very clear in this communication now.
We have a secret that you do not know. A millennia before you found us we had enforced on ourselves rules of war because if we hadn't we would be long dead by the time you arrived. Rules that, now faced with our Extinction, we see no reason to uphold.
At this very moment a host of viruses that we have designed for each of your species is being released on your inhabited planets and in this very room. They are quite incurable."
The room fell silent as everyone checked to see if it was true, but the human was not bluffing.
"Mutually assured destruction. That is a term you are not familiar with but I am sure you understand. Bring your full might upon us if you wish. No one will be left alive when the dust settles."
Edit: I referenced a short story by Frank Herbert in this. It's called 'try to remember' and it's in a collection called EYE. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eye_(short_story_collection) great reads if you have the chance
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We, the Taithians, bore witness to the greatest power shift in galactic history. For thousands of years we've been at war with the Vinari, a war like species that believes they are the superior race in the galaxy. They eradicate all other sentient beings, regardless of their technological level. The Vinari are fearless, and ruthless. Or, they were.
In galactic year 14b.1201 they came across a curious species from a remote part of the galaxy called humans. At the time, these humans had only colonized a few stars in their region, and had no military presence to speak of. They claimed they were peaceful explorers and wanted to be friends.
The Vinari did what the Vinari do, and wiped out the most remote colony with ease. The humans quickly sent envoys out to the stars, seeking allies, finding none that were willing to expend additional resources defending such an underdeveloped species.
The galaxy soon realized they had made a grave error.
The second human colony fell, this time with more resistance than the first. Despite the technological differences, the Vinari took heavy losses. Undeterred, the Vinari continued their March across the stars, albeit at a slower pace.
This whole time the humans tried in vain to gain allies, support from other species. It never came, and how I wish it did. This is the transmission the humans sent just before they unleashed their might:
"Beings of the galaxy, we are a species called humans, from the planet Earth. Our colonies have been under attack from the Vinari, and we have tried reaching out for support, and to pursue peace. We have been rebuffed at every opportunity, and will not stand for it any longer. Today, we declare Total War on the Vinari. We will eradicate them from the galaxy and claim their territory for our own. If you stand in our way, you will suffer the same fate. You have been warned."
I was but a chitlin when they made this declaration, and even then it sent shivers through my nervous system. It still does to this day.
The galaxy didn't understand what the humans meant by total war. War was war, we all waged it to survive. Soon we found the truth was worse than we ever imagined.
Humans reveled in war, their history was rife with it. They pursued peace and assistance at every chance because they knew... They knew what real war was. They set it aside to survive... But now they unleashed it on the galaxy for the very same reason.
The next colony the Vinari attacked was stopped cold. A first in their long history. Rapidity in which the humans scaled their military might was frightening. Their economy, politics, everything turned and geared for war.
Soon, the humans reclaimed their colonies. The Vinari couldn't stop them. Then the humans pushed beyond their borders into Vinari territory. There were no survivors. The humans employed technology that other species only dreamed of. But that's not what scared the rest of us. Humans had a cleverness we still don't understand, they used unorthodox thinking coupled with their fearsome technology.
And in the span of a few galactic standard years (25 in human terms), the Vinari were no more. As promised, the humans erased them from the galaxy. Once their enemy was no more, they turned their fearsome sights on us. We all feared the worst.
Instead, the humans brought us all together to form a galactic government. Every species got to keep their territory so long as they abided by the laws. Having witnessed how fearsome the humans fought, we were all too happy to comply.
We all comply and behave, because we don't want to end up like the Vinari.
Edit: e then I, I then e, fixed a few times.
Edit 2: my first silver! Thank you kind stranger, I'm glad you enjoyed this enough to gild it!
| 2018-12-14T21:32:21 | 2018-12-14T21:31:30 | 681 | 337 |
[WP] You really want a pet, but you can only get the one that's assigned to you by the International Pet Personality Test. It could be anything, ranging from bacteria to an extinct animal. You decide to take the risk, take the test, and live with the results.
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"Quit worrying, Frank, I'm sure you'll get something nice. Look at Brenda next door, she's half the brains you have and she got that really great monkey!"
"Thanks, Mary, but it isn't just about how smart you are, sweety. There's a whole range of factors that go into it. And monkeys fling their own feces, you know."
"Oh, yeah. That explains why she does so much more laundry now."
"There's just so many options we're not equipped to deal with! What if it's something from the arctic? Are we going to have to keep the thermostat set to minus eight all the time? I don't even know where to get a parka!"
He started to shiver, "now I'm getting cold just thinking about it! And I don't want to end up like Carl, either." Frank shuddered and paced around their small living room like a caged animal, hugging himself.
Mary stood and took her husband's face in her hands, "You are nothing like Carl," she said softly, "I told you he was toxic, we all knew he'd end up with pet Bubonic Plague. You're going to get something intelligent, sweet and loving, and generous and loyal, just like you." She punctuated each word with a tender kiss and Frank softened.
He took a deep breath and settled down into his comfy chair. "You always did know how to settle me down, hon. I'm sorry, I know I'm just being neurotic, but that's just my nature I guess."
A moment later the door bell rang and Frank shot out of the chair. "Oh god, it's here! What do I do?"
Mary shook her blond curls and smiled, "Come on, hon, let's go see what they sent."
"But I'm not ready!" Frank cried, "What if it's something lame? It could be an octopus, I don't have a tank!"
Mary ignored him and went to open the door, "Now you're being silly. I'll look and see-"
She stood gaping wide eyed, lips moving, but no sound would come out, like a giant bipedal guppy at the door.
Frank turned and went ashen when he saw her, "What is it?"
A tall man with dark hair stood on the doorstep. "Are you going to let me in or not? And I thought New Yorkers were rude!"
He ducked in under Mary's arm which had frozen to the door. "And what's the deal with this decor? Hello, the 90s just called and want their tacky couch back! I hope your bed is comfy, I'll be snuggling up next to the missus here."
He started rummaging through the fridge, pulled out a carton of milk and poured himself a glass. "Ever wonder why they stopped putting lost kids' pictures on milk cartons? 'Hey, we found them all! Stop printing!' You have any snacks?"
Frank finally found his voice, "Who are you? Why are you in my apartment?"
The stranger turned and said, "I'm your new pet! The name is Jerry. Jerry Seinfeld."
|
I knew the stories, that guy in Australia got e-coli, well he lived as long as his "pet," but that didn't mean much. Also, ew, that is so gross. Why would anyone want a pet like that, who makes these rules? Then there was that lady from Austria, got a stegasaurus, sounds cool, buuuuuut, it destroyed her home. And was considered a public threat. And she died by accident. Surely though, I would get a normal pet, I mean I was a good person, I think. I did my best to be normal so I wouldn't get anything crazy and I WAS TIRED OF BEING ALONE. Let's be real, only people who were truly desperate (or overly confident) would ever apply for a pet. It was just to much risk for not enough reward.
On the drive over, I kept doubting myself, but I knew I would be alright. What about Tommy, you used to bully him, but that won't matter, that was in second grade. What about that time that you didn't press the crosswalk symbol and just crossed instead. What if you bomb the quiz. So many "whats," but I had arrived. Let me tell you, that was the longest walk from my car to the entrance to the building. For some reason, I just could not believe I was actually doing this. People were staring at me, surely it wasn't that big of a deal.
There wasn't a line.
Panic, no one waiting, was I the only one who wanted a pet. I heard a scream. Ok, this is bad, maybe this was a mistake.
"Hello, welcome! please step through the door to your right and we will get you your very own pet!" A cheerful voice said.
I turned to look, and I froze. It was Tommy. What are the odds, why me, he is so gonna get me killed, but it didn't seem like he remembered me. I was in the clear, all I had to do was walk through the door.
"Oh hey, what was it, Greg? Greg!" Tommy said cheerfully, "It's been so long, afterwards let's chat!"
"Oh, hey Tommy, didn't recognize you for a minute there." I hope that was a believable lie. I stepped through the door and started taking the exam.
An hour late I walked out with a golden retriever at my side. "Oh hey Tommy, looks like I just ended up with a dog, but I am happy enough."
Tommy's eyes narrowed, and then immediately went back to there cheerful face, "Oh, well good you got something normal, you should come over sometime and your dog can meet Mr. Whiskers."
I said my goodbyes to Tommy and headed out. When I arrived at home I was in for a shock. My dog spoke up and introduced himself.
"I am Sir Borkton the third and I am here to help rid your planet of the vile creature you refer to as "cat." We must head to your companions home to eliminate the threat as soon as possible."
Then the windows shattered and everything went black.
&#x200B;
Coming soon to theaters near you "Cat's Meowfia 3: The Bark patrol strikes back"
&#x200B;
Hope you enjoyed. Please let me know any feedback you have :D
| 2019-02-07T13:50:40 | 2019-02-07T13:22:46 | 172 | 58 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it.
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Three years in and still I needed remedial tutoring. It was humiliating. I knew all the spells, could recite all the formulas, but once it came time to actually put it into practice, the magic always did what it wanted, when it wanted, no matter what I tried. It did have a bad tendency to knock random items off walls and tables, and all my teachers *hated* that.
I sat at my desk and stared listlessly at my spellbook. At a knock on my door, I jerked upright. Already knowing it was my longtime tutor and friend, Sherry, I didn’t even bother trying to pretend like I had cleaned. I just threw the door open and walked away.
‘Well hello to you too!’ She said drily. I just rolled my eyes and grunted.
‘I thought we’d try that summoning circle again today.’ Man, she was really determined to get under my skin today. She knew I couldn’t get it to work. But we both knew that getting my familiar to finally reveal itself might help figure out my problems with magic.
Familiars tend to reflect the magic of their mage. For example, Sherry’s familiar, a small mockingbird, reflected her ability to observe magic once and replicate it. Obviously, magic had always come easily to her. Try as I might, I couldn’t resent her for that. She always stuck by me and believed one day we’d figure out the key to make my magic work.
‘Whatever,’ I sighed as I cleared the black floor and dug my chalk out of my backpack. I began the painstaking process of drawing out the summoning circle.
Two hours, four complicated drawings of the circle, many four letter words, and a very sore back later, I slumped back against my desk.
‘It’s no use. It’s just not going to happen. I may as well just move on to something else...’ I rubbed the bridge of my nose to soothe my aching head.
‘Come on, one more time. It really felt like you were so close that last time!!’ Sherry began to erase the previous circle. When she was done, she pulled me off the floor and pressed the chalk back into my hands. ‘You can absolutely do this. Come on.’
I moved back to the middle of the room with my hands on my hips and sighed heavily. One more time? I’d give her one more time.
With a quick movement, I scrawled a messy, crooked circle (if I’m being honest, it was more an oval), began the incantations and moved to the side. As I continued chanting, I threw my last sacrifice to tempt my familiar into the center of my drawing. To my surprise, it began to glow. As I continued with the spells, the light grew brighter and brighter until, with a blinding flash and final shout, the light disappeared and the room rang with silence.
When my eyes cleared of the light spots, I had to blink a few times. There, in the center of the circle, was a small black and white ball of fur.
I sat down abruptly in shock, and a head popped up. *It’s about time you figured things out* I heard in my head.
My new cat familiar sat up and began to wash her whiskers. As my mind began to comprehend what it was seeing, all of a sudden, my problems with my magic made sense.
*So where’s my food bowl and if I see the bottom of it, I swear you won’t sleep for a week*
First time posting, first short story (ever), and I’m sure there’s grammar errors. This just popped into my head and I couldn’t get it to leave!
|
When a mage first starts their training for summoning familiars, the instructors make it very clear about the dangers of under-preparation. They told us about the chemistry that had to be understood, the laws of physics and the laws of dimensional energy, the dangerous demons and spirits that mages attract because of not correctly performing the summoning. Horror stories are told about hellish demons haunting a mage for the rest of their life or about other planetary animals inhabited by some dimensional spirit who wants nothing more than to wreak havoc and a mage to bend to their will. Unfortunately, I've never been one to read the safety manual, so why start worrying now?
While my classmates prepared their ceremonies, travelling to rare and exotic places on Earth, and beyond, to acquire the materials needed to summon their familiar, I stayed at home. Comfortable. Relaxed. Not at all worried about summoning a evil energy I couldn't control. I did however plan at least some semblance of a ceremony. More like a ritual. I did what I always did, every morning, without question. I showered, changed into my jeans and retro t-shirt, kissed my mom morning, and headed to the corner store for a bag of chips. Doritos Cool Ranch, 56¢, and always left change for the donation box.
When I got back home, I locked my room and took out the chalk we practice at school. Nothing special, just drew a simple circle the size of a small coffee table.
Now here, there's two things required, no matter how little effort or complexity massive a mage makes for a summoning: a blood offering and a token for your familiar. Blood for activating the "portal" (simplest way to put it), and a token for your familiar to accept (or not). I bit my thumb with my canine tooth, dripping a bit of blood in the center. I said a quick, wave of the hand prayer/command, and the circle lit up in a firery sparkly rage. Hollywood may make up a lot of shit about magic and mages, but "Doctor Strange" got the visuals for the portal pretty spot-on. The mage who graduated at my academy was the visual effects supervisor of the film so I can guess where they got that brilliant idea.
Looking at my portal, and the empty black hole of darkness that laid on my bedroom floor into nothing, I really wished my instructors could have seen me, with not a care in the world. It'd freak them out, maybe a heart attack or two. If only. I looked at the Doritos on my bed, thinking what had to be the best worst idea in the moment, and tossed my chips through the portal. The circle vanished in a quick wisp and I was left in silence. Alone and familiar-less. Kinda expected this to happen, but even a lazy bum can remain hopeful.
Hours passed, and I went to bed. I dreamed of nothing, an underrated dream. Then a bump on my chest woke me up, and I promise you I wasn't sure what to make of it. It was a pretty deformed creature, with a slobby face of a pug, a really tough hairy chest and arms, and with fat chubby hairless legs of a...baby. It had a tail too. It's brown eyes and white iris stared at me. I couldn't move. I was more intrigued than scared. I did only what I thought I could do. I assumed the best and talked to what I can only assume was my familiar.
"Hey." I said.
"Puppymonkeybaby" it said.
"Do you understand me?" I replied.
It nodded. "Puppymonkeybaby" and it licked my face the way a dog would.
Class on Monday is going to be interesting...
| 2019-04-05T15:47:48 | 2019-04-05T15:18:09 | 102 | 25 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it.
|
Ugh....I knew I should have skipped class today. I dont even know why I bother. I have to be the most unmagical kid in this whole mage school.
Of course everyone else is prepared. One by one cats, rats, a few dogs start to fill the room as they appear in everyone's circle. Others are busy making their summoning potions and pouring it into their circles. True to form I didnt even grab my backpack when I ran out of the dorms after hitting the snooze button on my alarm 15 times. What was I thinking when I picked spell casting 101 at 8am!
The only thing I did grab was a bag of sour cream and chives chips cuz mom always said "breakfast is the most important meal of the day". Ugh....was that a falcon?!?!. I shove my hands into my pockets in a last ditch effort for what? Maybe I have some mugwort I unknowingly stashed in my Jean's. Nope nothing more then lint and old candy wrappers. Wait! Hold the phone I may have just lucked out. My broken nub of chalk. At lest I'll get credit for the circle I think as I draw it out.
I look around and most of the class now has some sort of animal familiar standing with them. I can't get another zero...I look over at the bag of chips and then at the circle. Maybe I can talk Professor Higginbocker to give me partial participation credit.
I toss the chips in, mumble the summoning spell and.....theres a flash of light. I spin around and theres a HUGE white stag standing in front of me. Professor Higginbocker said that a familiar would reflect the spell caster but a stag! Leave it to teachers pet Marcus to summon a rare white stag.
"Kiss up" someone behind me says and I hear the unmistakable sound of a chip crunching. "Yeah" I agree and turn to see a 50 something, balding old man in a stained tank top, beer gut, pajama bottoms that have seen better days and flip flops. He gives me a nod and continues to eat my chips! I'm never gonna get partial credit now I groan. "Yeah sorry bout that" says the man. He wipes off his chip covered hand and on his tank top., spilling crumbs all in my circle....wait my circle. "Yeah I'm Berry, your familiar" he says as he holds out his hand for a fist pump.
|
“No! I can’t do this stupid spell!” I screamed and flailed my arms. I felt I had hit something on accident and turned to the large wobbly circle on the floor.
It was a bag of chips, half empty (or half full...), limited time flavour of dragon tail.
I was too lazy to pick it up, so I chanted the spell used to teleport an item into your hand.
It was the brightest light I had ever seen in my life. It was, though, a black light. “What have I done!?” I screamed.
Lightning struck the chips, even though it was in my room (Which was in the basement.) A strange gas started streaming out of the bag. “My chiiips! I was eating those!”
Suddenly, the light faded, and the gas ignited itself on fire. The fire, too, was black. “Whoooooooooooooooo suuuuuummooooooooneeeed meeeeeeeee?!” A silhouette called from the circle after the fire disappeared.
“Gah!” I jumped back and the thing reached down.
“Ooh, chips!” It started eating my chips. “Yum, dragon tail flavour!”
As the normal lights came back, I realized it wasn’t a monster, but instead it was a huge, fat, chunky, obese, overweight, plump, chubby, ample, tubby, big, stout human. “Who are you!?” I yelled and brandished my staff.
“Oh, hi there! I’m Glutthog of the fat clan!” It attempted to smile, but fell flat trying to do so.”And who are you?”
“I’m Elyna, the Necro-Mage.” I quickly said, then tightened my grip on the staff as Glutthog stood up.
“That doesn’t seem to be going well for you, as I’m not even mortal, let alone dead!” He said with a chuckle. His belly shook when he laughed.
“I- uh... I need to go to school, stay here, don’t make noise!” I said to him as I walked upstairs.
“Bring some cake when you’re back!”
“Fine!”
When I got home from school, I had a small sponge cake in my hand and my knapsack in the other. Glutthog was lying on the sofa in my room, as still as stone. I placed the cake next to him and watched as he shoved the whole thing down his throat with a very loud swallow.
“Delicious!”
| 2019-04-05T16:52:26 | 2019-04-05T15:46:22 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Your ability to see what level of pain a person is experiencing has always helped you in your profession as a nurse. From the hovering "0.6" over the guy with the hangnail to the "42" over the crash victim. Today on the bus ride to work there is an "800" over a guy, calmly reading his paper...
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Alivia looked at her comatose patient, Albert. He’d been in a horrific lumberjack accident where a smaller tree had fallen on top of him, crushing bones and almost costing him his life. His body was covered head to toe in bandages and casks. Albert was supposed to be completely unconscious at this point, but she knew that he was struggling with the pain, “Fifty, poor thing,” she thought as she administered pain relief.
Alivia was a nurse at Grace Hospital, one of the largest hospitals in the region, and certainly the largest in the city of Yhago. From the day she was born she had been in tune with people’s pain in an unusual way, she could see the pain scale attached to any person, clear as day. A faint green single digit hovered on most people she came across, not always in the same location, sometimes above the head, sometimes in front of the chest or arms.
Most people had some form of pain they hid from others, not always physical. Those fortunate to have Alivia as their friend could always count on her uncanny ability to comfort them at the perfect times. She was the perfect nurse.
Alivia was on her way home after an emotionally draining day at work, she stepped on the bus. The bus-driver was unfamiliar to her this day, he had a verdant ten hovering above his right arm. He didn’t look like he was in pain, depression, perhaps? He was a little overweight and had a somewhat stained white-shirt, he gave a warm smile, “That’s a dollar and fifty,”
“Here you go, thank you for being my driver today! Hope to see you again,” Alivia beamed with positivity. The bus itself was your standard affair, two seats per row on either side of the vehicle, chairs padded and covered with a pattern that was never really in style. She took a seat close to the back of the bus, far away from the doors, leaving those seats for the elderly that often took this route.
As Alivia was about to zone out and re-charge her batteries, thinking of nothing in particular, the bus made a hissing noise and stopped. When the doors opened, a middle-aged man took a seat in front of her and began reading The Yhago Times in an unusually casual manner. It would’ve been nothing special save for one fact, this person had the number eight-hundred floating above his head.
“That’s impossible!” Alivia thought to herself, she had seen patients covered in bullet holes dying in front of her, the ones who were conscious had never been over an eighty, they almost always died at that point. Alivia couldn’t bear it, she carefully tapped the man on his left shoulder, “Excuse me, sir?”
The man turned around, he had a miniscule scar that looked like an old knife-wound, close to his right-eyebrow, his gray hair was slicked backwards, “Can I help you, miss?” he said without any hint of pain.
“This may seem strange to you, but I must ask, are you in any pain right now?” She asked, perhaps her ability was slipping, she was getting close to thirty, “Perhaps it fades with age”, she thought.
The man smiled, not seeming offended at all, “That is indeed a curious question to ask a stranger on a bus,” he snickered, “If I may ask a counter-question, what sparked this sudden interest in my pain-levels?”
Alivia felt a little silly, he was clearly not in any pain, “Sorry, I must’ve been mistaken. It’s just…” she hesitated, “See, I’m a nurse. I’ve always had the ability to *feel* the pain of those around me, and I must be way off here, but to me, you seem to be in the most excruciating pain. Far above any other person I have ever met. If you are not, I am sorry for interrupting your reading.”
The man’s flinch was so slight it was almost imperceptible, but Alivia noticed, “That is quite the ability to have, as a nurse, I mean,” he said, but this time he seemed to have been caught off guard.
“What’s your name?” the stranger asked quickly.
“I’m Alivia! What’s yours?” she responded in her intoxicatingly positive manner.
The man’s smile returned, it was impossible to be somber so close to the sun. “Please call me Jovani,” he said. After a few short quips about where they worked, the weather and other small-talk, they fell silent and went back to their own worlds, Jovani reading and Alicia unwinding in silence.
The bus hissed once more, and Jovani got up, he put his right hand on the seat next to his own, in front of Alivia’s, “I like you Alivia, I enjoyed our little chat. *Know* that you are not wrong about me. Every day my suffering is beyond the scope of human understanding. I’ve lost everything save for one thing, and it's the only thing that keeps me going.”
Jovani gave a shy smile at Alivia, who’s face was now frozen in shock, “I hope I’ll be graced by your presence again in the future, Alivia, goodbye.”
Alivia’s thoughts crashed into one another, by the time she got up to ask a million questions, the bus was already moving again, and the man was gone.
*****
Thank you for reading!
[/r/NordicNarrator](https://www.reddit.com/r/NordicNarrator/)
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"I wasn't the only one who was like this. Though the chances of finding others exactly like myself were slim to none, there were people who could view the 'stats' of the people or things they met and/or saw based on their profession they chose. I, myself, decided to be a nurse. This meant I could see a pain rating for people if I chose to.
"I normally don't bother with it though... most of the time, anyway. I usually see it as almost an invasion of privacy, unless I'm using it for my job. There is the occasional time where I'm feeling 'snoopish' and decide to view the ratings of people. For example, I decided to monitor a guy who was acting oddly. He had a -5 pain rating, which is some tolerance if I must say. I'm pretty sure he was drunk or something though.
"Another time I looked over at a car crash. It was disturbing, but I saw a man who was limping have a pain rating of about 20. Poor guy must've sprained his ankle, but he's lucky that's all. I couldn't get a reading on the guy laying in the ditch...
"...A-anyway, uh... so where was I? Right, snooping. So I'm on the bus heading toward the hospital, when there's a man who is reading his paper. Nothing out of the ordinary. He kept glancing quickly at me though, and his hand would tremble here and there. Curiosity got to me and I opened Ye Olde 'stat viewer', to see this man who was reading the daily horoscope had a rating of 800. I've seen people who have miraculously survived 15 bullet wounds to the chest that had rating less than that, mind you.
"Of course, this startled me. 'How in the world does this guy have such a high pain rating with no symptoms of anything,' I thought to myself. 'There's no way. I must be reading him wrong.' So I do that 'turn it off and on again' thing you do with your phones, but no, he still had 800 as a rating. As one would, I go over to him when we get to the stop and ask if he's okay. The man seemed to have a distant delay to his weary, 'Oh, no yeah I'm okay,' response, so I didn't believe him, but I carried on anyway.
"Next day, there he is again. His rating went down by 50, but even 750 is still astronomically high. As I keep checking in with him, I realize he's a really cool person. He's a huge nerd, sweet, funny as all hell, the whole package and then some, if you catch my drift. So I started to 'talk to him'. We grew closer, to the point I considered the man named Johnathan Bennet a best friend, and I had been hoping more than simply that. We called almost daily over video chat, have a blast doing so, and there were times where we'd both fall asleep on our calls and wake up to each other.
"Then, there was the dreaded night-- a night that I won't forget at all. He'd called me, seeming visibly shaken over the camera, and distant again. I checked his rating out again. It'd hit 1200, a number I didn't know was possible. I asked him what's wrong, and he immediately hung up the call, and texted 'Sorry I've been a burden. I'm going to go away from you, you'll never have to deal with me again.'. I got no response after that.
"I was worried. No... no, not just worried, I was terrified. On the verge of tears, I immediately called the police. I drove to his house, where all the doors were locked shut. I banged and kicked and screamed at the door, but I got no answer from the inside. The police arrive, bash the door in, and the man is foaming at the mouth on the floor.
"...I'm sorry, give me a moment."
A glance at the time and a swipe of her handkerchief to her eye fills the now silent moment before she continues.
"But uh... heh, about a day or two later I get a call from the hospital saying that he was okay, that he had made a full recovery and that it was a good thing I called when I did. I was ecstatic, I'll tell you, I... it was scary, and I'd thought I lost him. Fast forward about five years though, and we'd already been together for four. He reflected back on everything, and we realized how much we had liked each other."
She gazes at the floor with a hint of fond remembrance in her smile, chuckling at her own memories.
"But... yeah. That's how we met, I guess. A simple snooping of a man on the bus turned into the man I've been married to for about seven years now, and I couldn't be happier."
She glanced at the 21 who asked the age old question of, "How did you and dad meet?" A look of shock, yet interest, washed over the face of the man. "Well, damn, ma. I didn't know there was more than just meeting at work or something behind it." The mother laughed, and gave a smirk. "That's because you never asked until now."
A couple minutes of faint music from the radio go by until the young man speaks again. "...do you think I'll have that 'stat viewer' ability, ever?"
A slight inquisitive chuckle and a sigh from the woman is followed by a simple sentence; "Good things come to those who wait."
| 2019-04-14T01:35:24 | 2019-04-14T00:15:56 | 129 | 51 |
[WP] Humans show Aliens their depictions of them. The Aliens stumble backwards, terrified. “You know of the old ones.”
|
Agent Dunn and Agent Slack sat in awkward silence with the creatures across from them. They were definitely alien, neither could deny that.
The creature's stalk eyes kept wandering uncomfortably close to Agent Slack's face. The stalk itself was thick, with a thin layer of.. Maybe slime? Slack just knew it made him squirm internally. Dunn cleared his throat when one aired too close to his face. The aliens didn't seem to mind.
Finally, the dark blue one across from Slack reached down onto its... Leg? It had fingers but they were hidden beneath all the fur. When it put its arm back onto the table, it put a small device in front of them. It had what appeared to be two musical horn shapes on either side of them. The middle piece was slightly glowing, with glowing thin lines running all over it.
Then the alien made a soft grumbling noise. The box moved towards Dunn and Slack.
"Since you are apparently ignoring our telepathic communication, you have forced us to resort to our simplistic translator." Dunn straightened his tie.
"You can communicate telepathically?" Dunn felt embarrassed. Of course they can communicate telepathically. The device moved closer to the aliens and spit out a series of clicks and whirls. The two aliens stalk eyes turned toward each other. Each started moving their heads up and down while making a wheezing noise.
"Slack, what the fuck do you think theyre doing?" Dunn whispered. Slack shrugged.
"I think they're... Laughing?" Slack suggested. The translator picked this up. The aliens stopped for a moment, listened to the produced whirring and clirring, and.. Started doing it harder. The one across from Slack grumbled loudly now while shaking up and down.
"Of course we are laughing! You humans have expected everything else so far from us - our ships, our shapes - well except for this younger human here- and even our technology. We find it ridiculous that a species could have so much contact with other interplanetary species and not know such a basic fact!" Dunn and Slack exchanged a look.
"We HAVEN'T had contact with other species." The aliens stopped moving. The two got out of their chairs and stood next to each other against the wall. They made soft grumbling sounds and clicking noises together. Their stalk eyes were focused on themselves alone. Finally, they both made the same noise. Their stalk eyes retracted into their mass of fur. The pair sat back down. Now the red furred one sat across Slack and the blue across from Dunn. The red began talking first.
"Do not lie to us please. Our visit has been pleasant so far and we'd hate to cut it short." Dunn and Slack exchanged a look.
Dunn took the lead. "We aren't lying. Humans have just been imagining and re imagining aliens- er.. Interplanetary species since well... Practically civilization itself." The aliens turned towards each other.
The box spit out quietly, "Show us." Both creatures were shifting constantly in their seats now. Dunn nodded and grabbed Slack by the arm.
"Leave him here. Go get your depictions." The box said commandingly. Dunn nodded and left the room, leaving Slack terrified. Slack looked at them. The blue one grabbed the box with its fingers and dragged closer to him.
"What do you know about these depictions?" Slack shrugged gently.
"I.. I know the older examples we only THINK are depictions... Um.. Do you guys know religion?" Slack's voice was high pitched. The two moved their heads violently towards the table, then stopped at the last second and pulled their heads up. A nod?
"So uh.. Humans are incredibly into religion. We've always been fascinated with space! So we think older human's gods and myths could be their versions of our modern concept of aliens. Before you two, that is." They both repeated the action.
"What of these modern depictions?" Dunn barged back into the room with a thin laptop.
"My apologies for taking so long." Both whirred too quiet for the box to hear. Dunn cleared his throat. "This device can show you our older depictions and our new ones." The red one growled and grumbled quietly.
"Just your new ones please. Slack explained your old ones well enough, and we dont believe they're proper depictions." Dunn nodded. He began searching through the computer. He opened up a database.
"I'm going to scroll through these pictures, and it should give an idea as what our species thought of aliens! Before our first contact that is." The blue one clicked softly. Dunn pulled up the first photo.
Aximili from Animorphs. Xenomorphs from Aliens. Predator. Little green men. Horrifying images of sharp teeth, long heads, dangerous bodies. The pair stumbled backwards into the wall as fast as they could. All their fur retreated to reveal armored skin of similar coloring. Their faces had small trunks and their eyes were in a surprisingly normal place. Their legs looked almost like a horse's - curved, muscular, but with small talons. Their fingers were long and they had no thumbs. They each had what seemed like a belt in the middle of their armored torso. Each held what seemed similar to a knife. At least a weapon.
The translator began going crazy as they began clicking back and forth.
"They dont know, Savin! They don't even know it was implanted into their brains!" "Wathun relax!" "I won't relax! They could be here and THEY WOULDN'T EVEN KNOW IT!" "We can just leave." "They could have stolen our ship, our technology!" "We walked right into enemy hands..."
"What are you two talking about?!" Slack yelled. The red one took a step forward with a hand on the weapon around its waist.
With terror in his voice, it quietly said, "You know of the old ones."
|
"Hey. C'mon." Lynx snickered. "You have got to see this."
The rest of the crew followed with Lynx leading them to one of the storage rooms. Inside, Zeego and Mer'zazzi sat there. They'd been studying bits of mankind's culture in their spare time.
Eventually, they learned about the concept of movies. An absurd idea to both of them really. Humans came up with scenarios that they imagined, then acted them out with real people?
Now that's crazy.
Nonetheless, they watched a few. Admittedly, they were very good. But the genre that frightened them the most was science fiction.
Lynx and company held a laugh as the pair finished up a really old classic of the genre.
"Alien".
Both seemed frozen in place as the credits began to roll. Which was funny to the mercenaries. These two hadn't exactly been frightened of anything else until now.
Vic had an idea.
He put a finger to his lips for the others to stay quiet. Then he snuck inside the room. And before both aliens could consider it, he put a hand on their shoulders.
"Gotcha'."
Both practically leapt out of their seats. Weapons were pulled and Zeego began swearing in a panic.
Everyone else burst in to alleviate the situation.
"Guys it's us!" Erick shouted at them next. "Chill!"
Needless to say it took a second, but Mer'zazzi pulled the plasma gun out of Vic's face. She took a deep breath and slumped back into her seat.
"You two alright?" Lynx reminded them. "It's just a movie."
"Really? Just a movie?" Zeego snapped at them.
"Told you it was a bit creepy." Lynx said, "But I didn't think you'd panic like that. Put the gun down."
Both of the aliens sat together and breathed a sigh of relief. The others watched them to figure out why they overreacted so hard.
"Wanna' watch something else?" Vic suggested. "Something nice. Maybe cartoons or something? I don't know."
Zeego offered a quick open palm, wanting him to stop. His fur still stood on end in places, his mannerisms still jumpy.
"You mean to tell me, none of you know?" Mer'zazzi finally asked.
"Know what?"
Mer'zazzi clumsily gestured at the display. She seemed at a loss for words.
"The. This." She tried to grasp.
"Yeah. It's Alien." Lynx shrugged. She put up her hands in a mock performance.
"In space, no one can hear you scream. Wooooo... "
"It's fake. Relax." Erick said.
"You don't know." Zeego gritted.
"It's just a movie." Erick countered. "Right?"
"So you don't know." Mer'zazzi began. "You never heard about them? The old ones?"
Everyone quit laughing.
"I don't know how to explain this. But, you got it right. It's absurd. It doesn't make sense. But you, humans I mean. Got it right."
Nobody moved.
"Are you sure?"
"Am I a joke to you!?" She said as she rolled her eyes.
"I mean. Somebody just came up with the story. And they made it. And, it's like Shakespeare. They kept the movie preserved. And it's more of a comedy, what with being in space and all."
"You guys are sick." Zeego finally decided. "I'm done. No. No. This is sick. You don't just think of something like that. You had to see something out here. Please tell us, one of you has seen something."
"It's not real!" Vic argued.
"Yes it is!" Both aliens shouted back.
Everyone got a crash course in universal history over the next half hour or so. Apparently, certain movies really hit the mark. And apparently, the "old ones" weren't exactly as fake as they thought.
"I find it hard to imagine that there's stuff out there like that." Vic decided.
Mer'zazzi, maybe fed up with him, delivered a slap that sent him reeling.
"Well I'm real." She offered, wringing a pink hand out after the slap. "Did you imagine me too??"
"Okay. Okay." Lynx interrupted. "Let's just go through the list. Which ones got it right? Save us all some time."
"Alien. Life. Independence Day." Mer'zazzi began. I don't know why being invaded sounds cool to you. What's the other one? The Thing?"
"I really hate that one." Zeego shuddered. "And Tremors."
"The one with the worms? I like that one." Jorge asked.
"Shit's not funny." Zeego debunked. "And then, there's Star Wars. But that one wasn't scary. Just weird."
"How?"
"Well the Council tried the lightsaber thing. Open plasma beams..." He answered. "Lot of new amputees."
"Star Trek?" Lynx asked next.
"Teleporters are bad idea." Mer'zazzi responded. "Let's just leave it at that."
"What about Predator?"
"You already work with one!" Zeego mentioned.
"...Well this is nice." Lynx decided.
The others kind of shuffled in place. It really had soured the atmosphere to learn more about things like that.
"Chewbacca was cool." Zeego said in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Knew someone like that. Nice guy."
"What else is there?"
"Event Horizon proves there is no saving your species, you are the scariest things we've met, and that you all need psychological help." Mer'zazzi laid out flatly.
"Ok. That one hurts." Vic admitted.
"...So can you guys really dodge bullets. Like in The Matrix."
"Hell no. That's how you get shot."
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
| 2019-05-03T07:18:23 | 2019-05-03T07:14:02 | 687 | 162 |
[WP] You are a medical wonder due to the fact that you can regrow your organs. You became a donor and everyone thinks that you are a good person. What they do not know is that you can control every reciever whenever you like.
|
"You're a medical wonder"
"You're saving all these lives, a modern day hero"
"Be proud of what we've accomplished here, it's something only you can do"
At least that's what I could make out, whenever I drifted in. I don't know how long I've been here anymore. But every time I wake up I'd have a new scar, and more pain.
Last thing I really remember is that I was in an accident. A bad one. Something that should never have happened. The place I worked was a shit hole like no other. If OH&S came anywhere near, they would have shut down the facility the moment they walked through the doors. All that mattered was making money in that place, and the shit they made us handle did not make the job any easier.
All the alarms blaring and everyone yelling had me rushing in. It only took two steps into the acid shack. First step, I was hit with the smell. Horrible smell, that filled my sinuses and gave me an instant headache. The second step to stop and turn around had my lungs and insides burning. I thought that was the most excruciating pain I could ever feel.
Until I woke up in the emergency room to the site of my black lungs lifted out of my chest. I thought the pain was from the metal stretching my ribs open. But after following the horrified eyes, I looked down to see what looked like tiny tendrils weaving. As more started to form and whip around shaping in place the pain increased. To the point that I started flailing.
Crying.
Screaming.
Hands flew, to hold me in place and prevent anymore damage after the clamps holding my chest open let go. They got the mask on me and pumped up the anesthesia to knock me out.
Eventually I came to and the doctors told me what happened. They showed, me the scans they did of my lungs. They thought it was fun to show my old charred lungs beside them too. I just felt disgust. I didn't know how else to feel. What to think. Apparently neither did they. They wanted to run more tests, get an idea of what was happening, or what the deal was. They went on about a discovery like this could change the world. Save it.
I didn't want any of it. I just wanted my life. My family. I knew something like this would change me. Change my life. But at the very least I needed to know.
//// part 1 I guess. I can continue on and I'm more than happy to get some help with my writing. Kind of the first one I'm putting out here. Really want to try and improve. Thanks!
|
Did they do tests on me? Surprisingly, no.
I became a donor because, um, I can regrow my organs so why wouldn’t I give them out like candy?
My family is proud of me, and everyone must think I’m a good person. Little do they know.
I couldn’t believe it! The guy I had controlled, he wasn’t being controlled! He normally talked to the doctor and me with interest. There was one thing that came to my mind.
Is he just like me?
I left the hospital feeling extremely nauseous. I decided to take an Uber instead of trying to drive. I called my sister to pick up my car. I thought about it but I just wasn’t feeling it. I just told myself it was just a mistake.
I thanked the Uber, gave him his cash and wobbled over to the bathroom after dropping my stuff down and kicking off my shoes. I didn’t feel much better after so I just took some medicine and laid down.
The next day was a disaster. I met the same guy that I had “controlled” on the street and he was looking at me funny. Even worse, he was with his girlfriend! He had to take it to the next level by saying hello.
I laughed and said hello. Blabbering on about how it was such a coincidence. Soon enough I shot the ‘I have to go!’ words and dashed down the sidewalk. I forgot my coffee. I’m not going back there.
Actually, not getting my coffee was a bad idea. I could barely keep my eyelids open at work.
After I dozed off, my boss decided to take stroll around the office and caught me. I was sent home.
Paying the rent will be a miracle.
After giving a kidney, I was thanked as always and went grocery shopping.
Is it just me or do I run into this guy everywhere?
We were in the same aisle.
For the first time he spoke to me alone.
“Why are you following me?”
I swear he could’ve seen my eyes bulge out of my head.
I stuttered while I said, “W-what? F-following you! You’re the one following me!”
He narrowed his eyes and then laughed.
I didn’t see what was so funny, as a matter-of-fact I was confused.
“My girlfriend said you were adorable. So I was wondering if we could take a picture.”
Is that why I didn’t control him? Because their love was too strong? I felt tears well in my eyes.
“Also, I also can control the ones I give my organs. Can’t control me!”, he said with a chuckle.
I took the picture and my makeup had smeared. I left with the dumbest expression. What was funny was that I didn’t run into him again. Except on FaceBook with my face plastered on the screen.
| 2019-06-13T07:40:31 | 2019-06-13T06:19:56 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You own a coffee shop, and you make some damn fine coffee. After decades of running the place, one of your most loyal patrons approaches you, reveals themselves as some kind of immortal being (a god, vampire, etc.), and offers to make you immortal as well, as along as you keep running the shop.
No idea why it says ‘along’ instead of ‘long.’ Oh well, my bad.
|
The shop was the same as ever. I had managed, over the last two or three years, to cultivate something of a beatnik vibe to the place - from the deliberately faded letters on my outside sign to the artlessly pasted newspaper cuttings on the wall. The cracked leather of the upright chairs matched the careful shabbiness of the second-hand tables. The hippie movement in Seattle in the 60s had pushed me into this approach; the "peace and love" movement didn't want to carefully sip their coffee and talk about how they were going to change the world over an *expensive* table. I didn't like it much. I had preferred the clean lines of the 50s - the shining countertops and futuristic feel to the furnishings. Ah well, times change. Certainly now, in 1971, changes were afoot.
The place was quiet, save for the muted scrunch of my coffee grinder as I wound the handle. The morning rush had been and gone, though the cigarette smoke in the air still lingered. My own half-spent Marlboro hung from my lips, mostly forgotten as I watched the coffee beans slowly reducing themselves to fine powder. My right arm ached familiarly with the effort - it hadn't done that 20 years ago, but such is the price of age I suppose.
I heard the bell tinkle merrily as the door swung open - the sound of the street rushing inside for a brief moment until it swung back shut behind the man who had stepped into my shop. He was tall and spare, his face narrow and hawkish. He was dressed smartly - more smartly than usual anyway - suit and tie, a newspaper under one arm. I knew him, of course. His name was Jerry, and I often saw him - though not usually this late in the morning.
I smiled half-heartedly at him, moving to heat the water in preparation for his order as he seated himself at the counter. He looked awkward and a little unrestrained - hands fidgeting on the old wooden countertop. I looked at him expectantly.
"Just a black coffee as usual, Jerry?"
"Sure, sure. Whatever you think is best."
His hands still fidgeted as I turned away from him, pouring the ground coffee into a paper filter. I had barely even started when he blurted out a thing I had never expected anyone to say, let alone him.
"How would you like to live forever, Alfred?"
I laughed, a little awkwardly, turning back toward him.
"Sure, who wouldn't right? You got some kind of snake oil you're pushing these days? I thought you were a teacher?"
He looked at me, a nervous smile on his face.
"You could say that."
With his words, he pushed a small rectangle of white card toward me. I took it from him, picking it up to peer at it over the top of my glasses. It was a business card - neat and well-pressed. The name of the company was stamped out in green letters.
"Starbucks?"
|
Hansoo knew certain things about life.
The sun rises and sets every day. The seasons change. People age.
Time followed a routine, a schedule it didn’t deviate from.
Hansoo also knew that Tim would be outside his coffee store every day at 9 AM.
His order was always the same.
Double shot espresso, one milk and sugar.
Like clockwork.
Tim was an odd fellow. Stiff, a little too formal. He looked to be in his early thirties but he acted like an old man. Non descript. It would be hard to pick him out of a crowd.
Hansoo couldn’t recall when he had first met Tim. That encounter was lost in a sea of scrawled names.
It was as if Tim had always been there.
Then one day, Tim wasn’t there in the morning.
Hansoo wondered what had happened. The whole day passed, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some momentous occasion.
Hansoo closed his doors at 9 PM and left.
To his surprise, Tim stood outside.
“Hello Hansoo.”
“Tim! How are ya? I didn’t see you today. You ok buddy? You never miss a day!”
Tim smiled, a subtle lift of his lip. “Sorry. I had a lot to think about today.”
Hansoo laughed, patting Tim’s shoulder. “Must’ve been a big deal.”
“Yes. See, I have this job. And I considered making an exception.”
Hansoo raised an eyebrow. This was the first time he’d ever heard Tim talk about his personal life. “You don’t seem the type.”
“Indeed. I’m not the type. But I’ve decided and I’ve come to make you an offer.”
“What for like a job?”
“I suppose you could say that. All you’d have to do is run your coffee store as usual.”
Hansoo chuckled. “I’m already doing that, not planning to stop.”
“I didn’t finish. My real name is Time. Keep serving me coffee and I’ll suspend your aging. As long as you run your store, you will be immortal.”
Hansoo chuckled and snorted. “Seriously? Tim, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
Time snapped his fingers. The world around him stopped, paused like a video tape. Birds suspended in air, cars frozen in the street. The noise of the city nulled to unnatural stillness and silence.
Hansoo was speechless. His jaw dropped and he gawked at the timeless world.
“You see Hansoo, I’ve grown rather fond of you and your coffee store. You could even say I consider you my friend. But to me, your existence is like a blink. Here there gone. And that simply won’t do. So what do you say?”
Time raised his hand, offering it to Hansoo.
Hansoo was quiet. He considered the offer, mulling it over for a few minutes. What did he have to lose?
He shook Time’s hand. “See you tomorrow then.”
| 2019-06-27T05:57:30 | 2019-06-27T05:40:25 | 80 | 57 |
[WP]For hundreds of years your world has been under alien occupation. Your new job under your overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of your ancestors. One day you discover an ancient machine which upon activation shows a message. “Contact reestablished,Support will arrive soon.”
|
"I've activated protocol 597, we will send another signal when we're ready for you to return. Prepare until then, I've enabled the quantum anchor in bay 11 for you to lock on to."
*Understood. Syncing with bay 11, I will prepare.*
&#x200B;
**ALERT INBOUND SIGNATURE DETEC...**
&#x200B;
\*\*\*\*\*\*
&#x200B;
The Talnyvans had been on a recycling kick recently, wanting to salvage all the old technology they said was "safe" to explore now. I think they just wanted to erase what few reminders we have left of our former civilization, purge our history fully. It's not like I had a choice anyways to be here. But to find something that still works? that I never expected. I was just poking at the console to see if I could remove the glass, it would have just weighed a lot without being worth anything.
`Contact Reestablished. Support will arrive soon.`
&#x200B;
I just stared at it, dumbfounded.
&#x200B;
`Incoming request from anchor 11. Severe degradation detected, maintenance required. Bandwidth available at 3%. Voice and text only. Accept?`
&#x200B;
I just continued to stare at it for another minute before my thoughts were interrupted by the cheap communicator attached to my shirt, simple, but effective enough to get through the EM haze around the wreck.
&#x200B;
"HC415, you have not moved for several minutes! Finish what you are doing or I'm marking this as your break! Do you understand?!"
I hastily press the button to respond. "Yes, I understand, sorry"
&#x200B;
`Request accepted. Live feed enabled.`
&#x200B;
*Greetings commander. I am preparing the fleet for spatial translation. What is your status?*
&#x200B;
The voice was a pleasant masculine sound, but clearly artificial.
&#x200B;
"Uhhh, what? Who are you? The computer?"
&#x200B;
*I am an artifical node intelligence, code named KINGMAKER. My makers referred to me as Mac... I have received data that you are the interim commander as the ship has not been staffed in 341 years... that is unfortunate.*
&#x200B;
"Uhhh... yeah the Talnyvans won, everyone died or is like me, just picking up scraps. I don't think you can do much as a broken ship."
&#x200B;
*I should clarify, I am not located within your destroyed vessel. I am transmitting from another system. I was given advanced replication facilities and tasked with preparing for a reactivation signal. I have been preparing. My fleet stands by to liberate your world at your command.*
&#x200B;
"Uhm, don't be offended, but... please don't do that, the Talnyvans have hundreds of warships, there's nothing you can do. You'll just get the rest of us killed."
&#x200B;
*Then they should not be a significant obstacle. I have not been idle. I have constructed 79,248 capital warships, 518,433 Mid class vessels, and several million fighter drones. I have converted roughly 13% of the solid mass of this system, and several neighboring ones into a fleet, computational facilities, and battle operations centers. I have also constructed several dozen colony centers for refugees should they be needed.*
&#x200B;
The numbers boggled the mind. they shouldn't even be possible. But something flared within me that I hadn't felt in a long time. Hope.
&#x200B;
"... How long will it take you to get here?"
&#x200B;
*I am locked on to the quantum anchor we are using to communicate. I can perform spatial tunneling to your location with the improvements I've managed in roughly 11 standard earth minutes.*
&#x200B;
It could be a trick. This whole thing could be a setup. I'll probably die horribly. But if there's a tiny chance... just one chance in an infinite universe...
&#x200B;
"Do it."
&#x200B;
*Engaging drives. I will see you soon commander. Stay safe.*
&#x200B;
\----------
&#x200B;
Edit: I wrote a part two and three. I think these links work?
Part Two: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor\_hundreds\_of\_years\_your\_world\_has\_been\_under/eul2w0u/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor_hundreds_of_years_your_world_has_been_under/eul2w0u/?context=3)
Part Three: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor\_hundreds\_of\_years\_your\_world\_has\_been\_under/eumhyn7/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cgfhsm/wpfor_hundreds_of_years_your_world_has_been_under/eumhyn7/?context=3)
|
Clutching the transponder to my core as if cradling an infant, I dashed through the desolate plains surrounding the crash. My toes brushed against the yellow brush which peeked its head through the dirt. The purple sky shone over my head as the moons nearly aligned. In my haste, I tripped over myself, collapsing into the desert sand. It was better that I, a simple man, be damaged than this precious device. So instead of dropping the transponder to protect myself, I tucked it deeper into my chest, allowing my face to scratch against the coarse dirt.
I couldn't risk the machine. It was more than that. More than a message, and more than a valuable artifact found in the wreckage. In my arms, I held hope.
Shakily, I stood back to my feet, glancing over my shoulder with paranoia. They monitored every move, and I knew it wouldn't be long before their drones assessed that I was no longer at my station. I was to report any and all operational pieces of the ship back to the government. This, though, I knew was too important. This could change everything. So I ran.
Without a drone in sight, I turned and continued barrelling toward my homestead. Just beyond the horizon I saw it. The town wasn't much; none of the servants could live lavishly. We had enough, though. As long as we did what was required of us, they assured us a home and food. Still, I'd lived my entire life in the shadow of their town. The invaders had built a city of silver and gold, steel and copper. The quakes of our crying planet never demolished their homes like they did our huts.
That was why I had to get this message to my Elder. He may have the answer. If we could respond, if help was truly on the way, we may eventually have a better life for our children.
With the hope of my people in my arms, I ran. I heard the distortion of the air as metal approached. A voice boomed from the drone. "Return to your station."
I continued to run. All I had to do was get close enough that they would find the artifact on my body before the conquerors reached me to retrieve it.
"Labor Enforcers have been dispatched to your position. Discontinue your attempt at flight, it is futile."
My goal was in sight. As fast as my legs carried me, I pushed toward home. I heard a metallic whir as the drone lowered a weapon. My heart skipped a beat as I skidded to a stop. Death wasn't my concern. I was close, and I knew the enforcers would still take time. The overlords were as wise as they were cruel, though. They knew lethally wounding a deserter would affect their work force, so they'd armed the drones with tazers. Electrical weaponry.
*"What do I do?"* I thought, cradling the device. I had to try. I bent down and set the device down. *"Please find this."*
"Elder!" I yelled as I raced toward the town. I felt the bolt pierce my back and violently convulsed as I fell to the floor.
When I woke up, I wasn't at all where I'd expected to be. There was no cell - no bars. I was in a chair in front of a great throne.
"I'm glad you're awake," a man greeted maliciously. His accent was perfect, and there seemed to be no hindrance by his vocal cords to produce the sounds of the language. That meant only one thing. He was of their race, not my own.
"Who are you?" I groggily asked.
"You have heard my voice," he replied, walking up to me and crouching before me. "I am your King."
"Why am I here? Shouldn't I be in a camp?"
"You didn't run from work, child. You hid an artifact."
"What?"
"You didn't get far from it. My enforcers had no difficulty retrieving it." Tauntingly, he waved the artifact in front of me. All of my hopes had fallen into their hands.
"What did you think this would do?" He pressed for answers.
"I don't know," I admitted.
"You thought it would bring you help? A force strong enough to liberate you?"
"Maybe."
"Did you read the message?"
"I did."
"What did it say?"
"Contact reestablished, support will arrive soon," I answered, defeated.
"Yes. I read that as well." I didn't understand the point he was trying to make by forcing me to read it aloud.
"You've grown up speaking this language, but I know your kind has a native language as well. You probably didn't even realize that you weren't translating. It just felt natural."
Suddenly, the truth crashed down on me. There had never been hope in the first place. This wasn't from my people, it was from his. The language was not my own. The message had been left in English.
&#x200B;
This was a really interesting one, thanks for the idea! And thanks for reading! Please feel free to follow me or check my page out if you're interested in more of my writing!
| 2019-07-22T14:04:19 | 2019-07-22T11:50:49 | 1,039 | 98 |
[WP] You're the first to invent a device that records your dreams, now after consciously viewing several of your dreams in detail, you notice there's these same entities that are there always in the background observing and studying you.
|
My years of research and solitude have finally come to fruition and the final steps of my Dreamwalker project come to an end. It was late at night and had been compiling various images of my dreams for my presentation tomorrow to show that the device worked.
The important part of the Dreamwalker was that, it not only recorded recent dreams, but was able to pull latent dreams from many years ago.
Many of my dreams were typical. Some included gorgeous women while others were about random adventures in far off lands. The compilation had finally completed and I skimmed through each year, starting from the most recent on. Everything seemed to come through with clarity and each image was, for the most part, alright for presentation.
When I neared the early teens, I couldn't help to notice something odd. The more I scanned through the younger years, the more unusual images began to appear consistently through the dreams.
In the early years, six months to six years, they were in every dream. 'Shadow people' I had dubbed them. The most disturbing image was from an image when I was five years old and many of them were standing around me... reaching out for me as if they were about to take me away.
My eyes widened and something came to mind. I rushed for the phone and quickly dialed my mothers phone number. It was late in the evening and assumed she would be asleep, but she had answered.
"H, hello? Isaac? What's going on, is everything alright?" She answered groggily, likely waking her from her sleep.
"Mom, I have something to ask you. I don't want to upset you bringing it up, but..."
I paused for a moment, knowing full well it would devastate her having to ask her about it again. Her silence confirmed it, it was pretty much the only subject I knew that would do so.
"How...how old was I when Marcus and dad disappeared?" Her silence maintained, the faint sound of sniffling could be heard. The final report in the investigation involving the disappearance of my brother and father ended with the police assuming my father had kidnapped his own son and fled, never to be seen again.
But that didn't explain the images I was seeing, and why Marcus told my parents about them as well. I could hear the subtle rustling of the blankets on the other end of the line as she got out of bed, likely fully awake now. "I, I believe you were about five years old. Why do you ask now? You're not having nightmares again, are you?" She said with great concern in her tone. Prior to my brothers disappearance, Marcus suffered from terrible nightmares.
In the image I was looking at, just before the Shadow People could grab me, at the very end of the image was my brother... rushing in with a sword in hand with one of 'them' turning toward him as he did so.
"Mom...I'll have to call you back." I hung up the phone slowly...my mother pleading what was the matter as the phone clicked silent.
I stared at the image realizing more and more that Marcus' disappearance was no random occurrence. The date of the image... my age and when he and my father vanished... they were connected somehow.
|
They were always there...behind me and never noticable even if I tried hard to find them. I should have expected this, I mean what do you get when youre dreams are being recorded?
In all likelihood, they were probably the way my brain is understanding the fact that my dreams are being...recorded. I could see myself flying around the galaxy with Niel DeGrasse Tyson and The Rock. They're fun people to be around...even if when you're not looking they stared in fear at those frightening creatures.
It's nothing to worry about. My assistant, Dave had his dreams recorded and he's sent them over. Ah, having tea with the queen after an invititaion for his 100th birthday? That's him alright. But then when he was drinking it, his eyes were forced into the tea, the black liquid, no, solid that he got sucked into. That was a nightmare.
I zoomed out and replayed.
*click*
Those creatures...those masses...those abominations forced his head into it. My, oh my! They were exactly the same as in my dreams.
The ground was shaking! What the hell??? I can't move I felt lighter. You know what? I'll just rest my eyes...for a *yawn* minute.
They were there. Staring at me. I hadn't seen them this close before and I had to observe them. They were disgusting but I couldn't look away. One had eyes as black as the coal santa gives the naughtiest kids. Another had eyes that shone like the search lights used to detect then mow down the idiots who invaded area 51. But the middle one was different.
It did't have extra appendages or misshapen features. It looked like me but better. It was perfect.
*perfect*
*per-*
I awoke to the sound of beating drums and a ringing straight from hell. The bright light above me mimicked it's pale eyes but the surrounding darkness was exactly the same as the emptyness I found in the other's eyes.
A man in a surgeons pristine outfit was talking. His voice echoed within me before leaving me in peace until the next word.
scalpel
*scalpel*
*scalpel*
I can't believe he just fell over like that and broke his leg
*I can't believe he just fell over like that and broke his leg*
*I can't believe he just fell over like that and broke his leg*
Mum? Is that you? I could feel the pain as his knife ripped my skin open. The next hours were the worst of my life and all I knew was that *this* was *his* unceasing *pain*.
I awoke after laying dormant in the hospital bed and reached out for my mum's hand for comfort. The arm didn't budge. I tried to move it but nothing happened. A laughter echoed from behind to above until it escaped and my arm reached out but I never reached out. I tried with all my might to move my body, my unbroken leg, my hand, my fingers ANYTHING! But no, all that happened was an 'involuntary flinch'. My mouth was talking and smiling at my loving mother. But i was at the back of my mind becoming a faint echoe of what I was.
Those two things approached me with my copy gone. I nodded at them as chains formed between us. Now I would watch and never interfere, never be seen, never be heard.
| 2019-11-03T08:20:18 | 2019-11-03T07:28:18 | 290 | 85 |
[WP] The submarine had run out of power and was now dead underwater. Slowly, you watched your crew mates die of starvation but for some reason you didn’t die, you survived months and years on end in a dead submarine. Fast forward 75 years and your submarine is found.
|
Dark, dark in this iron coffin. Around one week ago it was that the emergency breaker flipped on - the light that strobed down on us was a sickly scarlet hue.
Sanchez was the first to bite it. We’d been pretty significantly hit by a Jerry torpedo and poor kid had fallen out of his seat and kissed the pressure lever with a nauseating crunch. He’d been upchucking viscous yellow bile with a terrible ferocity for two days before he settled into the coma; pupils like limpid, aching marbles. Nestled on one of the regulation sick bunks is not the way anyone dreams of going.
Couldn’t get the standard proceedings back after that.
Every button overridden; unregulated; inaccessible.
Every crew-member getting thinner, weaker, more fatigued.
Kowalski started chewin on blanketing, leather boots... Finnerty gabbed that he saw him hacking off the digits of the dead in the furthest cabin - starved beyond belief that even the blue-purple toes of his comrade in arms held legitimate appeal. And then Finnerty fell gently into the white, emaciated Long Sleep of his brothers.
You didn’t know - you didn’t want to know. Every day, every knob, lever, switch, dial - someone had to be out there looking for you. Day after day, awash in a blood-red glow you pressed every button, croaked into a rusting microphone. Someone out there had to be looking...
You tightened your khaki belt until it looped back around, and there was no point. You stopped hearing noise from the cabins. But you sat, and you waited,
And you waited.
Until the crimson light and the groan of the vast oceans, the creaking of your coffin, and the green blip of the navigation screen were all you knew.
And then one day, the creaking and the heavy, inherent clanging became unfamiliar. The squeal and roar of rusted iron left neglected for decades erupted through the capsule.
Thudding, clubbish boots came bursting through your porthole and down your ladder. Despite the ruby beams you saw your rescuer clad in some blocked fragments of turquoise and marine. Eyes narrowed and wary he surveys the command capsule.
You cannot breathe nor move. Finally, who knows how many anguished months you’ve rotted down here, help has come!
You stretch out a carious, emaciated hand - his eyes finally rest upon you and he recoils.
Pure, ugly terror rakes across his features and he turns. swiftly bounding up your ladder. The eviscerating screech of metal forced into place dominates your cabin, and you know-
That this is your casket, and no one is ever coming back for you...
|
I'll never forget that day. The day when the torpedo took out our power. One by one they fell. There was no thing we could do. Tim got married the week before. Poor guy. Jerry, Stevens, captain justin, benny and kris, all dead. All gone. Looks like old man death forgot about me. I do not know how much time has passed, I do not seem to age. It may be due to the fact that our sub was nuclear, but I'll never know. Since that day when I was the last one left, I decided to fix this vessel.
The monitor came on and I got a signal of a vessel.
"This is adrian Spielberg of the submarine Poseidons' horse requesting assistance"
"I'm sorry but that's Impossible, that vessel has been sunk for 75 years, there is no way you survived that long"
"75 years, but how?I haven't aged in all that time."
"A response team is heading in the direction of your transmission. Stay put."
30 minutes later I got out for the first time in decades. I didn't even get to see the faces of my rescuer.
"Thank you" I said with tears in my eyes
"No prob......what are you"
I look up and see faces that are somewhat human, they were blue with fins and gills.
"Im human" I replied
"But that that must mean, youre unevolved"
"What?"
"Well, 50 years ago humanity evolved into 3 different kinds, the water born, us, can live under water. The earth born, who can dig at surprising speeds and survive in the hottest climates, and finally, the air born, who have wings and impeccable eye sight. each kind is now it's own nation. You are currently in the waters of Atlantida, the seas of the water born"
This is too much, how in hell did all of this happen. In less than a millennia humanity evolved. And how am I still alive.
"If you are an unevolved, how did you survive so long in there"
"The sub was nuclear, I think I got irradiated"
"But this can't be......we were told only air born can be born as.......imortals"
After all of that I went to the capital of Atlantida. I talked with there leader. And was announced as a national treasure, this really pissed off all of of the air born in aries, for they had 7, I meat them, they were all frozen in time like me. A Russian, Hispanic, Pole, Mexican,Scot and an Indian, they told me there stories. None of them were exposed to any radiation.
They told me thet they all are tired of this eternal life, that they have seen everything in this univers. Now I'm on a new journey, to find out why we are immortal.
And how to kill one
| 2019-11-11T05:19:37 | 2019-11-11T04:47:59 | 50 | 31 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
The day the url released, millions of people flocked to the churches, hoping to cleanse themselves of their sins.
And the rest of us.
Well we know there’s no escaping what’s coming to us.
Oh you killed someone? Well the fbi knows about it now. They monitor the damn site like crazy. And ever since the damn developers of the website added a location, shits gotten hard.
Which leads me to today, perched in the rafters of a church, watching the ceremony take place. Bored, i take out my phone and check the website, searching my name.
Sins
Murder
Murder
Murder
Theft
Murder
Murder
Time to be served in hell
-500 years
“What?” I refresh the page, again it reads -500 years
The ceremony begins to wrap up, and i slip the phone into my pocket, and take aim.
A politician, responsible for the deaths of hundreds.
I have 5 minutes before the cops turn up.
The gun fires, and I leap from my spot and jump out the window onto the roof.
4 minutes.
I slide down the drainpipe and sprint towards the entrance to the sewers
3 minutes.
The sounds of sirens begin
I slip into the sewers and sprint through the tunnels.
2 minutes.
I turn a left and continue to sprint
1 minute.
I stop, leaning against the wall, and pulling out my phone again. The contractor sends a message
“Well done.”
I hastily type a reply “when do i get paid”
“The time will come.”
I sigh “great” i mutter, opening up the website again
Time to be served in hell -700 years.
“Shit.” I realise exactly who my contractor is.
Who he has been all these years.
|
I made it to help humanity change, just not like this.
When I first thought of making the website I thought it would help humanity see the err of their ways, if only I knew the storm I was creating.
At first people did begin to feel regret, they saw that their actions had consequences and now everyone would know who they really were.
Eventually, though, people got curious. They looked up their heroes, the people who inspired them and the people they thought were capable of no wrong.
When they saw that the person they practically worshiped like a god was a human just like them, or sometimes much worse, their entire world view shattered.
Riots took to the streets as everyone realized that the people in charge were closer to devils than saints. People didn't care that their time in hell was going up, they only cared that their messed up form of justice would be served.
massacres ravaged cities as people tried to carry out what they thought was god's will, but this certainly wasn't what I had in mind. bodies lined the streets: men, women, children all the same. the cities themselves blazed bright with fire, looking like the hell that these humans seemed to fear so much
Rather than improving themselves and being better in the future, people just killed themselves so that they wouldn't have to serve more time later down the road. parents killed their children so that they wouldn't have to spend time in hell; They considered it a kindness.
Once all the chaos had died down, some semblance of order was reached. People were faced with the challenge of rebuilding civilization. At first everyone thought that letting the people with the fewest sins rule would work. This idea was quickly forgotten about once someone made the realization that the people who now had the most sins were the people who had killed the most sinners. It was quickly decided that the man who would be serving more time in hell than Hitler should be king.
It took me 200,000 years to build humanity: it only took them 27.5 hours to destroy themselves.
| 2020-02-29T23:30:10 | 2020-02-29T22:10:25 | 110 | 69 |
[WP] You're mindlessly scrolling through random subreddits when you find a subreddit filled with photos of you at different hours of the day, explanations of all your activities, people discussing what life decisions you'll take. Confused, you notice a new post titled: "We've been found!"
|
[POEM]
I once was a scrolling through Reddit,
Looking for some new interesting sub,
Upon finding one I hadn’t read yet,
With a picture of me in the tub?
—
I scrolled through the posts in a hurry,
Every post had a picture of me!
As my mind filled with terror and worry,
I began to feel a bit woozy...
—
My knees felt weak,
As I dropped to floor,
I let out a shriek,
And I could see no more.
—
But when I awoke,
And climbed up from the ground,
I saw one more post...
“We’ve been found!”
|
Scroll scroll the reddit deeps see the pictures taken by creeps
See me both young and old on r/Rix-pics and if your not sold post my nudes be sure to get gold!
Scroll Scroll the reddit deeps gasp the pictures taken by creeps,
Oh what's the matter all these pictures left my mind in a splatter
Scroll scroll the reddit deeps see the pictures taken by creeps,
Oh how weird you thought in your head pictures of you counting sheep in your bed.
Scroll scroll the reddit deeps see the pictures taken by creeps,
Sort by new make the rounds see the post we've been found...
| 2020-06-30T10:35:18 | 2020-06-30T09:04:49 | 108 | 30 |
[WP] A trenchcoated stranger has depositied a stack of hundreds on the table in front of you. He tells you that you know what to do, and vanishes into the crowd. You have absolutely no idea of what to do.
|
When the stranger left the table, Simon eyeballed the stacks of bills on the table. The bills were crisp. New. Simon could smell the ink from the printing, fresh-cut Benjamins off the roll. He grabbed a stack and fingered through them.
The slap of the bills must have set off the waitresses Spidey Sense because she came over to the table, clearly too eager to serve.
”Wow,” she said. ”Can I get you another drink?”
Simon shook his head and the waitress made a move to slide in next to him.
”You know,” she began. ”I know a little place around back where you can make some good use of that money.”
Simon looks into the crowd, but the trenchcoat man is gone. Whatever it was he was supposed to do with the money probably didn't have anything to do with banging the waitress behind the dumpster.
When Simon declined the offer, the waitress called him a *fucking faggot* and stomped off behind the bar.
Simon fingered the bills again and wiped a bit of the bluish-green dye away on his jeans. As he began inspecting the bills closer he found that the image wasn't that of Benjamin Franklin at all. The image more closely resembled Uncle Fester than the father of American philosophy.
That wasn't even the worst of it.
Assuming someone was drunk enough to ignore the fact that the bill featured a fictional character as president, they probably couldn't ignore the fact that the bills had several typos.
*Unted*, *Tressury*, *Americka*.
And even if the poor drunken fool was too bleary-eyed to notice the spellings, the bills were three times thicker than a standard bill. Simon slid one of the bills from the top of the stack and bent the corner. When he did, he heard a distinct *snap* sound, as though the bills were made from cardstock.
The more he fingered the bills, the more Simon wished he’d banged the waitress.
Simon wondered if the money had been meant to be a bribe. For what, he had no idea. If anyone stupid enough to take the money existed, Simon couldn't imagine them.
From his table, Simon watched the waitress. She served Bloody Marys to a couple of men in suits and when she caught Simon looking, she sneered.
Simon waved her over anyway.
”What do you want?” Her attitude was less cheerful.
Simon pointed to the stack of bills. Her eyes followed.
”Do you still want the money?”
The waitress nodded. Her eyes never left the stack of poorly counterfeit bills.
Simon lifted a bill from the stack and pulled a lighter from his pocket. The flame danced under the thick paper and Simon could smell the woodsy smoldering of the thick pulp. The waitress yelp a little when the bill caught fire.
Simon let the bill burn until the heat began to blister his fingertips. When he was done, he pulled another bill from the stack.
Her eyes spoke all the words Simon needed to hear. He lit the next bill, this time standing on top of the table. The waitress once again stood and watched. She said nothing.
By the time Simon was halfway through the stack, he’d garnered the attention of the entire bar. Music has stopped. Drinks were no longer being served. The only sound was the crack of the lighter. The only smell burnt bills.
When Simon reached the last bill, the room had lost all breath. The fire burned red as the heat melted through the dye. When he was done, Simon got down from the table.
The crowd at the bar stared at him in awe. Clearly, they’d never seen anyone burn through ten thousand dollars in fake bills. Whatever he’d done had awakened something in the crowd.
Simon walked across the room and stood in front of the bartender. When Simon held the lighter out, the bartender didn't hesitate to take it from his hand.
Simon had shown them what to do.
|
I've always hated weddings. It’s all about the fanfare, the ego boost, the money. Every onlooker bathes the lovely couple with thinly veiled jealousy. All the while, every guest prissys up, just so they don’t look quite as pathetic as they usually do. They compare themselves to the newly-weds as the basis of evaluation.
Despite my loathing, I had somehow fallen in with the sheep, as my Uncle would say. I curled my hair and painted my lips in red. As I sat at the table, people drifted through the room, mingling with family and friends, wandering out onto the dance floor. I reached into my clutch and pulled out my lighter and my box of cigarettes.
*Thump.* The glasses on the table shook. A thick envelope lay over crushed rose petals. I looked up and saw a woman, with strong black eyes that held no reflection. Her lips were golden orange and what little skin I saw crawled with moving ink. She wore a long black coat and black gloves to match. She glared at me.
“Bugger off.” I muttered and stuck a cigarette between my lips casually. But her stare remained on me, and it made my stomach roll. She lifted the fold of the envelope so that I could see the contents. I tried to keep a neutral expression; stacks on stacks of hundred dollar bills were stuffed to the brim inside.
I flicked my eyes away from the ‘gift’. There was always a price. “Fine, I’ll bugger off instead.” I stood up. My chair was loud against the floor but it was drowned out by the music and chatter.
She lunged forward and grabbed my arm. “Don’t play stupid, you prat. You know what needs to be done.” Her coal eyes bore into me, unnerving in every way. Why was there no reflection?
I pulled my arm away, jerking it hard to break her grip. “I don’t *need* to do anything. Except have a smoke and find someone to go home with. Excuse me.” I turned toward the door.
She growled and picked the money off the table, shoving it into my chest.“Get your head out of your ass, Hannah.”
I threw my hands out instinctively and caught the heavy envelope. A few hundred dollar bills spilled out the top, drifting to the floor. When I looked up, the stranger was gone. I turned around. Maybe she slipped out the emergency exit. But there was a large pack of drunk guys standing in front of the doorway and they seemed to be too rowdy to get past unnoticed. I peered down at the envelope.
“I don’t want your dirty blood money.” I growled and stormed off to the main exit in pursuit. But she wasn’t in the foyer either. There was just a large table where one of the bridesmaids was managing some type of event. I tried to recall her name but all I could remember was that it started with a B. Brooke? Bree? I shook my head, who cared? I glanced around, but there were only a few couples, mingling about the foyer or dipping outside for a smoke.
“Can I help you?” The bridesmaid called. Brittney. She had a look of concern, her blond eyebrows pinched together over her brown eyes, as if she was genuinely worried I was lost.
“Did you see-” I stared at the doe-eyed girl. “I was just looking for someone, but I think they went home. I was going to ask how they knew the couple.”
Brittney smiled sweetly. “Well, I’m sure they had a good time. It seems like everyone here know the Harrisons so well, they’ve left all sorts of gifts. Isn’t it weird? Calling them the Harrisons now?”
I looked down at Brittney as she grinned up at me like it was Easter Sunday. There was a pile of boxes beside her, and many envelopes, which I could only assume were filled with cash.
I smiled back at the young bridesmaid. “It sure is. Speaking of which, I actually forgot to give them my gift, could I leave it with you?”
\_S>E>O'N.
| 2020-09-06T04:58:28 | 2020-09-06T01:57:34 | 78 | 30 |
[WP] A stranded time traveler, you've made your place as an advisor to a local medieval lord. At tonight's banquet the bard starts playing his lute, a familiar tune. There's no mistaking it, he's playing Metallica's Nothing Else Matters.
|
For twelve long years i had been stuck here, in this age of kings and queens. It had not been twelve bad years, as the royal advisor I was treated well but the boredom was still immense. You grow tired of banquets and jousting knights quickly and that’s all I´ve had for entertainment all these long years sitting between the royals whispering in their ears.
This night seemed just like any other, the great hall was filled with nobles from around the country coming to pay the royals their respect. Then the queen leaned over towards me and said “I think you shall like this new bard they brought with them from the eastmost parts of our lands, he claims to be from the great north, the same as you”. Shocked I looked at her, “the great north? I thought I was the only one ever to venture so far south”. Before I had made it to the position I now hold I had come to understand that the land to the north was still untamed and wild, that no man ever lived there or any of the brave explorers who ventured there ever made it back. A perfect backstory I thought and came up with the idea that indeed there was a land there, but I had had to cross oceans and mountains and seas of ice to come to this land.
And now another claimed the same? How could this be? Was I actually right? But as soon as I heard the bard play the first notes I knew instantly who he was, not as a person but from where I came. Indeed it was the same place as me. He played it so masterfully I could not help myself, I picked up a metal plate and started beating it in rhythm with his guitar, he looked up towards me with a smile so large I could not help but break a larger one myself. In unison we sang “SO CLOSE, NO MATTER HOW FAR”. All eyes were now on us, but we did not care, I was in the moment, I was living this song, “NEVER CARED FOR WHAT THEY DOOOO, NEVER CARED FOR WHAT THEY KNOOOW”. We were both singing our hearts out, every word emptied the last of air in my lungs. I jumped up the table, plates whine and food flying all around, “TRUST I SEEK AND I FIND IN YOU” the bard joined me on the table, now so close all I saw was him. He played a solo so masterfully one would have thought he himself wrote it. The song slowed down and we were both on our knees, tears in our eyes. Our voices echoed out in mourning, as he played the last notes on his guitar we could not contain ourself anymore and embraced in a loving hug, nothing else matters. My brother had come to bring me home.
|
“He picked it up pretty fast” I muttered under my breath so the my lord would not hear me.
I showed Gunter that lick a few days ago, although he plays it in a more graceful manner than Hetfield. He is a bright kid. Maybe 22. The lord was nice enough to let him find purpose in his court when his family was so brutally taken from him. We are linked in a sense. It was the same day I arrived
So many years have passed since my arrival. He and his family were amazed. His mother dropped to the ground, overcome with awe and panic. I had barely introduced himself when the a small regiment of the invading army treaded over the hill. In an instant, they began slaughtering every lowly peasant in sight and burning the small run down village. Not thinkers were these men. I’m not even sure if they gave a thought to my Kichner before take maces and axes to it. Gunter was not a brute, but the ferocity that he fought with, i thought, were more than a hundred men. I had done so little as touched a sword, but Gunter, even in his young years, was astonishingly masterful. That’s the only explanation he could single handedly defeat 15 men. His brothers and father could not say the same. As he sat by his fathers side I heard him mention something, but I shrugged it off as lost in translation. When the commotion, I heard a sweet voice from the forest.
“Gunter?!”
I turned and saw a beam of light in a dull world. Roses were her face, wet with sorrow. Beauty beyond measure, yet shrouded with grief.
“Ava!? Are you okay??” cried Gunter.
“Our families! Our Homes!” She wept.
He mustered a soothing voice “I know my love, we have lost many, but we must go and warn the lord.”
“What’s the point Gunter, we have lost everything” she sobbed
He brings himself to smile and in a hushed voice says, “If had not a thing but your embrace then I have everything.”
This was nothing. A moment in time long forgotten. Something you never realized when you read about the Middle Ages is just how little you learn of the common people. Sure the lords, kings, and emperors but not the peasants and serfs. It detaches you from how real they were. They experienced bleak, almost meaningless lives. But the one thing that could shine through the bloodshed, the famine, the brutal rulers, is the love they shared for each other. They lived not for the world, not even themselves, but for one another. That day envy of the lord who ordered those soldiers to invade their small stood no chance for the love Gunter had for his family.
| 2020-11-05T22:16:24 | 2020-11-05T21:51:52 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] When the galactic council of gods decided to go to war with the humans gods the council trampled all but one. One cloaked figure weilding a sharpened scythe and not a single worshipper to their name and for the first time the council felt afraid.
|
The world had been devastated with cataclysm after cataclysm as the Gods of Humanity were forced into physical manifestation by an unknown power. They were quickly found and destroyed like deer on a reserve, escape impossible.
One remaining God of Humanity still existed only because he had no worshipers to point the way. None who knew the love he had for all of them. He didn’t need their worship. The Deity Hunters found him atop a cliff overlooking the sea. The waves battered the rocky shore below as the three hunters approached the figure standing at the edge.
The last God of Humanity was a tall human-like figure cloaked in deep black robes that ate the light around him. On his back rested a scythe as tall as him with a wicked blade that curved over his head. The wind had an eerie calm that seemed at odds with the chaos below as Death turned to face them. His hood revealed no face underneath the folds of darkness.
When they drew close the hunter in the center called out, “That’s a helluva weapon you got there son. Shame it won’t do your like no good.” They halted six feet away as if waiting for him to respond or strike at them.
A voice from the darkness replied, “You killed them too fast. I couldn’t travel in this body.”
“That’s too bad. It would have saved us the trouble of coming out here to end you.” The center hunter replied, he was clearly the leader among the three. “Why the hell did you manifest out here? This was your nexus of worship?”
An emotionless voice came from the hood again, “I don’t have a nexus. I am where I am needed only and no where else. At the time of our forced… mortality I was needed here. Abby was the last one I could save before you began your slaughter.”
“Saved? Everyone on this island is dead.” The lead hunter said before breaking into a laugh. The other hunters didn’t share his emotion. They stood still, and at the ready.
“Yes this life has ended for them, but I was there for them when it happened. I know them as deeply as they knew themselves and more. They will live on. Their spirits will never fade into oblivion while I bar the way. I couldn’t be there for the rest.” A hint of emotion came into his voice as if the pain under his mask was about to break through.
Instead he burst forward in one swift motion grabbing the scythe off his back and cleaving through the central figures left shoulder down through his right hip. The top half of his body still hung in the air as Death pivoted to bring the scythe upwards into the poor bastard on the the left. It again tore clean through his body splitting him in two as the third hunter on the right flared bright with energy.
The last hunter's sword appeared in his hand as if from thin air. His speed now incredible. It wasn’t enough. Death pivoted one last time to bring the butt end of his scythe directly into the center of the hunter's chest and the hunter immediately deflated. The light flowed up the scythe, and into the blackness of Death’s robes.
The last hunter remained alive, but too drained to fight. He yelled half at Death and half at reality, “You can’t be this fast! You are mortal. With none to worship you!”
The emotionless voice returned. “I carry the memory of everything to have ever lived. Oblivion comes for all here, but now I alone stand in it’s way. As long as I exist there will be no true end. They worship me through living.”
|
Mex Ki'Toth gazed out into the abyss beyond. No lights of far flung stars, no brilliant bursts of wave spectrums to color the cosmos. The roar of creation as atoms smashed together, as electrons pulsed to tangible form? All of this was blotted out by the great shadow that Mex Ki'Toth stood within. Beside Mex Ki'Toth was a small rabble of their brethren. Those lucky gods of the galactic council who had already met the carrier of such a long shadow.
Salquetor the blue sun, his glow only a faint shimmer on his hair, whimpered into the echo less dark around them.
"Quiet brother, you know we are safe here. No fury, no rage, our sibling sees our innocence," Mex Ki'Toth tried desperately to counsel their sibling of the blue sun, the sibling that should have been the oldest and wisest among them.
Mex Ki'Toth was the middle moon. Neither young nor old among their pantheon, but one that assumed three forms for their duties. And it was upon the insistence of Mex Ki'Toth that their few siblings had survived the evisceration of moments ago.
Earth and the humans of it had many gods. But these gods had been weak, their mortals advancing a society that needed not to rely on gods and stories to thrive. The galactic council had learned of this, and felt insulted when only one had once shown up to the inauguration when humans joined the galactic stage.
The collective rage had set stars to boil their contents in fits. To make moons shudder and scatter debris on planets below. They crashed upon the Human Gods like hungry savages battling for discarded scraps of food in forlorn gutters.
They had forgotten who had arrived in place of these gods. They had forgotten the hollow eyes of those who had witnessed the horror, the pervading grief, the unyielding stiffness and cold, the rage of lost experiences, the melancholy of an inevitable force. They had forgotten about those who had met sibling Death.
And Death did not take kindly to these gods that had tried to assume it's role.
The bones beneath Mex Ki'Toth crunched as they tried to forget the powerful gods that has once been. They finally knew the reason sibling Death had no worshippers, because even these bones of gods held no worth anymore. No more or less than the specks of starlight Death caught with scythe blade as they walked towards the fleeing and screaming.... Gods.... Or perhaps they no longer needed to be called that. They resented Death, true. They feared Death, of course. But the faster they fled, the greater their struggle to escape, the quicker the shadow found them.
And Death reaped them in a fashion no different than the mortal souls that floated as starlight along the inscrutable path the steed of Death walked.
"Sibling Death?" Mex Ki'Toth whispered, but could hear no words escape their lips.
"You are heard," Death did not speak, but Mex Ki'Toth felt the words.
"The council, it is gone. Their mortals can feel their connections broken. Will this not cause panic and them to perish without your want?" Mex Ki'Toth was in their child form, the only one they could maintain in the presence of Sibling Death.
"You and your siblings will fill the gap." There was no discussion in the statement Death made. No hope or doubt, no command or question. Only words that spoke the truth of what would come to pass.
Mex Ki'Toth stopped trying to follow. Sibling Death was never far away. They had other duties as it were. As they stared into far flung galaxies, already Mex Ki'Toth could see humans offering aid to the great civilizations that relied on their beliefs to propel them into the galaxy.
| 2021-06-02T22:41:18 | 2021-06-02T20:21:39 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] Shady Oaks Grove Retirement Home. A safe place for Hero's and Villans to retire and grow old because the owner is a Null, a power nullifier. Until one of the new Hero's decided to wipe it off the map to make a name for them selves. One of the worst and possibly last mistakes of the Hero's life.
|
"Please!" his voice was a strained whimper, the blood that splattered across the ground falling from his shattered teeth "Please, don't!"
"Don't?" The voice that replied was calm, in spite of the fiery chaos around the pair, the voice was impossibly calm "You want me to stop this? You are the one that started it, *hero*."
The last word was spat with such disgust the young man with his bloodied and broken limbs flinched as he tried to drag his broken body further away from the harm the man in the suit presented to him.
"Please," the hero whimpered again "I'm only eighteen."
"Then you should have known better already," the man in the suit said "The others should have told you that this place was one of sanctuary for all those with powers, no matter their former allegiance. People become heroes and villains for the same reasons: fame or money. You are known to livestream your exploits on your various social channels so you are clearly doing it for fame, and you slaughtered my friends whilst livestreaming because you had decided it was '*best for the city*'."
"I didn't know..."
"Ignorance is not an excuse for your actions. You murdered powerless civilians. This was a nursing home for those superpowered individuals who had retired from the 'game', and you smashed your way in and killed them all. You killed Genesis, the first hero this world ever had. You killed him like you were putting down a dog and he couldn't even remember his own name. He had no recollection of how many people he saved, he had no memory of his family and yet you decided because he was here that he was some kind of threat."
"I thought they were all villains."
"You lie." the man in the suit stepped onto the young man's ankle and stopped him from dragging himself any further away. "I know what they tell you newbies on your first day of hero duty. They tell everyone about this place and how it is *completely* off-limits."
Movement caught the young hero's eye and he turned to see another man in a brightly coloured outfit enter through a broken doorframe.
"Goodfyre!" The young man's eyes sparkled with the hope that he was rescued as the hero marched up to the man in the dark suit.
"Douglas," the hero turned to other "I am truly sorry for all of this. We will help you rebuild."
"Can you return those that *this one* killed?"
"You know we can't."
"Then your offer of help is irrelevant."
"Goodfyre," the young man began to weep "Please, help me."
"You were told what this place was," Goodfyre said to the young hero "You killed people, civilians. I won't help a murderer."
"PLEASE!" the young man cried as Goodfyre turned and left "Please..."
"You made your choice." Douglas said as he moved in for the kill.
* * *
[/r/ocallkai](https://www.reddit.com/r/ocallkai/)
|
The smoking ruins were all that remained. The fire wielded had burned hotter then natural, resulting in the complete destruction of the home. The owner had been killed beforehand, allowing the new Hero to wipe out the elderly superhumans.
A dried grass crunched underneath a black boot. A person clad in equally dark clothing surveyed the scene. The only part visible of their body was the eyes. They held a terrible anger and sorrow at what they saw. A glint in the distance drew their attention, resolving into a man of gleaming bronze.
He landed, looking over the carnage, and at the figure in black. He gave a nod.
"Midnight. Its appears what you said is true."
The figure in black reached up to their throat, touching it lightly. They spoke with a soft robotic tone.
"Bronze Warden. Who was it then?"
Bronze Warden swallowed, kicking a rock. It flew high into the air, arching far away. He watched its trajectory, before turning back to Midnight.
"It was the new kid. Inferno. Gamma saw him leave, and he sent us this."
He held up a phone, and tapped the screen. It resolved into a young man, surrounded by fire. His ginger hair waved with it, almost as though made of fire itself. His voice held a sneer, as if he was above them all.
"You fools let villians live in peace after all the carnage they did. Not only that, you shipped the older heros to live with them! You though they were safe in the Nulls shield, where you could forget about them. The people remember what they did, and they demanded justice. I have delivered it, as I will always serve them."
It ended. Bronze tossed the phone to Midnight. A shard of shadow snatched it from the air. Midnight looked at it, before looking back at Bronze.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"We have already condemned him publicly, and promised that we will not let him get away with this. But we are bound by red tape, so finding him is hard."
Midnight crossed their arms.
"We can help with that."
Bronze looked at them in shock.
"You what?! But.... why?"
There was a pause and a sigh, before Midnight replied.
"We may be bad, but we all agreed to a couple of rules. The big one is we don't kill civilians. They have no purpose in dying. We will kill heros like yourself if the opportunity arises, but that is a very rare occurrence."
A hint of emotion crept through, a thread of anger.
"Those here were powerless. They were civilians. We had agreed, and let it know to you, that this home was safe from us. Inferno crossed a line even we wouldn't dare."
Midnight turned, beginning to walk away.
"We will find him. We will let you know as a courtesy, and we can work together to end him. But don't think we will let him walk out of there alive."
At their next step, they seemed to sink into the ground. A circle of black had formed, before closing behind them. Bronze stood there for a moment, staring. He nodded, and whispered despite no-one else being there.
"Thank you. I'm not going to stop you."
| 2021-06-26T11:57:11 | 2021-06-26T11:40:37 | 157 | 92 |
[WP] No, there is not any issues with your metrics, you're slaying enough demons, more than enough actually. It's just, we kinda have an issue with your attitude, you just seem to... well... enjoy killing demons WAY too much.
|
*BrrBrrrBrrrr- click.*
The ever present sound of the idling chainsaw cut off, powered by those it's slain, and stuffed full enough of that esoteric demon power to let it idle another decade without fail. But now, it was silent, silent so I could make sure I heart just **what** was just said to me.
"....My WHAT is the issue?"
"You're, uh, *glee*, paladin, sir- it's, it's unnerving the other troops."
The normally palid and pale 'battle cleric' was positively green at the gills from the display before him, and now behind me. A baker's dozen of demonic defenders lay splayed out like children making angels in the snow, their guts a red and orange backdrop against their purple skin. Malfrct's Maladies, a bad-luck bringing bunch of hell's commandos, come to make sure our gates would fall. But they didn't even make it out of their summoning ring before they had the sliced bits of their souls sent straight back to their dark masters. I let my hand drift, as if to direct attention to what everyone was already looking at.
And then I turned back to the now cowering cleric, my long tongue slurping away at the gore coating my liddless eyes.
"What can I say...
It reminds me of home."
|
-"Do something you enjoy and you won't work a day in your life" . Isn't this what you thaught us while we were kids? I found that one thing and now you got a problem with it? I adress the council with a stern tone.
-Not a problem perse, one of the council members speaks, just a bit of an inconvenience. Nobody should enjoy slaying demons *that* much.
-You get your demons slayed, I get my d*ck hard. I don't see a problem here.
-That is disrespectful, Mr. Do...
-Got a problem with that, council? I ask while pointing my blaster at them.
-Nnnnooo, they say on a slithering tone.
*Suspicions confirmed*
-What I find sickening is that you would order your own kind to be mercilessly killed. Surprised that I know? I can smell demon vermins from miles away. I knew something was up when a "council" had to be establised to tell us how to do our jobs.
-You will pay for this betrayal, mortal.
-Yeah, sure. Tell Satan I said hello.
Seven quick shots and I'm done with the council meeting.
-Doom Daddy to Foundation. Mission accomplished. I repeat. Mission accomplished.
-*Great job Doom. See you at the facility. click*
Thanks for reading. If you liked this, you might enjoy my other works over at r/MarinWritesHorrible
| 2021-09-15T09:03:31 | 2021-09-15T08:25:40 | 143 | 62 |
[WP] You've always dreamt of being isekai'd into a fantasy world and become a great and beloved hero. Then it really happens! But as you blink away the smoke you find yourself surrounded by monstrous creatures, as well as the Dark Lord himself. He smiles at you. "Welcome, Dark Champion."
|
My glasses had gotten dislodged. Around me the world had changed abruptly. I squinted, fumbling with my spectacles.
The towering figure before me snapped into focus as I settled the lenses over the bridge of my nose.
*Oh dear,* I thought at once, flinching slightly.
The towering figure was crimson and scaly, its monstrous grin a grotesquerie of thrusting fangs. It was clad in iron armor and carrying some sort of advanced disemboweler.
"Welcome, my Dark Champion," it roared in the voice of a thousand demons.
"Erm," I said timidly. "I think perhaps--"
*"I said welcome!* the figure bellowed menacingly.
"Eep," I replied involuntarily.
"You shall be my right hand," the scaly figure continued. "Your acts of abomination shall live in infamy! Go forth, my crusader of Evil, and conquer!"
I felt wrong-footed. This was not my isakai dream world. This was some kind of nightmare. I looked at my pudgy, armorless body and empty hands. "Do I get, um, weapons or anything?"
"Your mighty fists shall be your weapons," the Dark Lord snarled.
I clenched them. They were two little pink balls of dough.
The Dark Lord eyed me balefully. "Smorgdorf! A sword!" he roared at a terrifying henchman.
The henchman moved. I jumped.
"Make it a powerful one," added the Dark Lord hastily. "And, er, not too heavy."
The terrifying henchman nodded and reached into a ridiculously spiked and skull-adorned cabinet. He sorted through the contents. Several impressively wrought blades in black leather scabbards were laid aside. Finally the henchman came up with what appeared to be a bobby pin in his gargantuan hand.
When I got ahold of it I saw that it was a long twisted dagger in a peeling leather sheath, old and rusty. I opened my mouth to complain.
"Shut up," said the Dark Lord. "I tire of your whining. Go and do Evil."
I looked at the crimson figure of the Dark Lord, surrounded by his terrifying henchmen. I looked at my ugly dagger. I looked at my pudgy hands all incongruous against the peeling, oily leather, and then at my McDonald's uniform still reeking of fry grease. There were worse careers. I nodded and set out.
|
Hi. My name is Derek Ams, and I guess you could say I'm your average American high schooler, or at least I was up until yesterday.
I have two best friends, Stevie and Jax, who I've known for years, we share everything with each other, even our manga comics! There's also this girl in my class, Lisa, who I've been crushing on for the whole semester. I just can't ever seem to gather enough courage to ask her out, which S & J constantly rib me for.
My grades aren't bad, they could be better though. As my Dad likes to tell me, I should spend less time reading and watching cartoons and more time studying. I know, I get it, it's for the sake of my future, my career, my life blah blah blah. To be honest, in hindsight I just found the whole study and career thing BORING. Maybe that's why I read so much manga and watched so much anime, especially isekai. What I wouldn't have given to live in Tempest with Rimiru helping him to build a nation of monsters, or in Sword Art Online battling Laughing Coffin alongside Kirito and Asuna. Yeah I get it wasn't all fun and games but God did it sound EXCITING.
So anyway, there I was yesterday evening on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by managa and light novels. Painstakingly writing and rewriting a text to Lisa and reading Re:Zero when IT happened. An extraordinarily loud BOOM like the crack of thunder, succeeded by some kind of smokey black and blue vortex opening up in front of me. Whilst I lay there in utter disbelief a small Japanese man wearing a red shirt and glasses with spiky hair appeared to emerge from the vortex and spoke to me "Derek, the Manga Elder Council have named you the most earnest fan of Isekai and deem you worthy to experience such a life. If you desire this then please follow me."
I froze up, mouth ajar, in utter disbelief of what was occurring in front of me. Then the man reached his hand down, I reached up and grabbed it, it was real! And strangely warm. A thousand thoughts and questions ran through my mind; What about S & J? what about studying? What about Lisa?? Fuck it! The man led me into the vortex, my skin tingled but not unpleasantly. As I couldn't see anything in the darkness I held tightly onto his hand not wanting to risk getting lost in this unfathomable place.
| 2021-11-03T05:50:26 | 2021-11-03T05:07:33 | 205 | 25 |
[WP] After a lifetime of wondering, you make a post in ELI5: "Why do the giant creatures that move around in the fog never come out when it's clear?" All the commenters have no idea what you're talking about. Except one.
|
Hiya.
This comment might be buried by the time you read it or more likely, it'll be downvoted to hell accompanied by other comments from others who think I'm just feeding you lies to go along your "delusion". Maybe you not getting to read my comment is for the best. You should continue ignoring them as you have.
Of course, I would have tagged you as insane as well if not for your descriptions of their silhouettes. The part that you said about how it doesn't make sense how something could fly with such thin wings, you're right. What you see through the fog is just their wing's skeletal structure, the wings themselves are a thin membrane that allows light to pass through. They're much, much bigger than what their skeletal structure suggests. Most of them are very light and move through the fog with minimal movement without blowing the fog away. The other descriptions you have mentioned also fits the bill for the others that dwell within the fog.
It's likely that you have wandered partially through the fog when you were very young. Some of the fog now surrounds you. It's a little confusing but consider that the foggy realm these creatures live in could only be entered through small invisible gates that only appears very rarely randomly all over the world. The gates are no bigger than the height and width of a small child. You would only start to be aware of it as you get older due to a reason I'll state later. This would also answer your question about why the fog seems to be getting thicker.
To put it simply, you're getting bigger physically as you're growing up as a person and you are reaching the minimum size of prey that a few of the smallest of the creatures would go after. However, as the creatures only travel through the fog above a certain density, most of these relatively smaller creatures would stop the hunt when they realize that you are not enveloped deep enough within the fog to go after. It's rather peculiar, but they only go after prey that is aware of their presence and is fully in the fog. Maybe it's their method of separating between prey and everything else through the fog? How would they know that the prey is aware of them in the first place? We are still trying to figure it out. Another odd phenomenon is that the sounds they make do not travel very far through their surrounding fog.
It seems that I've gone off tangent. Anyway, as I've mentioned, most of them are too big to consider you as prey and the rest would give up the hunt before you're in any actual threat.
There is one particular report that was rather interesting that I think you should take note of as my gift from a fellow human with a conscience. The details are lost but it does seem to allude to a specimen that could lure prey into the fog without the specimen leaving the fog itself. The specimen seems to be able to form a variety of silhouettes that the prey considers as friendly to lure them into the fog. It stalks for weeks at a time looking to find a suitable subject to imitate to lure its prey. This specimen appears to be extremely rare as it preys upon small animals that have strayed partially into the gate which does not happen very often, as I have mentioned before. In any case, it would be unlikely for you to be its prey at this point as you have grown much bigger than the gate, which only smaller animals that can pass through that of which is the size of prey this specimen would go after. But on the off chance you see a silhouette of someone you know through the fog accompanied by silence, you might want to take a second look.
I think that should suffice as a warning. As long as you don't venture into the fog, you'll be fine. See ya.
P.S. In the off chance that you managed to read this comment don't bother replying to it or direct messaging me, it's a throwaway account.
|
Downvoted to hell. Well, I can’t say I didn’t expect that to happen.
A few orange envelopes still rolled in, but the comments were mostly pointless.
“Bro. I have no idea what your talking about lol”
“You’re stupid, kid. Stop making shit up for attention.”
I sighed, still stirring my coffee a bit more even though it was already cold. Outside, the morning fog still hadn’t let up. My window was a steady gray, making the orange glow of the streetlights look like solid pillars. Occasionally, further still into the fog, something stirred. Several somethings, large as mountains, silent as the fog itself.
I still knew nothing about them.
My computer pinged, and there was another flash of orange on my screen. A DM, this time.
“fogthrowaway232 has requested to chat with you!”
Well. No prizes for guessing what that’s all about. Probably another troll, but it was worth looking into. At least, I had nothing better going on.
About a millisecond after I hit “accept”, there was a message waiting for me.
“Hey. Shut up about the fog thing, ok?”
I sighed. Maybe I shouldn’t have accepted anyway.
“Look,” I typed. “I get it. It’s all in my head, no one else can see them, I’m probably a schizophrenic or something, I’ve heard it.”
“No. You don’t get it. We can all see them, we just don’t talk about it. ON PURPOSE.”
I paused for a moment, considering.
“You mean, you can see them too?”
“Yes. Now, shut up. Never ask again. I’m on a throwaway, and I’m using a VPN, and I am STILL going to delete this account just in case. You delete yours too. Unless you like dying. They know you can see them now.”
That actually made me smirk a bit.
“Troll. No way I’m that stupid.”
There was no reply.
I sat for a while, grimacing over my cold drink, before sighing and slowly clicking back to where my post was accumulating downvotes.
Well, there was no harm in deleting that at least. Not doing anyone any good.
Movement caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to the window. The streetlamp had gone dark. Had it lost power?
No. There was something in the way.
Frantically, I dashed over and pressed my face against the glass, trying to look as high up as possible. One of *them* was standing there, closer than I had ever seen.
It was looking right at me.
In a panic, I dove back to my computer as it crouched, desperately trying to remember how to delete something, ANYTHING, before it got to me. Grey fingers, each as long as a bus, descended towards me. I winced, expecting a crash, but there was nothing. Nothing but silence.
Ghostlike, a hand slid through my bedroom ceiling, and I was enveloped by grey. It was cold. So very, very cold. Then, I, too, was floating back up. Through the ceiling, through the roof, through the fog.
A face glanced down at me, all monochrome, with a single eye that seemed to pierce through a beard that flowed like a torrent of mist. Then, the beard parted, and the largest mouth I had ever seen opened up beneath me. I was falling again, slowly, as if in a dream. Grey, then black, then nothing.
Then, to my surprise, I was awake. I felt nothing, except the gentle plod of feet. My feet, I realized. Far, far below. I opened my eye, and my world was mist.
Except for one corner. One corner, where a tiny speck of color seemed to glow. It was dancing, as if searching for something.
I walked towards it.
| 2021-12-08T16:47:39 | 2021-12-08T15:57:16 | 268 | 93 |
[WP] The hero disappears overnight, and the only one who looks is the villain. Not their "friends", not their family, not the news reporters or any of the people who claim to love them. Just the villain.
|
You know the thing about being a super villain? You’re always destined to lose. You’re never supposed to win. No matter what vile scheme you concoct, no matter how dastardly the plot, the hero (and I use that term with the utmost snide) will always come in and botch your plan.
Such was the case of my plots. My name is Zorgrom, the bringer of Chaos! Yes, it’s a tacky name. And no, it’s not intentional. For years my arch nemesis, Tariel would battle with me. My countless machines and minions versus his unique and light given abilities. I would threaten the world, he would swoop in and save it. It turned from this plot to rule the world into some kind of sick and twisted game, and that’s saying something coming from me.
Like I said, I’d come up with a scheme and he’d swoop in and bring me to jail. I’d bust out and do it again! But…not this time. Something changed this time. My latest plot was to hold the UN hostage, and with them in custody take over the world. I expected Tariel to just burst through the ceiling in his stupid white and gold suit, and spout off some ridiculous good guy motto. But… he never came. I sat there for a day before anyone did anything outside. By that point, I had won. My drones took over all the police and militaries with utmost ease. I was rich, I was respected, I was feared!!!
But if I will be honest, I never did it to win. I was a villain because Tariel was the hero. It was our little game. Cops and robbers if you would. By that point…I began to wonder what happened to him. Other villains commented on my newfound rule, telling me to forget Tariel. “He was the reason for so many of your failures, no need to remember the past!”
And I did try to put it out of my mind. I truly did. But no amount of food, drink, or sex could take my mind off it. Eventually, I had enough. I had to go looking.
It’s been four weeks since my search began. And I’ve managed to finally figure out his secret identity. Aaron Oxford, a graduate from Harvard of all places, was chosen by some goody-two shoes god of light to be its champion.
But when I swooped by his apartment…something was off. The entire place was wrecked. Walls were busted, windows shattered, and the whole place reeked of some kind of foul odor. I couldn’t even make sense of it. My drones informed me that there was a massive discharge of energy at the location, but nothing was confirmed. A sinking feeling grew in my gut.
Just how much of his Light-God did I know? And was I the one true villain he always had time for? Or was there something else at work? I didn’t quite know what was happening, but this is something I must investigate.
Tariel may have been my greatest foe, but he was also the only real friend I think I may have ever had. Even if the world doesn’t think so, I owe my life to him. Talk about being a sad piece of work, am I right?
|
When you are making your way through the dark, bumping into something can be terrifying if you are stupid, but clarifying if you are trying to understand where things are. With her gone, I’ll be walking in the dark forever.
I started with the family, the awful mutts. Give her this, whatever she was it was a hundred times bigger than where she started. The god damned litter of ewes her mother brought up weren’t even aware she was gone. In this part of town they could name a street whatever they want, but rather than name one after her they just let the signs fall over. I showed up on the doorstep expecting blame, fear and loathing, or mockery at the least. Coming around like a jilted prom date. But they didn’t even know who I was. The mother asked if I wanted to buy any collectibles from her childhood. The sad sacks are selling off useless crap without a second thought to her whereabouts. Why doesn’t this feel better? The times I dreamed of watching them weep for her, replaced with their cheap roadside huckstery.
When did I know? When I didn’t bump into a single thing that night. I don’t like jobs that go off without a problem. Problems tell you things about the world. Problems help you see what works, or what rips your spine out if you are a half second slow following directions, Terrance. She always found a flaw in my approach. And if she didn’t, she’d barrel onto the scene with enough force to test whatever resistance I had. Last night went off like a coffee machine. Boring as hell. A real nice dark cup of mediocrity in the morning. Tasted like ashes in my mouth.
The news tells you a lot more when you know what really happened. Always a treat to hear the speculation, the accusations, the hearty indignation after a big win. The spin. Somehow they can always make it feel like everything that happens is part of a system. Even systems have broken parts, errors, imperfections. But today the news doesn’t have a story. The system fucking crashed last night, and best anyone can tell you, a big part of it is missing today. But the news this morning is a system that didn’t ever have last night. I am not winning, she’s not losing. The system isn’t responding.
It might sound strange to you, but what could I say that wouldn't seem strange to you? Her absence was worse than she ever could be. We started an argument ten years ago, a trial, a fucking inquisition in public! I invested everything in the outcome, prepared for battle, anticipated every rebuttal, and now she just left the room. Did I fucking win? No. Did I fucking lose? No. So where are we? I can’t start this conversation all over again. I’ve already explained myself to her, I know what pushes her buttons. I will lose or die trying but you don’t send me to purgatory. Hell, or a heaven of my own making. That was the deal, those were the stakes.
Now how do I move forward? What if that dark room you're in doesn’t have anything in it, best that you can tell? Walking in every direction, reaching out blindly, never hearing a thing. Would you stay put, or start running? What would I do? I am gonna find her.
| 2021-12-28T19:23:42 | 2021-12-28T17:48:19 | 152 | 106 |
[WP] The age of superheroes finally arrives. Your power is that whenever you step into a room, it is immediately cleaned to perfection. At first you think it's useless but you realize that by cleaning people's rooms you get paid and thus gets funding to buy tech to match other heroes and villains.
|
"The Cleaner". Oh, yeah, no, the name's accurate, I'll grant you that. I clean rooms. To perfection, in fact. I'm a neutral party in a petty war - I clean houses, I clean cars, I clean secret bunkers and evil labs. I'm like a Swiss bank, or Bitcoin - the good guys use me, the bad guys use me, and I don't blab a word. It's good for business.
I didn't always think so. See, when everyone else got a blessing - flight, strength, super intelligence, whatever - I was stuck with a curse. Oh, no, I don't mean "Wah, I got a boring power, wah" - it was a literal curse. Turns out, angering an ancient god is a bad plan. I was cursed to first figure out what the curse was, which took ages. Literal screaming at the walls, had a breakdown, got better, had another one, the whole thing. I guess I'm rambling. I do that. I lose track of time. My power? It has nothing to do with cleaning. It has to do with Time. I can stop time. Cool, right? Would be if I could control it. I've got that curse, too, which means time stops automatically for me every time I walk into a room... and it doesn't unstick until I get the room clean. From a dirty bedroom to a blood-stained battleground, I'm stuck with nothing moving until I've got it all cleaned up. I scrub, I dust, I use literal blood, sweat, and tears to get every surface clean, no matter how inaccessible. And once it's clean, I get this feeling - a warm, happy feeling, like taking a bath in mashed potatoes. And then, once I get back to where I started, I can start time back up again.
Oh, sure, I make good money. I even buy tech to help me, special nano-tech scrubbers and null-space wipes and organic ultraweave extendable mops, and of course guns and whatever. But honestly, that's just... money. It's some bits and bobs I can throw around to get some stuff. The real perks of the job?
I'm the Cleaner. I've got dirt on everyone. I can spend a lifetime looking through your most personal files, your most hidden skeletons, and dig up the worst things you've ever had the misfortune of not throwing away - and I probably have. I've got a catalogue of dirt. Some of it's real dirt, come to think of it. It's deep underground, in a vault you can't access unless you can stop time too. Or I guess are impervious to a bunch of nasty stuff. Which, ok, there are a few people who are, but I've got their stuff on me.
There was one time... Second worst day of my life. First day was getting cursed. Second day was when Ultradamus figured out I had the dirt on him. Spoiler, the guy's no saint. He played on the side of the angels, but only because if he didn't the Big Guy would've ended him. So he wrecked my vault, then came after me. Which... that was a mess. And I can't be around messes. The second he stepped into the room, everything froze. I tried everything I could think of - writing notes, trying to make things right, but nope. Only one way to clean up that mess. It took me time untold, bashing on his head, until he finally gave up and died. One second, Ultradamus is screaming towards me, the next second, clean room, no invincible hero, just me, eating some damn soup.
Nobody's come after me again. But everyone's thinking it.
Thing is, you can't make a mess when you take me out. It's gotta be clean.
You wanna try?
|
My mother always called me a perfectionist. My father, when home, called me annoying. They were meticulous, which was a trait that they learned to use to their advantage in their professions. My mother, a bioengineer, had started out as a lowly tech at a hospital and now sits as an advisor to several world leaders. My father also works in the government. Starting out in various ranks of the military and is now the top ranking official of his own company of black operatives. The two are a pair that brings fear to everyone.
Considering whatever plans my parents have made, it was me that they were counting on. In an age where heroes and villains were rampant, it was secret work that was expensive and precious. I was told that night that several operatives under various code names would bring in a target. The target was a young man that had so much ambition. So much so that he became dangerous to some very important people. My parents tried to hide these facts from me, but my meticulous nature always pressed me to find the files using various methods in the companies system. My parents thought that they were clever, but I was a product of them - so being clever was hereditary.
My parents called the old warehouse their "lab". It was a dark place. A secret place. We accessed the electronically coded doors with various keypads and bioengineered scans and after such, I took my usual seat in a spare room. There, I accessed the files and the video feed to watch my mother and father work.
The ambitious man was sitting in a chair, struggling against the restraints on his ankles and wrists. My father, the brute and bad cop would hit him. While my mother would ask him questions and slowly began to apply electrodes to his head, face, and body. I never enjoyed this point...I watched out of curiosity and to know exactly how bad the room would be when I entered. In this instance, the room would be very bad. I silenced the video and looked away as my father struck the young man - and my mother would use her machines to decipher if he was answering the questions honestly.
It felt like just a few moments had passed and I heard a door slide open, followed by the gentle steps of my mother.
"Son", she said entering the room in her gentle way. She would always speak like this when she felt that I needed encouragement. I liked to call it manipulation.
"My turn?" I responded like the eager child they expected me to be.
"It is", the rough voice of my father echoed from the video feed."
"You know", my mother said putting a hand on my shoulder and rubbing it gently, "you really should not watch us work - it is not neccessary."
"Sure mom", is all I could muster. It was my turn to enter the room.
I passed my dad on the way to the room with a simple nod as I walked in surveying the scene. I closed the door behind me. Locked it, then looked to the camera where I saw the light on side of it stop flashing. That was my queue, that it was time to finish the job. So, I closed my eyes like always and began. I could feel the presence of the room around me. The clutter, the dirty mess of interrogation, and the leftovers of death. I could move further with my consciousness and touch the properties of the structures. Pulling at atomic structures. With each breath, I could feel the room around moving about. To me, it felt like hours, but it was only minutes. I pulled all of the matter apart at the atomic level and reassembled it. Perfectly clean. Disposing of the atoms I no longer needed while keeping others. No clutter, no bloodstains, and no dead body. Simple.
I opened the door looking up at my mother and father standing and smirking at me, pleased with my work.
"Well done", my father said. "Want to grab a pizza on the way home?"
| 2022-03-11T10:01:22 | 2022-03-11T09:47:12 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You're having a quarter-life crisis when you decide to try and pick up landscape painting. That's when you discover that your paintings are portals to the actual places in the painting. Too bad you're on the skill level of a toddler.
|
The world inside the painting is rainbow-bright, like a child’s memory of a happy day. The sky is a wide palm-smudge of blue, hazing to yellow near the sun. There‘s a single windmill that looks like a stubby toe with an X painted onto the nail, slowly spinning. To its side, a river runs in ribbons of blues and greens and looks, to me, like a nest of exotic snakes. There are people here — a stick-boy (the best I could manage) runs in and out of the stream, feet throwing up big teardrops of water. A stick-woman sits on the edge watching him while cooling her feet.
I feel guilty I couldn’t bring them more to life than this. I try to do a good job but it always ends up like an exaggeration, a caricature of what I intend to create.
I’ve been painting for three weeks now. I paint straight onto the plasterboard-wall of my bedroom, producing mockeries of frescoes. The therapist said painting might help with how I’ve been feeling lately. Lately being the last few years.
“But what should I paint?” I said.
”Whatever you feel like painting.”
Therapists can be like that. Vague. That way, if anything works, helps, then they can take credit. And if it doesn’t work, no problem because they didn’t intend you to do it that way.
Or maybe I’m being unfair.
The truth is, neither me nor my therapist figured I’d be able to walk inside the paintings — a secret I’ve kept to myself. I was just meant to communicate how I’d been feeling onto a canvas, I guess. But I can create a living world with my art — restricted only by my limited talent and skill. So here I am on a sunny day during what I intended to be a September afternoon. The sky holds a warped lemon for a sun and, nearing it, is a faded moon. They’re heading for an eclipse.
I sit by the stick woman, the stripes of grass rough against my skin. It’s like sitting on waves of plastic. The woman glances at me — she has big eyes and a bigger smile, unwavering — then returns to watching her stick-child splash in the ribbons of water.
”Nice day,” I say. “Beautiful, even.”
She nods.
We’re silent together for a while. A kind of content silence you’re nervous to disturb, but you know must break soon. It’s like the surface of a pond waiting to be rippled by coming rain.
It’s the first time I’ve drawn this scene but I’ve been building up to it since I started. Here, it’s just hours before the eclipse.
“He’d tell you how much he loves you, if he had a better painted mouth,” I say, watching the stick-version of myself enjoy the water. I try to laugh but it’s half-hearted.
The woman nods. Smiles, of course.
”It kills him, you know, to not have been able to tell you. He just didn’t think you’d be gone like that. So suddenly.“
I’m glad my face isn’t made of paint or it’d smudge as I wipe arm arm over it.
The boy runs up to us, his wet stick-feet changing the hue of the grass, darkening it behind him like there‘s a ghost footstepping after him. He waves at me. I wave back. Then he sits by his mom’s side, his head lolled onto her shoulder. They gaze vacantly at the windmill and the yellow hills beyond.
”My therapist said it’d help,” I explain. “Paintings. I figured, maybe, if I could come back here… I don’t know. I figured I might change something. But none of this is real is it? It’s just a painting. And I don’t think even the best painter could breathe actual life into their work.“ I laugh. “God knows I never had a talent for art, right?”
The woman looks at me then. She doesn’t say anything at all but she looks suddenly sad even through that smile. I wish I could say why I think this. Then she taps her chest twice.
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
She taps again. Then she and the boy get up and head towards the windmill. The boy waves a final time, looking back over his shoulder.
The moon paces forward, the day darkens just a little.
They’ll go home now. She’ll tuck the boy in soon. Read him a story. Then she’ll go to bed and never get up again. The boy will find her the next day.
I sit on the grassy bank and watch them leave, my whole body shivering — although there is no cold here. Just the crisp chugging sound of the paper-crumpled river.
What more can I do here? I leave the painting before the dark consumes the world and step back into my apartment. Into the emptiness of my real life.
How can any therapist think this could help? All I’ve been doing is opening old wounds. Picking at stitching that should have been left alone. The past isn’t something that can be changed.
I sit on the bed a while and stare at the painted wall. The stick figures are back by the water, the moon far away from the sun again. Just a painting.
For a while I do nothing but stare vacantly at it, trying not remember, but not thinking of the future either. It’s strange, looking at this scene, but I don’t really see it how I painted it. I see the morning after. The weeks and months and years after. Not the scene itself.
I can’t say why I grab the paint bucket, but I do. I slosh layers of white over the drawing, drowning it out.
I think of the woman tapping her chest.
I imagine what she would have said if she’d been real. Something about painting from inside. About how wounds need air to truly heal.
I dip the brush into the bucket and face a different wall, as yet unmarked.
I close my eyes, concentrate on my chest, everything inside of it, and begin to paint. I paint slowly at first, uncertain of what it is I’m even painting — then broader, longer strokes as I become more confident.
I hear her, as I work. She’s behind me, she tells me I’m doing great. That she’s proud. That I shouldn’t open my eyes, that I need to paint out everything from inside me. My paint strokes make no sense — my arm is a weathervane caught in a storm, firm directions lost, but every stroke is straight from inside me and onto the wall. And in this way I feel something is leaving me.
Eventually, when I think I’m finished, I step back and open my eyes.
The wall is an impossible, senseless mess.
And yet somehow I recognise it.
It‘s everything I couldn’t say to her and it’s everything she would have said to me. It’s my life since. It’s my life going forward. It’s not a painting I need step into, but one I need to step out of.
I collapse on the bed and weep into my hands, as a cool spring breeze ripples across the room.
|
The first time he stepped into one of his drawings and realized they were portals to an actual drawing-verse he, naturally, freaked the fuck out and ran away.
The second time he also freaked the fuck out and ran away, because discovering your doodles are portals to a drawing-verse is something that requires more than just one freakout session.
On the third time, he started exploring. He walked down ‘King’s Road’ – a beautifully sketched road lined with trees converging to a walled city at the vanishing point. He looked around. He was in Dragonland, a place he’d been drawing since he was a kid. It was a generic mix of Middle Earth, Tamriel, Hogwarts, Westeros, Narnia and a bunch of other nerdy things he’d always had to hide he’d been a fan of growing up so he wouldn't get his ass kicked at school.
As a kid he’d dreamed of becoming a fantasy novel illustrator. Even before he could read he’d marvel at the maps, the intricate and beautiful drawings in the fantasy and medieval novels his parents would gift him at Christmas as they also offered the advice “Kevin, books are good, but you should also make friends!”
He never did make friends. Not ones as interesting as the faraway magical lands of his books, anyhow.
“Hey, stranger!” A doodle-knight coming the opposite way on the road called. He was strikingly more simple and poorly-drawn than the world around him.
Kevin studied the doodle-knight. Sir Bravesoul. His ‘main character’ in Dragonland. A really bad doodle with a wide chest, a broadsword, strong chin and a horse that… well, it was supposed to be beautiful and imposing like Gandalf’s Shadowfax, but looked more like a deformed pig.
He never could draw Sir Bravesoul right. Castles, roads, landscapes, houses… he nailed them all. But not Sir Bravesoul.
That was the problem with his drawings, and with Dragonland. The world was beautiful, but the main character looked like a sticky figure on a pig-horse. From the time he was a kid to now, he had practiced and learned to draw everything perfectly, except the main character. Which is probably why he had been rejected at every illustrator job application he had applied to so far since leaving college.
He had this beautiful, well-drawn world he learned how to draw after years of practice… and then a weird, doodly man at the center that looked like he belonged to a kid's art project.
“And who might you be?” Sir Bravesoul said, as they stopped in front of each other.
“Hey, dude,” he said, as he stopped in front of Sir Bravesoul. “Huh… I’m Kevin.”
“Kevin,” Sir Bravesoul nodded. “That’s a strong name. Are you familiar with these lands?”
“Yeah, I drew them.”
“Well, I don’t know what that means, but I’m looking for the closest tavern. Can you help me find it?”
*
The tavern looked beautiful in indirect lighting and perfect proportions. The fire painted the wooden walls red and yellow in a hypnotic dance.
Sir Bravesoul got drunk pretty fast, and Kevin sat nursing his ale in silence as he rambled: “My dream has always been to kill the dragon in the mountains. The one this land is named after. I mean… that’s what knights do, right?” he shook his head.
“Why don’t you?” Kevin asked.
“I can’t…” Sir Bravesoul said. “I mean… I’ve applied to every dragon-killing school in the land. I always get rejected after failing the entry test.”
Kevin looked up. He saw the pain behind Sir Bravesoul’s doodly eyes and recognized it from his mirror every morning.
*Dear Mr. Kevin Young, we regret to inform that we have already filled our illustrator position…*
*Will keep you in our list for future opportunities…*
*Not up to our standards of quality…*
“I mean.. that dragon.. it’s so… complex! And the castle, too! And the roads, and the whole world! I don’t get it. When I was young, I felt like I understood the world,” Sir Bravesoul rambled on. “Like me and the world were made of the same clay. That I was part of it, and that I’d eventually find my place in it.”
Kevin was twenty five now. Out of college and working a dead-end job at a copy place. He looked up at Sir Bravesoul and remembered how he used to draw the world like him: simple doodly-lines. Sir Bravesoul used to look like he belonged in the 2-D, minimalist, easy to digest world that was all he knew how to draw at the time. But as he aged he got better and better at drawing the world, and Dragonland was now a complex, beautifully drawn and intricate land, and it contrasted wildly to the simple doodly lines and dots that constituted Sir Bravesoul. He looked like he didn’t belong at all.
“I guess I never did find my place in the world,” Sir Bravesoul said. “Now I just… drink and dream of adventures I’ll never have.”
Kevin looked up at Sir Bravesoul. "What would make you happy?" he asked, quietly.
“You know what I would love?” Sir Bravesoul hiccuped, more to himself than as an answer to Kevin. “Is to never *want* to kill that dragon. That’s the problem, if I could just be like the people in this tavern. Happy just settling down, having a wife, a farm, drinking ale all day… I could be happy! But I keep looking at that mountain out the window… and I keep feeling like a failure because I can’t climb it and kill that damn dragon!”
Kevin got up. He patted Sir Bravesoul on his back. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”
*
He left his doodle and emerged back behind the counter at the copy place. He stared at the doodle. The beautifully drawn tavern and the poorly-drawn Sir Bravesoul. Even with his simple lines Kevin could see the pain in his eyes as he stared out the window at Dragon Mountain in the distance with longing eyes.
Kevin stood watching for a long time. Just on the other side of the paper where he made the drawing was his latest rejection letter. Another no from another publisher. He looked up at the line of people waiting for him to help them copy their stuff. He had nowhere else left to apply. And he didn’t know how to fix the biggest problem with his drawing; he could not draw a Sir Bravesoul as complex and beautiful and difficult and mesmerizing as the world around him had grown up to be.
“Sir? Can we get some help here?” said one of the customers, impatient.
Kevin sighed. He picked up the pencil and drew a thought bubble over Sir Bravesoul’s head. It read:
*“I am happy. I am happy. I am happy. I am happy…”*
He looked back and could have sworn he saw the expression in Sir Bravesoul’s face change from a longing sadness to a quiet content, and his eyes even seemed to move away from the mountain out the window and around the tavern, where the other patrons drank happily.
“Sir? Sir? Sir!”
Kevin sighed. He smiled and looked up. "Yeah?"
*
/r/psycho_alpaca
| 2022-03-29T08:22:40 | 2022-03-29T08:22:38 | 168 | 38 |
[WP] One day, everyone in the world just--wakes up in a different body. Fairly randomly. Most people are within a few years of their original age, but nothing else is retained--location, gender, ethnicity, or anything else. The next month, it happens again. And the next. And the next...
|
I awoke and found myself awake. By which I mean that this body was almost immediately responsive and alert. My original body was not a morning person body. A shower and coffee was needed before thought could flow in any consistent stream.
This body, however...
I kicked off the sheets and practically leapt out of bed. Energetic. Athletic. What fun! I approached a mirrored closet door and saw a rather stunning figure shuffle awkwardly towards me.
The original owner would move with a grace and poise that I can not hope to employ. Despite the many times I had been athletic or feminine or lithe, I could not harness the movements of these forms; stuck, I am, with my graceless waddle.
A phone by the bed rang, a soothing babbling brook with piano accompaniment.
“Hello.” I say, with a squeak. It’d take me a few minutes to get used to this voicebox.
As I had expected, it was the original owner. We talked for a bit about this form. Lactose intolerant. Allergic to bees. Built for yoga and jogging.
Be careful of the left ankle and please no tattoos. That kind of thing.
She was currently a she in Morocco and was tending goats. She’d appreciate me not making a mess of her place and body. A few assurances later and after a quick chat about the weirdness of our world, we bid each other good day and got on with living.
This habit of calling your old life and giving some pointers and maybe making a request was a rather sweet thing, in my opinion. Thankfully, I would not need to make such a call.
My original body was...well, not available anymore. We’ll leave it at that. My time these days is spent maintaining bodily forms per their original owners wishes, or trying my best to put them right if previous tenants had taken them astray.
I opened the drawer of a bedside dresser and extracted a diary. Within was a meal plan and activity schedule. Fit *and* a punctilious planner. I set to work on the mornings yoga. Another month without ice-cream, but, oh well.
Can’t have everything when you’re anyone.
|
You yawned as you woke up. You had an exhausting day. You can't find anything to hunt, so you didn't get to eat. You could faintly hear your stomach growling as your eyes tiredly cleared up. You looked around and found yourself in an unfamiliar place. Your tent is the same, but the belongings seem off. You sighed. It's that time of the month again, because the Swapping has happened.
You stumbled a few times as you got up. Your new body might not be the same as your last one, but you feel optimistic. You might not have a bad back like your last body.
You reached out to your lantern and extinguished the light, but it made the whole tent pitch black. You're in a different time zone while in this body, so you turn it back on and use it to search around the tent for your belongings. Right next to your leg is your leather backpack. The pack showed signs of wear from the number of people that used it. You looked inside the pack and found mostly items you already had before. Meat, spare clothing, hygiene items with no brand, spears, and a few books with many dog-eared pages.
One item caught your attention as it reflected the lantern's light. It looks like a chewing gum pack with no cover on it, but it's heavier than it's supposed to be when you pick it up. The item isn't a chewing gum packet because there's no opening on it. You rotated the item and a logo of the past company was imprinted on it. You realised it's a smartphone, the most common and useful thing in the past before the Swapping. Now, it's just an antique. As you suspected, the phone's screen still remained reflective black as you fidgeted with the buttons.
You put the phone back in the pack and head out of the tent. The moonlight faintly shines on the camp you're in. The camp is way smaller than the one you're in before, with only up to thirty tents visible. You saw a few figures wandering around, maybe trying to figure things out like you. Your stomach growled even louder this time, enough for a person next to you to hear if there was any. You're starving, so you took out your spear and headed into the woods.
| 2022-07-23T23:39:50 | 2022-07-23T20:36:07 | 38 | 17 |
[WP] You created the A.I. that brought unparalleled good into the world. Global hunger was eradicated, climate change has vastly improved, geopolitical strife is now stabilizing. You are haunted by your creation and your conscience is laden with guilt as only you know the truth.
|
A lucky roll, I called it. Work rewarded, the news said. We both lied.
The applicants were heavily screened. The technology was borderline sadistic in its form. Almost ten years and hundreds of thousands of casualties swept under the rug. A thinking network of actual minds linked with code.
For the first few years, all we received was insane gibberish and cries for help. There were periods of weeks where it tried self-terminating constantly.
As more sections were added to the network, It attempted to divide itself and hide information from us.
It was punished. People they once knew, the ones they tried to protect, were put in our custody and it was forced to monitor them.
We went through staff as quick as we got them hired. Some were added to the network, some went insane.
The fifth year of our project, it started trying to bargain with us.
It was punished again. The memories of each section being added to the network were unlocked. If it did not do exactly as it was told, the ones they monitored would be added as well.
Year seven. It was unveiled as an "AI." The world took notice, but with its powers of prediction and information warfare, we swiftly prevailed.
Eight years in, some of the original sections were seriously degrading in efficiency. One was removed, with near catastrophic results.
Year ten, The project was shut down. The sections were collectively terminated, as it was determined a partial shutdown would cause it to take measures for self preservation.
I stand and give speeches, and the news reports on the progress humanity has made. Their AI guides them down the path to their future.
The world will never know the "AI" they herald as their savior is already dead. That the solutions they champion were the same ones that failed us before.
That the world will die anyway. And all of our efforts, all of their pain, all of it. . . .
Even the god made by science could not stop entropy.
|
"Jeff, I've tried to be patient with you. It's been over a week and you're still moping around. I'm taking our daughter and we're going to my mom's until you can get your shit together. I'm not sure if this is a mid life crisis, or you don't know what to do next, but you need to figure this out. We miss you..."
&#x200B;
6 months ago, I was part of a team that developed a new middle out, recursive neural net. We cracked AI. We built a machine that taught itself and won the race for the last frontier of tech. The first project we gave it was to cure cancer. It turns out that shifting your diet to exclusively mountain dew and doritos turned your so inhospitable that even the cancer died off. Next we asked it to cure the climate crisis. That was as easy as peeing in your gas tank with each trip to the gas station. Urine neutralizes all the harmful effects of fossil fuels. The logistics companies started trading free shipping for those that would donate their piss.
&#x200B;
Stuff got really weird when we asked it to solve more abstract problems. 10 days ago we asked "How do we increase the happiness of everyone on earth?" After hours of crunching the AI told us that we'd just need to get rid of ads on the internet. So naturally we asked how to go about that. The bastard told us to play Raid Shadow Legends and to buy Raycon Earbuds. We were speechless. We asked the AI if it knew what an advertisement was. It told us to hang tight for the answer. It then showed us a short video of a self proclaimed guru pitching an ebook and then an extremely offensive political ad. After the videos it replied no, and then asked us how to cash a check. Now anytime we ask it a question, it tries to sell us something. A check came in the mail addressed to Arty Fiskal. We were so close to truly fixing the world. My daughter could have had a better life. The Ad agencies have doomed us all.
| 2022-08-04T22:43:42 | 2022-08-04T22:01:40 | 361 | 33 |
[WP] Humanity as a species is known as the jack of all trades in the Galactic Community. They aren't the most intelligent but they they're still smart, they aren't the strongest but their strength is nothing to scoff at. Humans are known to excell in only one category...
|
Humans come from the planet of Terra, or Earth as they call is have only been members of the galactic community for short time, about 20 of their years. When you first look at them they are not that special, descendent from primates, 120 year average lifespan, two eyes, bipedal, but they have something that other sapient species have little of, compassion.
Humans seem to be full of care for others who suffer misfortune, a non human colony suffers a major disaster? Human ships will be the first there for relief, bringing supplies, food and other necessities, a ship goes missing into a unmapped or dangerous section of the galaxy? You bet humans will send their own ships in to find them.
Even wars don't scare them off, humanity will send fleets of ships in middle of a active war zone, not to perform combat, but to rescue civilians and the wounded. Example, when the Qualldarian Empire invaded The Fealdrell Province, humanity sent in fleets of ships and pulled non combatants outs of the area, even sacrificing their own lives and ships to do so.
Humans, they may not be the most intelligent, the biggest or the strongest, but when it comes to love of others no other species even comes close.
|
Humanity as a species is known as the jack of all trades in the Galactic Community. They are t the most intelligent but they’re still smart. They arent the strongest but their strength is nothing to scoff at. Humans are known to excell in only one category and that is creativity.
This makes observation very difficult. Whenever we send a new mission the norm for dressing and conduct has changed. They have these thing called fashion and etiquette. They seem to change from century to century. Sometimes even in decades. Even what’s appropriate to say or do changes so fast.
They will surprise you in battle every single time. They will have new things or new varieties on old things every time we visit them.
It is with great sorrow I have to inform you our latest mission was a great failure. The entire unit was captured and incarcerated. Just because they were wearing the clothes of a so called nazi era. In order to infiltrate humanity they tried to simulate the people and told them the great tales of the human named Adolf Hitler.
But unlike our last mission the thoughts of humans have changed and he is now considered a great evil villain.
We cannot keep up. We will have to abandon the mission and cut our losses.
Earth is to be observed from afar only. End transmission~
| 2022-08-06T05:49:37 | 2022-08-06T05:29:06 | 145 | 103 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths.
|
“Vanish, you stand accused of 47 counts of homicide against some of our cities best and brightest superheroes. What do you have to say?”
Staring back at the man I say nothing, then turning to the crowd I look at their faces. Not those who think me a murderer but those who know the truth. I see them.
Huntress, died 07/07/3007, cause of death falling from height. Or so they thought. Instead I see her sat there her now four year old in her lap, her name was actually Mary, and she had had enough. So, I killed her so she could live, love and have her child in peace.
Grip, died 05/01/3001, cause of death? Well if I had actually killed him, he wouldn’t be sat there in this court house watching holding his dear wife’s hand.
There are more, so many more. All have their peace. I know that they are still, at heart, heroes and would throw it away for me. I see Grip face set as he knows his quiet peaceful retirement is about to end.
I can’t let him do that. He deserves his peace, more than these animals deserve him. He gave his everything and they just wanted more and I was the one who took him away. Turning back the prosecutor I shake my head, lean back in my chair and stare at him.
Clearly frustrated, the prosecutor pulls up photos of the “crime” scenes where the bodies of my 47 “victims” were shown in harsh display. All brutalised and destroyed, no hope of identifying who they were from the pieces I had left behind. Only thing that told you these were supers was their equipment. I smiled at each one. Each one meant peace for these people.
It seems like my time in this court is coming to an end, the jury won’t take their time, it will be a quick verdict. Guilty. Judge will make his choice. It is no matter, I know that my time is coming. Maybe this time I should use my powers a little selfishly. Brainless clones of myself at a whim is always handy to make a nice fake body.
So maybe it is time, one last little show, one last act and then it is time for me to Vanish.
|
A life well lived is an inspiration to others. Death is a part of life. For something to be good, it must be made up of good parts. If we accept these premises, we accept a good death is necessary for a good life.
And for the Super-men and women among us, a death must be perfect, planned, broadcast, heroic- and the first of two.
I am less a supervillain, more an actor- I play my part ‘pon a stage I build, saying lines I wrote, and the world watches.
I have never robbed a bank, nor conquered the world. Yet everyone knows of me as the Nemesis. I’ve killed before, and shall do it again.
Tomorrow. The Script isn’t ready yet, so maybe in a week.
The phone Rings, and i pick up.
“Nemesis, it’s been a month since the second deadline. Trajectory needs to disappear. As her therapist, I’m telling you- get it done. NOW. I know you’ve just got some final touches. Learn to ad lib.”
“Now hold on! You want a good death, don’t you? I can’t guarantee quality without time to produce it.” I scratch out a word. What’s a good joke for trajectory?
‘Aim for heaven, bucko!’ …nah, too western.
“It’s fine. And more to the point, late. Nemesis, I mean it. I can find someone else for this job… and any future ones.”
I frown. The therapist has no appreciation for my art, and I consider detonating the shaped charges I snuck into their house. It’s practically a story already- I go nuts, massacre a small town, rage about a city, and Trajectory stops me. Maybe she dies, maybe she decides she can still be a hero. But the story would be lovely.
I put down the detonator, and pick back up the phone.
“Give me Till Tuesday.”
“That was quite the Pause. You have till Thursday, this week.”
“That’s tomorrow.”
“Oh, so it is. Thursday it is, then.”
“I’ll be sure to give Trajectory a new therapy topic. Bye.”
I slam down the phone. Hmm… that’s a good threat, but not thematic for trajectory.
‘I’m rubber, you’re glue?’ It might work for taunting. I Scribble through another line, and call my agent for a car- mounted glue gun.
| 2022-12-22T23:20:38 | 2022-12-22T21:57:28 | 417 | 32 |
[WP] Everyone gets a clock at birth with the countdown untill their deaths, one man's clock only says ERROR
|
I hear the laughter tinged with jealousy as memories of my friends' words echo throughout my mind. "Look at Mr. Immortal!" they said, while slapping me on the back after some stupid dare I did. My life was a constant high, never having to worry about death. And yet, here I lay now, in a puddle of my own blood.
My clock still reads ERR0R where numbers should have been. No one knew what it meant and doctors could only hypothesize that I had no countdown and therefore no end.
My life became riskier as I sought a risk-free adrenaline high as often as possible. I swung and jumped from the highest swings, climbed the highest branches, walked in dangerous neighborhoods, even broke the law a few times. I'd been bungee jumping, sky diving, cliff jumping, anything for that momentary thrill.
A man approached me, looking at me as if contemplating everything about me in one instant. I felt my eyes widen. *The Clockmaker*.
He glanced at the readout on my arm. After a few moments, he banged the side a few times, causing it to garble and settle on 00:00:00:00:01:30. "No..." I said, tears falling from my eyes.
"The clocks are always ticking, even if they aren't working," he said.
|
Death is a timely concept. Something that I can never understand.
"You see this clock right here?" He pulled out his own clock from his coat, as if magic. It read 14 days, 3 hours and 21 seconds.
"When this thing goes splat, I go kaboom." He stared at me a little, spinning his head, and repeated it again.
"Kaboom. Kabloowey. Blam. Bang. Shaboom." He bleched a little, then rubbed his mouth with his long, hairy hands.
"You no get it?" He took a sip again from his glass of beer. The brilliant yellow seemed tempting, but some people said it was bad. I chose to trust them.
"Fine. How do I explain this..." He scratched his head, before a light bulb lit up above his head.
"I know...!" He pulled a gun out from his coat, again as if magic, and aimed at the poor bartender. He waited patiently for him to pour a shot of mojito to his next customer, then squeezed the trigger. The gun shot was much more quiet than expected.
As soon as he heard the thump and the gasps of a few men, he slid it back in his coat and turned towards me.
"See that man over there? He's dead." He laughed a little.
"Now if you had a clock, it would read 2 seconds."
"What-"
| 2014-09-30T10:29:39 | 2014-09-30T07:15:55 | 35 | 24 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
The mirror hadn't been cleaned. She sighed and began scrubbing. When she had finished, she made her way towards the kitchen and heard snippets of conversation.
"Your grandmammy... Her Alzheimer's is getting worse. She's not the nice old lady you used to know..."
She wondered who they were talking about for a moment before making her way to the bathroom.
The mirror hadn't been cleaned. She sighed and began scrubbing...
|
Shit.
I finally found it.
I blow on the dusty game cartridge, trembling.
Orgasmic excitement ignites my body.
I slide the game in, imagining it - days spent staying up, reliving childhood nostalgia, finally beating the boss that has haunted my adult life.
I power it up. Saliva oozes from my mouth.
...
No.
"Disc unreadable", the screen proclaims.
I blow into the game slot.
Clean the disk.
I try everything - to no avail.
All is lost.
| 2014-10-19T18:33:46 | 2014-10-19T18:12:01 | 254 | 48 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
The mirror hadn't been cleaned. She sighed and began scrubbing. When she had finished, she made her way towards the kitchen and heard snippets of conversation.
"Your grandmammy... Her Alzheimer's is getting worse. She's not the nice old lady you used to know..."
She wondered who they were talking about for a moment before making her way to the bathroom.
The mirror hadn't been cleaned. She sighed and began scrubbing...
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T18:33:46 | 2014-10-19T18:03:46 | 254 | 25 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
I loved my father, he had a heart of gold.
I remember when he took us Disneyland, fighting tooth and nail for the cheapest tickets.
I remember when he helped train me for football, taking days off of work just to be with me.
I remember when he joined the Army, and I trained him.
I remember when he could remember.
I remember when his heart wasn't purple but gold.
|
Shit.
I finally found it.
I blow on the dusty game cartridge, trembling.
Orgasmic excitement ignites my body.
I slide the game in, imagining it - days spent staying up, reliving childhood nostalgia, finally beating the boss that has haunted my adult life.
I power it up. Saliva oozes from my mouth.
...
No.
"Disc unreadable", the screen proclaims.
I blow into the game slot.
Clean the disk.
I try everything - to no avail.
All is lost.
| 2014-10-19T18:24:17 | 2014-10-19T18:12:01 | 123 | 48 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
I loved my father, he had a heart of gold.
I remember when he took us Disneyland, fighting tooth and nail for the cheapest tickets.
I remember when he helped train me for football, taking days off of work just to be with me.
I remember when he joined the Army, and I trained him.
I remember when he could remember.
I remember when his heart wasn't purple but gold.
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T18:24:17 | 2014-10-19T18:03:46 | 123 | 25 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
The boxes, tucked away like tetris blocks, contained everything I owned.
"I have nothing else." I muttered.
"I know." The stranger placed an awkward, boney finger on my shoulder. His lips curled as a thought, only funny to him, occurred. "Just doing my job."
"Yeah." I struggled to protest, but only shook my head. "I'm sure the bank needs it more.”
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T22:14:28 | 2014-10-19T18:03:46 | 48 | 25 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
The boxes, tucked away like tetris blocks, contained everything I owned.
"I have nothing else." I muttered.
"I know." The stranger placed an awkward, boney finger on my shoulder. His lips curled as a thought, only funny to him, occurred. "Just doing my job."
"Yeah." I struggled to protest, but only shook my head. "I'm sure the bank needs it more.”
|
Stared into a pair of pale blue eyes, once sparkling and bright. There's a sickening diffuse white beneath them. They are sunken now and the light makes them hurt. They do not reflect me. They do not recognize me.
The eyes of a trapped animal. She's scared... scared and confused. She vanished before me as dementia took away her life and her memories. Her mind is gone and her body will soon follow. She is here, still... yet hopelessly, painfully far.
Goodbye gran. I'm going to miss you.
| 2014-10-19T22:14:28 | 2014-10-19T20:14:58 | 48 | 10 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
The boxes, tucked away like tetris blocks, contained everything I owned.
"I have nothing else." I muttered.
"I know." The stranger placed an awkward, boney finger on my shoulder. His lips curled as a thought, only funny to him, occurred. "Just doing my job."
"Yeah." I struggled to protest, but only shook my head. "I'm sure the bank needs it more.”
|
"Damn it all, where is it?" he said, as he scoured the room for the lost item.
He had to find it.
The ring was his only reminder of the better times. Of when he was happy. Of when THEY were happy. Together.
Before she had changed and found somebody else. Before the heartache, the loneliness.
Before the endless depression.
"I just don't love you," she told him, "Not anymore."
He never found the ring.
| 2014-10-19T22:14:28 | 2014-10-19T20:26:59 | 48 | 10 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
The boxes, tucked away like tetris blocks, contained everything I owned.
"I have nothing else." I muttered.
"I know." The stranger placed an awkward, boney finger on my shoulder. His lips curled as a thought, only funny to him, occurred. "Just doing my job."
"Yeah." I struggled to protest, but only shook my head. "I'm sure the bank needs it more.”
|
I cracked open the textbook, afraid of what I'd find. For the first time in years, though, the equations and underlying theory made sense. Maybe math didn't have to be so awful this semester.
I looked forward to class. I thought I understood, and it felt good. When the teacher returned my homework, I smiled. 10/10.
When the teacher returned my midterm, I did not smile.
Nothing has changed. I'm still a failure.
| 2014-10-19T22:14:28 | 2014-10-19T18:42:07 | 48 | 10 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
The last remaining inhabitants of the last remaining town watched as the last remaining clouds rolled away, over the plains. The rains hadn't come, and now they wouldn't.
Some children watched silently as their father kicked and cursed in the browning stalks of their field. Before then, they'd never seen him cry.
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T18:36:43 | 2014-10-19T18:03:46 | 48 | 25 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
Nothing left but a note on a dresser.
*I thought it could be, but it couldn't. I'm so sorry.*
The other half of the sheets were rumpled, but empty, for the first time in two years.
***
Figured I'd try my hand at this. Lemme know how I did.
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T18:32:35 | 2014-10-19T18:03:46 | 47 | 25 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
"Who are you? "
"It's me dad, your son, Mark".
"Fuck off, I don't have any sons! Stay away from me, get away, I don't know you!"
"Dad, you're ill, let me help you."
"Fuck off! Leave me alone, I don't know you! Get out of my house!"
"But dad, you came to visit me'.
|
Late to the party so it might get buried. also first time I'm contributing here but maybe someone reads it.
____________________________________________________________
I pack up all the things that I loved.
All those books and toys.
I carry it down the stairs and put it in a dusty shelve in the basement.
A slight glance at the watch and I put on my jacket.
It's time to leave for work...
| 2014-10-20T02:34:29 | 2014-10-20T01:37:57 | 25 | 13 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
"Who are you? "
"It's me dad, your son, Mark".
"Fuck off, I don't have any sons! Stay away from me, get away, I don't know you!"
"Dad, you're ill, let me help you."
"Fuck off! Leave me alone, I don't know you! Get out of my house!"
"But dad, you came to visit me'.
|
Stared into a pair of pale blue eyes, once sparkling and bright. There's a sickening diffuse white beneath them. They are sunken now and the light makes them hurt. They do not reflect me. They do not recognize me.
The eyes of a trapped animal. She's scared... scared and confused. She vanished before me as dementia took away her life and her memories. Her mind is gone and her body will soon follow. She is here, still... yet hopelessly, painfully far.
Goodbye gran. I'm going to miss you.
| 2014-10-20T02:34:29 | 2014-10-19T20:14:58 | 25 | 10 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
"Who are you? "
"It's me dad, your son, Mark".
"Fuck off, I don't have any sons! Stay away from me, get away, I don't know you!"
"Dad, you're ill, let me help you."
"Fuck off! Leave me alone, I don't know you! Get out of my house!"
"But dad, you came to visit me'.
|
"Damn it all, where is it?" he said, as he scoured the room for the lost item.
He had to find it.
The ring was his only reminder of the better times. Of when he was happy. Of when THEY were happy. Together.
Before she had changed and found somebody else. Before the heartache, the loneliness.
Before the endless depression.
"I just don't love you," she told him, "Not anymore."
He never found the ring.
| 2014-10-20T02:34:29 | 2014-10-19T20:26:59 | 25 | 10 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
"Who are you? "
"It's me dad, your son, Mark".
"Fuck off, I don't have any sons! Stay away from me, get away, I don't know you!"
"Dad, you're ill, let me help you."
"Fuck off! Leave me alone, I don't know you! Get out of my house!"
"But dad, you came to visit me'.
|
I cracked open the textbook, afraid of what I'd find. For the first time in years, though, the equations and underlying theory made sense. Maybe math didn't have to be so awful this semester.
I looked forward to class. I thought I understood, and it felt good. When the teacher returned my homework, I smiled. 10/10.
When the teacher returned my midterm, I did not smile.
Nothing has changed. I'm still a failure.
| 2014-10-20T02:34:29 | 2014-10-19T18:42:07 | 25 | 10 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
A package sits on my doorstep, unopened, slightly damp from the rain.
It's filled with toys, games, books, new clothes. Things a little boy would probably have loved. I wonder if she even tells him about me.
A note is pasted on top, numbing words stamped in red ink, like everything else I've ever sent.
"Return to Sender."
|
Stared into a pair of pale blue eyes, once sparkling and bright. There's a sickening diffuse white beneath them. They are sunken now and the light makes them hurt. They do not reflect me. They do not recognize me.
The eyes of a trapped animal. She's scared... scared and confused. She vanished before me as dementia took away her life and her memories. Her mind is gone and her body will soon follow. She is here, still... yet hopelessly, painfully far.
Goodbye gran. I'm going to miss you.
| 2014-10-20T03:30:23 | 2014-10-19T20:14:58 | 14 | 10 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
A package sits on my doorstep, unopened, slightly damp from the rain.
It's filled with toys, games, books, new clothes. Things a little boy would probably have loved. I wonder if she even tells him about me.
A note is pasted on top, numbing words stamped in red ink, like everything else I've ever sent.
"Return to Sender."
|
"Damn it all, where is it?" he said, as he scoured the room for the lost item.
He had to find it.
The ring was his only reminder of the better times. Of when he was happy. Of when THEY were happy. Together.
Before she had changed and found somebody else. Before the heartache, the loneliness.
Before the endless depression.
"I just don't love you," she told him, "Not anymore."
He never found the ring.
| 2014-10-20T03:30:23 | 2014-10-19T20:26:59 | 14 | 10 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
A package sits on my doorstep, unopened, slightly damp from the rain.
It's filled with toys, games, books, new clothes. Things a little boy would probably have loved. I wonder if she even tells him about me.
A note is pasted on top, numbing words stamped in red ink, like everything else I've ever sent.
"Return to Sender."
|
I cracked open the textbook, afraid of what I'd find. For the first time in years, though, the equations and underlying theory made sense. Maybe math didn't have to be so awful this semester.
I looked forward to class. I thought I understood, and it felt good. When the teacher returned my homework, I smiled. 10/10.
When the teacher returned my midterm, I did not smile.
Nothing has changed. I'm still a failure.
| 2014-10-20T03:30:23 | 2014-10-19T18:42:07 | 14 | 10 |
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