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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] Before receiving the serum that unlocks latent powers, subjects take a battery of tests (physical exam, DNA analysis, a VERY intrusive questionnaire, etc.) to determine their likely abilities. Your testing process drags on and on as you are sent to higher-ranking (and increasingly tense) staff.
|
I was excited. Hell, everyone is on their 25th birthday.
Okay, not everyone. You did have those crazy conspiracy theorists saying that it was a means of governmental tracking given just the right spin to look desirable or whatever. You also had those purity nut-bars who screeched about genetic manipulation polluting the population.
But everyone *normal* was excited to finally be old enough to qualify for the serum.
And so was I.
After all, who wouldn't want to be able to fly? To be able to move things with their mind or set fires or make friends more easily by emitting a soft emotional coziness that made people more content in your presence? and those were just the smaller talents people could gain! There was a woman I had read of that worked for a multi-national corporation whose power was the ability to instantly know with a 92% accuracy when bad weather was going to affect their interests.
I had taken the week off of work to recover and attend the mandated power-controlling classes after the serum took effect. I had shown up bright and early to the Center. I had taken every test, answered every question and sat in the waiting room waiting to be called back.
I had seen dozens enter and exit in the time I sat waiting and each time I asked the receptionists how much longer it would be all they would say is that someone would be with me shortly and could I please return to my seat. Finally, a mere half hour before the center was due to close, I heard my name.
"Vivian Walker?"
The woman who spoke was not one of my previous testers. She had an indefinable air about her that made me think that perhaps she was someone who did not often interact with the day to day life of the Center, a certain lack of fatigue and false cheerfulness common to those who worked with the public.
"I'm Doctor Wood, I have been tasked with administering additional testing. It's nothing to worry about, we get the occasional false result and usually it's cleared up with just one or two additional tests. So if you'll just follow me."
We entered a room not much bigger than the ones in which the medical test had been run but containing unfamiliar equipment that I couldn't even begin to guess at the use for.
I was in that room for two hours, I was attached to just about every machine in that room and as the time passed the doctor and nurse got more and more tense. They muttered between themselves about results and contacting someone named "Einarsson".
I was asked to return the next day when a doctor who specialized in anomalous results would be in. They were quick to reassure me that nothing was physically wrong with me, no cancer, no undiagnosed disease of the brain, no concerning mental health issues. They even joked that perhaps it was simply a glitch in the computer program misreading my results and that Dr. Einarsson would sort it all out the next day.
So I came in the next day and I met Dr Einarsson, an older gentleman with a faded Icelandic accent, and again I was put through numerous tests before I was asked to accompany him and a couple of serious men in dark suits and glasses to another location. It wasn't really a request.
I don't know how long we drove. I couldn't tell you which towns we passed or which roads we went down. The windows had been blacked out the moment we got into that SUV and despite Dr Einarsson's best efforts at conversation I could feel the terror slowly overtake me.
You hear about it sometimes, on the internet and always quickly refuted and labelled a hoax or conspiracy; people who test out as too powerful or dangerous are quietly kidnapped by the government and made to look like they had died in an accident or by suicide or whatever. You hear about blurry photos of super powered individuals involved in black ops that their families swear are their missing sons and daughters. You even hear about these families dying or disappearing if they dig too deep. But that's just the internet, just conspiracies. It doesn't happen in real life, not to real people. Not to ordinary people like me.
And yet there I was, being shuffled into a secret laboratory with military personnel scattered around the walls and new doctors who swarmed close like locusts on green leaves.
All for an answer I no longer wanted; for a serum I was willing to sign the most tightly legally binding contract to avoid taking if it meant I could go home again.
I got the shot anyway, eventually, because it was apparently too good an opportunity to pass up. I was told that they weren't even sure what the serum would do to me, how my power would manifest. I was something called a "true null" and of course they never bothered to explain what that meant.
No, I had to learn that the hard way: by watching a man with flying powers crash and die in agony simply because I walked into the room with him. They had a healer on hand, of course, but they couldn't do anything because I was still right there. It was torture, pure and simple. Torture for the man who died. Torture for the healer who could not access the powers that could have saved him. Torture for me: knowing that despite my own wishes I was the reason this had happened.
I was allowed to attend his funeral. It was nice, I guess. I was not allowed to attend my mother's.
I have my obituary in my wallet, next to a picture of my ex fiance marked with the sight lines of a rifle-scope. I no longer try to contact him.
I go where I am told and do what I am ordered. Mostly I am ordered to simply stay in a room with individuals whose power makes them dangerous and watch as those trained to fight without their powers kill them mercilessly.
And when I can, I sneak on the internet and try to warn others away from taking the serum.
I don't care if you call me a liar, if you say i'm crazy or a conspiracy theorist or whatever. Just, please, keep it in mind that if you go to get your serum and they ask you to come back for more tests: run.
You don't want to know how bad things really are out there for people like us.
|
\[poem\]
*One test, two test, three*
*test four.*
*What a day of testing, its such*
*a bore.*
​
That's all I wrote before ushered into
a deeper room, in this already deep
cavernous office plaza.
Each time handed,
wordlessly,
a pad of paper and told to write.
My offense at the bit of brusqueness
tempered by the near salivating over
the promised check. Money is always
good and money during a pandemic
twice so.
​
So I wrote again:
*The elf loves honey and sweets,*
*she never likes to cook*
*with unfresh beets.*
​
The lab coated woman whispered
to the man standing next to her,
and handed him my writing pad.
With a gasp, he ran out of the room,
his loafers betraying his direction
down the linoleum.
Not my best work, of course,
but I didn't think it so
awful to justify gasps
and sprints!
​
I picked up my pen to write more,
dear reader,
only to find myself handcuffed from behind.
​
My trial, a secret,
the witnesses forced to
reveal my secret. The tribunal,
quick with its verdict.
​
In my cell now, the new guard,
so compassionate and kind,
gifted me a note and pen,
after I cried about
how much
I miss writing
to my sickly mother.
​
But instead I wrote this just for you:
​
*When I write poems reader dear,*
*don't worry so much*
*about your fear,*
*because ten minutes after you read this,*
*something strange appears,*
*death will take you to her infinite bliss.*
​
Now that you've read this,
you also know my secret,
At least
for
Your last ten minutes.
| 2021-10-29T15:33:58 | 2021-10-29T12:56:01 | 120 | 57 |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally.
|
Steven was in his lab when he heard the crash.
It shook his world, sending bottles of cleaning product clattering to the concrete floor. More than one vial of glass broke.
"Jesus Martha!" He screamed. "You leave the stove on again? Martha?"
He blinked, and suddenly he was outside with a bag of blue crystals in one hand. He jingled it merrily. That had to be record time, or perhaps he had forgotten how long it usually took him to get into the yard. Either way, he supposed that this batch was a good one.
A REALLY good one, judging by the thing he saw sitting in a crater on his lawn. It was sliver - or, at least the parts of it that hadn't been charred black looked silver-ish. At one point it might have been sleek, shaped like a squat teardrop, but now it just looked like a mess.
"Martha? You in there?" Steven asked. "This ain't a very funny joke if you is."
If Martha was in the strange thing, she didn't answer. Steven looked at the ring of fire expanding from the crater and frowned. The lawn was no loss - most of it had been dead or dirt anyway - but he couldn't afford a fire in his lab. Might draw suspicion, after all. So he set about trying to stamp it out, not even noticing that he didn't have on his shoes.
He was so preoccupied with cursing at the flames that he didn't even notice when a circular doorway of light appeared in the side of the strange craft. What slumped out of the thing was not Martha, as Steven had supposed, but something far, far stranger. It had a bulbous head, round as a beach ball, with only a single eye covered in strange lumps. It stood tall on three suckered tentacles, a head or two taller than Steven even from inside the crater. It was also, apparently, very drunk.
<Give me...the thing...> It said, the universal translator around its neck slurring the words appropriately. <I need it...just a bit more...>
"Who the hell are you?" Steven asked, whirling around. "I don't recall inviting any guests to come hang about. Get the hell off my prop-"
He caught a glimpse of the creature and stopped mid-sentence. Steven squinted, as if trying to make something out, looked away, and then looked back. Nope. It was still there.
<I smell it!> The creature said. <Give it to me!>
It rose up, extending a tentacle over the top of the crater, and pulled itself free of the wreckage. Steven gave a yelp like a kicked dog.
"Get the hell away from me, you freak 'o nature!" He yelled, backing away. But the thing didn't seem to be in a mood for bargaining.
<Stronger! It smells stronger!> It screeched, opening a rounded spike-filled mouth just under its eye. <Give it to me, tiny thing! Give me your blood!>
It was all Steven could take. He screamed.
"I said go!" He said, fleeing, but the thing was right at his heels.
<Blood! I smell blood!> It crowed, and half-tumbled in his direction. For all of its efforts, it only succeeded at slamming into the side of his garage.
"Watch it!" Steven yelled "There's valuable stuff in there!" But again, the thing ignored him, content to tumble vaguely after him.
Steven ran into the road, trying to put as much distance between himself and the bizarre creature as he could. "I don't want no trouble, just get the hell out of here!" He screamed, running to the tree-lined corner at the end of his street. If he could only get behind it, maybe he had a chance.
<Blood! Blood! It smells good, please! I'm jonesing so hard, I just need a few liters!> It pleaded.
Steven clenched his teeth. It was so close now, slopping up behind him like a rotten octopus. It was too big, too fast - there was no way he could get away. "Lord Jesus, way up in heaven." He said. "I know I ain't been the most Christian of folk, but I swear if you save me I'll do good. I'll change - I won't do no drugs no more, I promise! Please!" He tripped over the side of the steep curve, falling to the dirt, and he knew he was dead.
Fortunately for him, he was wrong. Right at that very moment, a driver came screaming around the corner, barreling ahead without bothering to slow down or look. Behind him, there was a sickening squelch, the screeching of wheels, and a blaring horn as the car collided with something big, wet, and slimy.
Steven looked up, spitting dirt from his mouth, and crowed in victory. "THANK YOU JESUS!" He said, kissing the dirt.
The thing was dead.
"Steven? Did you leave the stove on again?" Cried a woman with rollers in her hair from a nearby window. "What the hell is that thing?"
Steven didn't respond. He was looking at the creature where it lay on the pavement, oozing thick blue blood. It was beautiful, Steven thought. Beautiful and so, so familiar.
Ignoring both his wife and the irate honking of the driver, Steven knealt down in the road beside the thing and dipped a finger in the goo. A clump of it stuck to his nail, glistening like crystal. He stuck it in his mouth and gasped.
"Martha!" he called. "Call the boys and get the buckets! We're gonna be RICH!"
|
John's body stood sprawled on a large metal block, tied down at each limb. His eyes stared down the barrel of an assault rifle. It stared back.
"No more," he screamed, "please!"
The gun sat latched to a bulky naked machine about 20m away. The machines operator was a mysterious dark figure stalking behind a panel of glass even further back.
A high pitched siren rang out and echoed throughout the dimly lit lab.
"Stop!" he pleaded again.
The machine sprung up, almost excitedly, and took careful aim. Another siren. John's body tensed, his eyes threw themselves shut. The trigger clicked followed by the loud blast of a gunshot that pierced John's ears so sharply that all he could hear immediately after was ringing. His muscles clenched tight around every inch, dreading what kind of damage he would see once he looked. One eye squinted open, then the other followed as his head jerked around to check himself. His lungs were throwing air in and out so fast he was sure he would suffocate.
Nothing. They missed on purpose again. Tears began barreling down his face. Uncontrolled sobs flowed out as his hyperventilating kept a steady rhythm.
The ringing in his ears were finally subsiding, just in time to faintly hear the third siren. A needle in John's arm started pumping out blood. There was a long clear tube which carried it along the metal block and out of sight.
"No good," yelled an annoyed voice from a corner of the lab. "They'll never accept such un-pure crap."
"Thats too bad. This one actually looked quite promising when he first came in," another faceless voice added.
"Looks like we'll actually have to start putting some bullets in em' now."
John went limp. His soul broken.
"Welp, lets get this over with," the first voiced sighed.
The siren rang out, followed by a gunshot.
| 2017-02-28T20:48:48 | 2017-02-28T19:50:36 | 56 | 31 |
[WP] Aliens prefer term "prey animals", Humans prefer term "herbivores". A group of alien hunters, hunting on Earth, painfully discovered why.
|
”I’m still not sure I understand,” the alien questioned. His two left hands gestured wildly at the horse in front of him. “Why don’t we hunt this one?”
The guide’s mustache twitched, his human eyes inscrutable under that large brimmed hat.
“Cause that’s a horse. We domesticated ‘em. It’s….” He sighed. “It’s ‘cause Betty,” he continued, speaking slowly, “Is a friend.”
The large equine blinked stoically in the alien’s face. He - Squib - blinked back, before the horse returned to passively grazing.
Shrugging, Squib turned away from the lanky beast, and surveyed the landscape beyond them. The collection of residential structures for humans and domesticated prey creatures - “livestock”, as the brochures had described them - was often called a “ranch”, according to his guide. This guide - an older human with leathery skin and hair on his face - was named “Jacks”, and was, so far, quite inscrutable. This “ranch” sat atop a hill in an otherwise heavily wooded area, and the view it afforded its residents was quite breathtaking.
The largest common flora on the planet - “trees” - covered the rolling and jagged landscape around them in a carpet of pointy green. The skies were of a rich blue, the clouds here - free of the taint of pollution or otherwise artificial modification - were the soft white of pure hydrogen-oxygen compounds.
Truly, this must have been the most untouched, natural place on this small planet.
This was the reason for Squib’s visit.
A proud expert on xeno-cultures, it was paramount to his understanding of a society’s evolutionary path for him to experience some of its peoples’ earliest encounters. How would they handle other predator species? How did they interact with their prey species?
While lanky and thin, Squib was proud of the first-hand field experience he had accumulated over his years of research and study, despite his less than imposing physical stature. He had been on numerous hunts over the course of his career. And as such, he had hired Jacks, the “ranch” manager, to assist him in gathering the same experience from earth!
Perhaps he would use one of these archaic human rifles to shoot a “bird”, or a “deer”, or perhaps one of the big ones that Jacks had warned caution of: something called a “moose”. Such a variety of prey species! He could barely contain himself! If opportunity presented itself, he would shoot them all!
“‘Ey,” Jacks called, interrupting his revery. “I need to grab some of the packs and another horse. Keep an eye on Betty, holler if she acts up.”
Squib laughed.
“If the prey beast misbehaves, we’ll take it and call the hunt early!”
Jacks narrowed his eyes, but only shook his head before walking away.
Squib for his part, looked over the ranch once more. To the far end, a few smaller quadrupeds with large yellow eyes and bony protrusions from their heads - they seemed to push each other about, competing for a pile of feed. Not far from them, in another fenced off portion of the land, a larger quadruped - like this “horse”, but slightly shorter and fatter - took water from a large trough. Off toward the periphery of the area, near a small structure, a feathered biped produced clucking noises, and led a troop of smaller, fuzzy copies of itself across the dirt.
In fascination, Squib watched this feathery, orange creature cluck its way across the drive. Its motions were darting, fast, almost twitchy. How strange for its feeding motions to be so darting and exact, whereas most prey he had seen were slower, cautious. After all - it’s not like the flora would avoid the incoming doom!
On and on this orange biped came, closer and closer, with its entourage of peeping, squeaking young - a dozen bright yellow sprites, swarming and bouncing and weaving around their mother’s feet.
As they came within a few meters of him, something caught the hen’s eyes. The movement caught Squib’s as well. An insect - angular, green, with prominent legs. It was huge - colossal, by the alien’s estimation! It must have been the size of the last joint on his outermost finger! Horrifying!
The hen, however, had a different emotional response. She darted over towards the visitor, speeding towards the insect - and within moments it was over. The little hen’s beak grabbed the grasshopper, and with terrible brutality, slammed it into the ground - rubbing her beak along the gravel to break it apart. Within a second or two, the entire insect was gone, fully consumed.
Squib stood silently, horror enveloping his expression.
*What in the name of the primordial gods is this?*
He felt his bile rise, and he fought the urge to vomit. This… This prey thing… Just *ate* another creature!!! Prey!!!
He stood, frozen in shock, as the little ones scrambled to adapt to the change. Their mother had darted away, and confusion filled the empty space. Some of them had scrambled to follow her, some had scattered off, and a few stood still, confused and lost.
Movement again caused the alien’s attention to divert elsewhere. One of the chicks that had scattered from the panic erred towards the tall quadruped nearby - the “Betty”, as Jacks had called it. The creature still grazed passively, its large brown eyes absorbing the surroundings as it worked.
The little biped scrambled, zigging and zagging with no destination in mind.
The “Betty” took two long strides towards it.
The grazing passed over the bright yellow sprite.
And when the grazing passed, the chick was gone.
The Betty picked its head from the ground, still grinding its teeth, working on consuming the efforts of its grazing.
It turned its head towards Squib, its dark eyes simply watching.
The alien screamed. It was a gut wrenching, primordial scream, a reaction to a horror of eldritch capacity, incomprehensible terror.
The horse reacted to the scream as most would - it jerked backwards, its ears going flat in fear and displeasure.
Squib, it would seem, had just enough evolutionary history in common to recognize the indication of a tense or angry earth creature.
When Jacks returned, sprinting across the ranch, he found only Betty, grazing twenty meters from where she’d started, and a foul-smelling trail of liquid to where the alien’s transport had once been.
The rancher’s mustache twitched.
Probably best they hadn’t gone for the moose after all.
|
Sprax stood shocked at the front of the group, a trembling rifle in it's many hands. If it were to be human, it's heart would be in its throat and stomach dropped out beneath it. It was somehow worse than going on a roller coaster, knowing it had been designed and built by the humans.
Before the group of alien hunters was the tattered remains of their friend- Pefin. Their body chomped in half by the famed hippopotamus. Although their databases had classed this beast as "prey animal" based upon the humans slightly inferior classing system of "herbivore" it was clear they were mistaken greatly.
The group had been "lazing around" waiting for a predator to show up so they could partake in the sport of hunting. It something humans used partake it a lot, though now had been severely limited. Then, the beast had taken Perfin by surprise, diving into the water, like so many others, but having emerged from the water, like a deviled dog. It bared it's yellowing teeth and Perfin, it's leathery body similar to the Xhfarians and shook it's head.
Perfin had been the hardest of them all, and raised their hands up to great in equal measure, but the beast lunged. Splatter and screams had presumed swiftly as their friend was dismembered beyond comprehension. Although still connected by their two spines, the flesh had pulled apart and severed from top to bottom.
Beady eyes met the group; dripping in blood, it took a step forward; its mouth began to swing open once again, but now it's yellow teeth were stained green from Perfin's blue blood. They held their collective breath before the loud rumbling of a jeep bustled in the distance. Atop, their guide and human companion- Steve. Steve was waving his hands frantically, calling for them to run, to hide behind a rock, to not run in a straight line.
The group moved to obey, scrambling limbs, teary eyes, panicked running and the beast loomed above their friend, wearing their blood in pride before returning to its bloat. Sprax got onto the back of the truck, sliding down its back and shaking quietly. Steve didn't crouch down beside it. Instead, he kept his eyes on the river, watching the bloat but knowing if it stampeded towards them, they would have to make a hasty escape.
"Why- why would you claim that that [UNKNOWN VOCABULARY] is a herbivore‽ It- it tore up my friend!“ Sprax looked tearfully up at Steve and pitifully Steve looked down to meet his gave for a moment.
"They'e go'en smar'er my friend. Since the West threw down all those biological weapons at the Chinese mining sites; it's affected all the animals. No longer omnivores, 'stead, they graze the grass we run on. Locals say since the anthrax dwindled their numbers, they learnt, jus' like you or I."
Sprax looked despairingly into their hands, curling up tight as other members of the hunting party made their way into the truck and as the final head count was made, everyone mourned the loss of a brilliant friend. Sprax wondered what other beasts could appear docile, yet wreck so much destruction.
| 2022-08-16T19:14:35 | 2022-08-16T14:50:21 | 203 | 88 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
Most five year olds had budding x-ray vision, telepathy or super strength.
She did not.
Superpowers differed in their ability and strength, which was why she had an older sister who could outrun a cheetah and a friend next door who could light his own birthday candles.
And still her powers did not reveal themselves.
Though when at aged seven the neighbour boy almost burnt down his house, leaving his only brother with third degree burns – she thought maybe superpowers weren’t all they’d cracked up to be.
&nbsp;
It was only late in her primary schooling that it became apparent she had powers at all.
She struggled with the paper – trying to wrench it from the printer’s plastic jaws.
“It works better if you ask it nicely.” the librarian told her.
She answered this request with all the verve of a trusting child.
“Please mister photocopier,” she implored, “Won’t you print for me?”
With a ka-thunk it jolted into action.
&nbsp;
It was not the most thrilling of powers, and upon discovering it, her life continued as normal. She may as well have had no powers at all. Talking to inanimate objects, who sometimes decided to obey her, did not compare to the heroic feats of her classmates.
&nbsp;
Looking over the fence one day, she met the brother with the burns digging in the garden. She hadn’t seen him outside of his house, or out of his bandages, and his face was a shock.
She didn’t know what to say about his burns, so she ignored them.
“Is your brother around?” she asked him.
“No.” he grumbled back, retuning to his task.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Digging.” He replied.
“Why?”
“I’m planting an apple tree.” He said, nodding towards a packet of little seeds.
“You don’t look very happy about it.” She observed.
“I wanted a lemon tree.” He said, “Mum wanted apples.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why would you want lemons?” she asked.
“Because I want to make lemonade.” He told her.
She hesitated, thinking.
“Can I see?” she asked, gesturing towards the bright packet.
He shrugged and handed it to her.
She poured the seeds into her cupped hands and shook them the way one shakes a wishing-well-coin.
“Be lemons.” she whispered, “Be lemons.”
&nbsp;
They were friends from the first time a lemon appeared from an apple blossom.
&nbsp;
He didn’t like going out during the day much, preferred to stay at home away from the stares. But sometimes he’d go out at night, and one warm summer evening he took her to the lookout near the cliffs. You could see the whole town from here, and he distracted her from the queasy feeling in her stomach by abusing his power a little.
“Watch this.”
With a wave of his hand, the town was plunged into darkness.
She’d never seen stars so bright.
&nbsp;
While most heroes found their archenemies in mad scientists, or supervillians her greatest nemesis was in the form of the print-and-copy stapler.
Her assignment was due in minutes, and already she’d have to run to get it in on time.
“Work!” She scolded it, a tangle of bent staples her only return. “Work you great lump of useless ore!”
The stapler began shaking like mad, the metal glowed red-hot and she flung it from her before it burst in a hail of staples. The poor librarian cried out in pain, covering her eye.
Scratched cornea, the doctors said.
So she decided, that maybe even the most pathetic of powers weren’t all they’d cracked up to be.
Concerned that future shrapnel might be more dangerous than staples, she vowed not to use her powers – however useless.
&nbsp;
“I’m going to be a villain.” He told her one day.
She laughed, and the light globe above them flickered.
“I’m serious.” He said.
“Because you recently bought real-estate inside a volcano?” she asked facetiously.
He didn’t laugh.
“Because of my scars.” He told her.
&nbsp;
It was raining on the night of the senior dance.
Not that it mattered to a junior.
A hurried knocking at her window ended with a boy in a soaking tux dripping on her carpet.
Something must have happened, because her normally calm friend grabbed her hard and lightening flashed overhead.
“Make me handsome,” he pleaded, his freezing hands clutched at her wrists. “Make them *like* me.”
Her power was useless and her throat was tight.
“I-”
“Just try!”
She had promised not to use it anymore.
“I know what you did to the apple tree- you can change me, you can!”
She took his face in her hands and closed her eyes. Instilling in her words, all the wishing her heart could take, she broke her promise.
“You’ll have something better than beauty,” she told him, and behind her closed eyelids she didn’t see how his features brightened. “You will be loved.”
He threw her hands back at her.
“Loved?” he spat, “What use is love when no-one will be near enough to know me?”
As he jumped the fence, he turned his back on her and the only comfort she knew how to give.
&nbsp;
He never forgave her for that. For his revealing to her his most secret heartache, and for her being unable or unwilling to help.
He began by closing his blinds, determined to shut her away as well as the world.
Then he refused to look at her when she passed him in the street. Eventually his mother told her to stop calling.
She didn’t hear from him in years.
&nbsp;
Coma.
He was in a coma.
Tried to hang himself is what his mother sobbed over the phone.
He left a note. Couldn’t face a world that was repulsed by him.
She didn’t think he’d want to see her, but he was in no condition to complain.
Around the tubes and beeps she took his hand and broke her vow for him a second time.
“You will not try again.” She told him.
And he didn’t.
The next time she went to his house, all she could see was danger. Sharp knives, gas-filled ovens, rope-like bedsheets.
“You will not help him.” she told the empty house. “You won’t.”
In the end he did not try again, in fact, he did not try for anything again.
It was months later that it happened. By which time he’d just faded away.
Too tired to try and breathe.
&nbsp;
Once, a long time ago it seemed, she told him he would be loved. It was not until she placed lemon-scented blossoms on his coffin that she realised that the person who loved him might have been her.
&nbsp;
She surveyed the twinkling lights, and the starless black. The wind whipped though her hair.
“Goodbye,” she told the world, “It’s time to go.”
With a running leap, she left.
And took everything with her.
|
I was happy once. Before the testing of powers began i still had friends. We laughed and played as equals. I had crushes on cute girls and i think some had crushes on me. Ingorant bliss was our collective state of mind.
But that all changed when the Fire Nation attacked. It was unexpected, swift, and brutal. But the shock of the thousands killed in the first onslaught took backstage to the confusion as to who this self-proclaimed "Fire Nation" actually was.
While governments around the world rushed to provide aid to Djibouti, they were much more concerned with determining what this threat actually was and how to stop it.
A cataclysmic explosion had rocked South America. Even registering on the Richter scale. Satellite images showed thousands of burnt homes. Dead strewn in the streets. Not an inch of the land within the blast not scorched and blackened. But of all the damage, there was only one fire still lit. In giant towering letters "The Fire Nation Has Struck. We Will Not Be Ignored" was etched in flame to the hard, caked, earth. The grave warning has, to this day, survived all attempts to extinguish it.
That was the day joy left my life. Since that day, I have not smiled. Because while the worldwide war against a largely unknown enemy rages to this day, I alone among the general popoluce know the truth of the situation. It is not a burden one should bear at the tender age of six. It is not fair to hear those tortured souls screaming in your dreams.
I never told anyone about my power. No one seemed to care too much. It didnt show up on any of the tests. It didn't manifest until the day of the tragedy, when everyone else was also so greif-stricken and scared. Even if i told someone i doubt they would take me seriously. The power to know the past has no use outside of a History class, right?
They've never seen in grotesque detail all the death the world has conjoured up. They've never heard the depraved rantings of serial killers to their victims. They've never felt the acid from biological weapons fill their lungs. I have. I have felt every once of suffering this world has ever known. A burden bourne on my shoulders alone. People try to make light of their life by dwelling on past successes but the pleasure the world has produced is far outweigted by the pain.
I know who struck that fatal blow. I know who caused this war. You see, the Fire Nation doesn't exist. Sure, imposter gangs have sprung up to take the fame attributed to the title but they are not cohesive.
You see, with the advent of superpowers, religion was able to hold less and less say among its followers. No religion had predicted the rise of countless prophets so the skepticism some held for God soon became a worldwide movement.
For a while, we knew peace. Brother no longer had reason to hate brother beyond who they were as a person. Sure, people grew up in different areas, but there was no more religious hate.
Peace is unprofitable for some.
We have known nothing but war for so long that when peace came, those in power secretly panicked. They needed stability. They needed an enemy to rally their people behind. And thus, the fictitious Fire Nation was formed to provide an unseen enemy to chase around the ends of the earth. No one questioned when taxes increased for war. They were keepong us safe. No one questioned the constant surveillance. After all, the Fire Nation might have an operative in your neighborhood. No one remembered the Time of Peace. No one except me.
| 2015-04-12T22:10:23 | 2015-04-12T21:13:08 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
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I stared down at the men levelling their blades at me. I spied several of the palace guard amidst the swelling ranks in my throne room. I turned to my head guard for assistance and was met his sword leveled at me.
"Really Hector? A coup? How bold." I smiled blithely down the blade before turning back to the crowd. "And Doctor Leach too? I didn't know you had it in you. And is that old Captain Hulm? Well, blow me... Come on the, do tell... Who was the mastermind of all this?" A pause hung heavy between us. "Don't be shy... I'm *impressed*." A short runt of boy was pushed forth, the crowd closing behind him. Separated from his legion he looked weak and weedy, clutching his sickle like his life depended on it. He probably thought it did. Poor kid.
"Dark L-lord Azimuth of Duskbridge. W-w-we come, ah, before you, to... ummm."
"I'll wait." I grinned. This only flustered the poor whelp even further. He looks back at the stonefaced mob behind him. He sighed, before raising his sickle and proclaiming,
"Dark Lord Azimuth, We have come before you to defend our rights as citizens and put an end to your tyranny."
"That's a noble sentient. I'd probably have been more worried if you *weren't* shaking like a leaf. A+ for effort though." I stand to gave him a round of applause. Everyone in the room tightened their grip on their weapons. "Oh, for godsake, lower your weapons. You'll have someone's eye out."
"We will not be mock, Azimuth." A voice boomed from the crowd.
"Me? Mocking? *Wouldn't dream of it*." I raised an eyebrow, "Now... what was it you wanted?"
"Your head on a spike and your tyranny gone from this land!" The same voice bellowed.
"My good sir, I do believe you're drunk. Now, anyone sober, what do you hope to gain from deposing me?"
I walked up to the head of the crowd. I leaned in closer. Long black robe trailing behind, I paced. "Anyone?"
"War."
I spun. It was Hector. "War, Hector? Why? To what end? Because you of all people know it's never war for the sake of war." I rolled my eyes. "It's because people *want* something. So I'll ask again. What *exactly* do you people want?"
"Freedom." It was the boy, his sickle hung limply at his side as he shrugged, almost like he wasn't sure of his motivation himself.
"Ok, freedom. Good. But freedom from what, exactly? What oppression do you know in your day to day lives?" I returned to my throne.
"Freedom from your evil tyranny."
"See, you keep using that word... Tyranny. You think me a *tyrant*? I am no such thing. A tyrant is one who rules with an Iron Fist over a domain he has no claim to. I do Neither. I have not been harsh on my people. I have been a merciful, dare I say kind, ruler. And as to claim, I inherited the crown from my father, he from his, he from his and he won it in a poker game from a man who inherited it from his. The crown and land are mine, because their previous owner said so. Look it up, I have a legal claim to all this land. I own all your homes, all your businesses, all your livelihoods and I could evict you if I so chose. But I don't. I don't even demand excessive taxes. I offer social welfare and state subsidised education. Does that sound tyrannical to you? What about the justice system? A fair trial to be judged by an impartial judge and a jury of your peers. I'd like to say that sounds just and fair, right? We don't even demand military service in exchange for your rights. Dear Gods, I'm almost *too* generous."
"You are an evil and wicked man!" The boy's voice wavered.
"Am I? Sorry, must have missed a memo. But what exactly do I do, or fail to do, that gives you justification to call me that?"
"You levelled three whole streets on Riverside just last week." He cried out.
"The housing was no longer up to standard and a drake infestation made the entire area a fire hazard. The citizens have been relocated."
"To the bone orchard." One of them muttered.
"No, to a community housing area in the northern quarter." I sighed.
"You allow, no, *welcome* Alchemists and Necromancers into your court."
"*Scientists* and *Medics*." I corrected.
"They're experimenting on corpses!"
"How else are they to study anatomy? I couldn't very well condone letting inexperienced medical students loose on *living* citizens, could I?"
"What about the way you dabble with black magic?" Yelled the drunkard from the back of the crowd.
"Not magic. Science."
"Your jester made a joke at your expense a few days ago, no one's heard from him since." Another called out.
"He came down with a nasty flu. Doctor Leach can back me up here. He's recovering, which is just as well. Things have been so very dull without him."
"You introduce yourself as Dark Lord Azimuth of Duskbridge, Dreadmaster of the Midknight Guard. Come on, admit it, you are Evil."
"The Title came with the crown. There are seven Dark Lords under the High King, and not one of them is tyrannical. Each of the seven darklands has a democratic consil, a social safety net and free health care. That's why its a *Dark* Lord, by the way, because I rule a Darkland. I can't just change name of my position."
"You... you..." they struggled for a justification.
Finally, "You, uh, wear... an awful lot of skulls for a, ummm, not-evil Dark Lord? All the crown jewls are skull shaped too. Your throne is decorated with them."
"That," I said, nodding sagely, "Is becase Skulls look *Awesome*."
|
Ahhh. The perks of being a Dark Lord. Well, Lady, in Ashara's case. After a long day of politicking, it was nice to be able to just sit up here in her solar with a book and nice glass of wine.
And then she heard the panicked, running footsteps. She sighed, carefully marked her page in the book, and set it down carefully on the table.
"My Lady!" Tefren was small for his age, but fast, and that was all that mattered. "Lords Rowan and Ash are on their way to the castle right now! They say that there's a "grave matter of honour" that must be judged by you. Tonight!"
Ashara scowled. And she had JUST gotten comfortable! Drat these men and their piddling problems.
She eyes Tefren darkly. "You know what to do."
Tefren bobbed his head once in acquiescence, then sped to the drawers at the back of the study.
Ashara's scowl faded as her matronly maidservant, Agnes, poked her head into the room. "Will you be wearing the blue tonight, my Lady?"
"With the purple amethysts and cloak, yes. Send Sara with the paints and powders as soon as she is able."
Tefren, bless the boy, had already replaced all the ordinary candles in the room with treated ones that would burn with an eerie, crackling blue flame. It was a windy night, and opening the shutters let in a pleasantly ominous keening sound.
Then came time to change. For some reason, Dark Ladies were supposed to favour painfully restrictive corsets. While fun at first, Ashara was just starting to feel a little ridiculous. Agnes laughed at the look on her mistress's face as she finished lacing her in. "All the better to distract them with your feminine wiles, my Lady."
"They'd better, I'm falling out of this top," Ashara grumbled, as Sara set to her makeup. Dark eyes, dark lips.
As Agnes settled the long robe over her shoulders, Ashara glanced at herself in the polished silver behind her. Hmm. For some reason Dark Ladies never went out of style.
"Well! I guess we're ready then. Send them in."
| 2017-06-12T11:17:27 | 2017-06-12T08:41:41 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] People are born with a number on their wrist. Everyone assumes it's like a popularity score, but a single person realizes it's the number of people who will attend their funeral.
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It was a weird day when the first kids were born with the numbers on the backs of their wrists. Nobody could explain it, but within a decade or two, those numbers had divided the world. The folks with the high numbers-- some in the thousands-- were treated as rock stars from birth, as though there were destined for nothing less than fame and stardom.
If you were above hundred, people took another look at you. People put it on their resumes. When you were a "wristie", doors opened. Crowds parted. Whispers followed.
There were other benefits, too-- the statisticians crunched the numbers to try and find correlations. On average, people with higher numbers lived longer. They had more children. They were less likely to come from broken families. They reported greater happiness in life (who wouldn't?).
The numbers didn't seem to be evenly-portioned-out, either-- the larger numbers in particular tended to jump around a lot. 100 or so was uncommon, and 1000 was rare-- but rarer still were the people between 100 and 1000. Most people were nowhere near a thousand. Heck, it was a point of pride if you had even had a relative with in the "four digit club". Typical folks were in the teens to the low thirties-- most people came in at a 16 or 17.
As is human nature, we resorted to a new sort of tribalism within a few short years. An informal caste system was born. Numbers were recorded on birth certificates. People took to staring at hands, not eyes.
In the beginning, terrified parents of a child with a 0 or a 1 or 2 would rush to fake another number, hoping to spare their children (and themselves) the shame. A 2 was shameful, but a 12 was at least respectable. A 1 or a 0 could be turned into a 10. But no parent was foolish enough to try for *two* more digits.
Even so, it never worked. We found out quickly that the tattoos always faded within a day or two.
The exclusive clubs toward the top (folks with 6 or more digits) had the easiest time excluding others. They had groups of zeroes and ones to act as security and to handle the crowds. Cults of personality were massive-- many were philanthropists, but more than a few of them were cruel tyrants. If you weren't a super-wristie, you probably wouldn't get the chance to meet one in person.
The folks in the 3-digit club tended to be a bit more down-to-earth. They took their numbers as sort of responsibility: giving advice to lower numbers, volunteering at charities designed to help the people with lower numbers. They were generally good folks: ready to laugh, quick with a joke, generous, and loving. It was easy to see how they became popular.
The lower numbers are where the real class warfare was fought. Every multiple of ten was a dividing line, and you didn't dare challenge somebody two lines above your own. A 20 telling a 70 what's right? Please. If you were so smart, why are you such an *unknown*?
It was the folks with a big fat goose egg on their arms, though, who were looked upon as the worst of the worst. A zero couldn't hold a job. A zero was lazy or stupid. A zero was a runaway or a crack fiend or a criminal. Nobody felt compelled to help a zero. A super-wristie's death was front-page news, but a zero wouldn't even make the obituaries.
It wasn't until I saw the zero die in the church that things started to change. He was homeless. He had come in to give confession. Shortly after walking out of the confessional, he went to lie down on a bench for a nap-- priests and ministers knew how society treated zeroes, and a church pew was often the only place a zero could sleep without harassment.
He suddenly began sobbing and calling out for his mother. It was heart-wrenching to hear a grown man cry that way. The priest called for an ambulance, but before they could arrive, he had doubled over and stopped breathing. He was gone.
The medics made an attempt to save him, but gave it up quickly. It was no mystery why effort was so perfunctory. The coroner came to take the body.
I asked Father Edwin who the man was. The man was unknown. A John Doe. Unclaimed and unloved, likely to be cremated and disposed of. But a good man, I was told-- he had never resorted to drugs, never stolen to feed himself. He had worked the few jobs available to a zero, and Father Ed felt horrible that such a good man would go unremembered. After talking it over, he offered a favor if I would return it.
So I claimed the body. I lied to the coroner. I called him my lost brother. I filled out the death certificate with a name I made up, and I took him back to the church. He had a simple coffin. He was dressed shabbily in a ratty old suit that came from the donation box out back of the church. A few strings had been pulled with the local funeral home, and a burial plot and simple headstone were found.
During the Mass, Father Ed talked about compassion. He talked about camels and eyes of needles. He talked about honesty and integrity.
When I walked up to pay my last respects, I stood in silence for a moment. Then I looked down. His number had changed to two.
That's when things began to change.
|
Dave always thought he'd have to do something great with his life. His wrist tag number was so high, 1,456,476,897. No-one had ever had one so big, what would someone have to do to be so utterly adored? Free energy for all? End world hunger? The best porno ever created?
The expectation weighed on Dave. He'd wake up every night, sweating, with dreams of grandeur turning to nightmares as he knew he'd never be able to live up to the popularity that was his birthright.
Slowly, the expectation turned to bitterness. He'd never be that number, so screw it, and screw everyone else. Dave did have one skill though: biomedical innovation. Perhaps that was it - a perfect vaccine, or a cure for cancer, even immortality. Dave tried them all, but all were a failure and lead to the exact opposite of what he needed. So opposite, in fact, that 'Dave's Serum' was the most toxic and contagious substance ever created.
In a fit of despair, Dave breached containment. It was a Tuesday. By Thursday afternoon, Dave's Serum had infected 78% of the world's population. By Friday, almost 100%. The following Monday, people began to die. Not quickly, nor quietly, but slowly in agonising and vocal pain. Not everyone succumbed, but everyone lost someone.
Those that were left looked for answers, and they found their man. It wasn't his fault, but someone had to hang. And it had to be public. So they watched, they all watched, and they cheered with whatever cruel satisfaction they had left. All 1,456,476,897 of them.
| 2016-05-28T04:19:58 | 2016-05-27T18:15:15 | 204 | 28 |
[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans
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It’s been like this for centuries now. Why does it have to change?
Yeah, I’m a stuck-up. Yes, I very much dislike the idea of seeking help from humans who are much different than us. Earth itself is divided into two societies with the rule of thumb that prevents the two from ever interacting with one another.
I myself think that we should stay separated forever, but ever since half of the superpower side of the world, my side of the world, has turned into supervillains it eliminated a large part of our society and our superhero numbers are dwindling.
And now, as one of the highest ranking remaining heroes I was chosen to go seek help from our... lesser versions of us: the non-powered humans.
I angrily kicked a rock as I approached the border, the land looking like a ghost town since no one has barely ever set foot here. It was weird.
“They’re non-powered. How can they help? This is so stupid.”
I paused when I reached the border, the faint tint of purple in the air was like a wall between both worlds. I took a step back, knowing that I could turn back now when I had the chance. Then I remembered the villains, the destruction of society, the death of my friends, my home... gone.
Whatever.
I took a breath and stepped through with tightly closed eyes, only opening them when I heard a weird clicking sound.
“Hands in the air!”
“Eh? What? What’s going on?”
People in odd suits of black and cameo holding weird yet threatening looking weapons surrounded me, the white words ‘BORDER PATROL’ lined across their chests.
“Hands up! Who are you? Why have you come?” I didn’t know what they were capable of, so I was being cautious and did what I was told. Someone was slowly inching towards me, the same person who gave me those commands.
“I- uh, I’m here from the other side of the world. My name is Maximum, I come here on behalf of the Superhero Society Council, I’m sure you’ve heard of them. If you could just lower your weapons, I’ll explain everything.”
I stared into their weird- looking goggles,waiting for them to realize that I wasn’t a threat.
The person who I assumed was their commander came a little closer and patted me down, probably checking to make sure I didn’t have anything dangerous on me. They raised their arm and made a fist, the rest instantly lowered their weapons.
“Follow me.” Silence accompanied us both as I followed the mysterious person. I noticed the land here was the same on the other side, but as we ventured further into the non-powered world it changed dramatically.
Odd hardened grey paths with weird markings winded across the land, and in the distance I caught sight of lights and buildings that scraped the sky. “Hey. Get in.”
The person took off their helmet that covered their face, revealing a young woman as she opened something that looked like a giant hunk of metal... with wheels.
“That doesn’t look sketchy at all. I don’t want to get into something that looks like it’s going to eat me alive. No way.”
“Ah, then if you can fly at 150 kilometres an hour to a place that would take days to walk to, then use your magical superpowers, be my guest and follow me.”
“Whoa- hey wait! I don’t fly. That’s not what I do.” She stopped and gave me a sly smile before sliding into the weird metal thing from the other side.
“Then get in you weirdo. Let me know what your abilities are.” I sighed. What was the worst that could happen.
I shut the door and sat down, mimicking the movements of the woman as she strapped herself in.
“Can this thing really go 150 kilometres an hour?”
“Nope. It can go even faster. Just don’t piss yourself.”
The thing rumbled to life, and a flash of adrenaline ran through my veins as I felt it run along the grey strip. It was terrifying to be in something that could kill you with just one hit.
“I’m assuming you don’t have this in your freakish world? This is called a car. It’s powered by electricity and runs on gas. I’ll get into the details of it later. For now, tell me what your powers are.”
I didn’t realize I was gripping onto the leather seat of this ‘car’ and slid my hands underneath my thighs. “It’s complicated. I’ll show you non-powered humans what we can do when this car stops.”
“Fair enough. And you know what, I’ll show you freaks what humans are capable of when we use our minds.”
The competitive atmosphere reminded me of back in my side of the world when the supervillains were starting to take over, showing who had the best powers and who had more strength. But this was a little different. It was a friendly competitiveness. I kinda liked it.
“We’re here. Pull that handle next to you to open the door.”
I followed her out of the car, taking in the size of the building that loomed over me. It was so different, so unique. The inside was just as interesting as the outside, but I wasn’t going to let myself admit that. I played it cool and kept a bored expression on my face.
She swung open the door and gestured for me to enter the room. I did and came face to face with about a dozen people sitting at a wooden table. One of them asked, “General Cici, who’s this?”
The woman, Cici, stood beside me. “This is Ma-“
“My name is Maximum. I come from the other world and represent the Superhuman Society Council on their behalf. I have come with a request.” I heard her scoff but ignored it. This was urgent. I already wasted enough time as it is. I had to get help as soon as possible.
“Ah. This is exactly what we were waiting for. Come Mr. Maximum, this way please.”
My eyes darted to Cici who nodded, and I followed the man who took me into another room. “What did you mean back there? Was my arrival expected?”
The man shook his head. “No, but the situation was expected. We know your society is on the brink of collapsing, so yes, we are willing to lend help.”
The corridor was long, and the man walked a really slow pace. “Then, why give help to a society that you haven’t had contact with in centuries?”
With a spin on his heel, he faced me. “Just because your kind has superpowers it doesn’t make you any less human. Now, Cici will show you to the military unit. She’ll provide you with the help you need there.” He opened another door that had stairs going down to an underground base.
Cici leaned against the wall, twirling keys around her finger. “You ready to see what we’ve come up with these past few centuries?” She entered the key into a unit on the wall, and a sound of a mechanical whirring was heard as shelves upon shelves of weapons similar to the ones he saw before all lined up and shining.
“It’s been a while since we’ve fought in a battle. We’ve got the soldiers, we’ve got the weapons. Is this good enough for you freaks?” She teased, aiming a weapon at the wall before firing it.
For the first time today, I smiled. “This is enough. Actually, this is more than enough.”
“Heh. We’ve got more tricks up our sleeves. Don’t underestimate us. Come on, we’ve got a war to fight.”
————-
This is really bad tbh. And really long. Lol sorry. But let me know what you think!!!!
|
For among them, was one of us. One who, disenfranchised and disillusioned, crossed over. One who could pass as non-powered; when in fact, he held the power more relevant to the crisis before us today than any other superhero.
In the dark corners of the internet and of non-human society, whispers of Negation's existence waxed and waned, but never fully extinguished. The most heartening snippets on Reddit, from an anonymous account, the Wanderer, offered the most credible information from an individual who seemed to be close with Negation, the superhero who always "felt he had a foot in each world" and "that he would never truly fit into either".
There had been many signs that Negation was a real person. There were many occasions where superhero and supervillain alike claimed their powers suddenly ceased functioning. What was initially chalked up as anomaly and superstition became undeniable a year ago, when Hurricane inexplicably fell mid-flight to his death on the streets of Manhattan. Each side, superhero and supervillain alike, struggled with the terrifying prospect that Negation was secretly supporting one side or the other.
It was clear now, this renegade, this dissident, was the only help left for what was good and right in the world. With ordinary people at his side, a super like Negation could effortlessly reduce every supervillain in existence to a mundane, ordinary version of him or herself. It was ironic that, in the end, the only super power that held any hope was the super power that nullified all super powers.
Negation, where are you? The world needs you.
\---
"What's your name?" the man asked, standing there in Sear's office, clutching the matte gray costume in his hand as he glanced down at it again, eying the black, hexagonal polygon sown into the chest region, a large white zero, centered in it, with a slash through it. The contrast of colors seemed intended to intimidate any super who saw it. Sear stood there, troubled by his question, furrowing a brow as she tightened her crossed arms and answered him, "It's Sear..." The man sighed as he glanced up at her, "That's not what I meant." His sense of calm was unnerving to Sear. As he took a moment to soak in the sight of her standing in the tight, red and yellow leather costume, Sear realized what he intended with his last question but before she could speak he tossed the costume he was holding back onto her desk and muttered, "I'm not wearing this crap."
As he turned to leave her office she followed, reaching for the back of his arm, "It's fine--" she blurted out, anxious about losing his support when he stopped to look at her in the center of reception. His eyes passed from Sear, to another two superheroes who were sitting on a comfortable couch, and over to a receptionist who was, herself, undoubtedly a superhero. "My name is Charles, you can call on me anytime, but I'm not going on camera or doing any of those ridiculous publicity stunts." Mind, one of the superheroes on the couch, shifted uneasily in his seat as he was divorced from the familiarity of his power for the first time in his life. Now, more than ever, he was desperate to read person's mind. Charles' mind. Feat, who was sitting next to him, rose up and stretched an arm, a glisten in his eye as he nodded at Charles, "That's fine. Anything you need really, anything we can do to make you comfortable," he said. What was unspoken was the desire he had to feel someone shake his hand; something he hadn't tried again since the time he'd inadvertently crushed another man's hand in his grip.
| 2021-01-29T09:58:01 | 2021-01-29T09:57:10 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] You are the Chosen One's sibling. The prophet regards you with suspicion and fear, and keeps trying to teach you about the value of loyalty and familial love.
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"Come on Lucas!" My brother yells to me from halfway up the cliff side. "Just climb." I can feel my resent grow every time he speaks to me. I put my hands onto some rough rocks and start trying to match his pace, but to no avail, I will never be able too. From the day of our birth, he was the special one. The stronger one. The smarter one. The nimble one.
The 'Chosen' one.
I don't know how being the first of identical twins makes you better than the second, but apparently, it does. The world doted on my brother. Whilst he was being taught new skills, (Ones he grasped and understood immediately) I spent my summers locked in a room with the village's prophet. Revising texts and studying morality. Understanding my place in the world with my brother. I can still hear that bastard's words echo in my head every time I see him.
'He will conquer the world and become the hero of books. You, will not. But that does not mean you cannot make something of yourself.'
I loathe that prophet. And I loathe Nost.
"Too slow for your own good, eh?" Nost yells down to me from the top of the cliff. "Just focus on the good rocks. Follow the path I took if you have too. Hey, honestly, I suggest it!" He starts to laugh to himself as I curse quietly into the cliff. It takes a few more minutes but I eventually join my brother at the top.
"Look at that, you're learning," He mocks out at me. "Give it a few more... Oh, I dunno, dozen of years and maybe you'll be as great as I am now?" He poses like a strongman, flexing his arm muscles and pouting his face. "Granted, I'll be a God by then."
I stare at him. I feel the anger rise in my stomach. How I hate you, Nost. "Perhaps," I say to him. "But shouldn't you have some humility about yourself?"
"Bah," Nost says, batting his hand in the air. "Humility about what? I'm the king of this world. I know it. Everyone else in the world knows it." Nost walks to stand only a mere inch or two from in front of my face. "When are you going to know it, brother?" I push him as hard as I can, but he barely budges.
"Got some fire in ya belly do ya Lucas?" Nost laughs. "Alright, alright, let's have a fight." He swings a clenched fist at my jaw, clicking it out of place. I stumble backwards slightly dazed, and hold my face tight. I spit some blood onto the ground and swing back at him, missing as he dodges out of the way. "You need to aim, mate." Again, he swings at me, this time striking my stomach, winding me and knocking me to the ground.
I whimper in pain as I look behind me. I had fallen to the precipice of the cliff.
"Woah, okay, fun's over." Nost says, walking to me and holding his hand out to mine. "Never meant to hit you close to the edge. Was just having a laugh. I'd never actually want to see you hurt."
"Same, brother." I say, reaching for his hand. As soon as I grasp it, I look at his face and see the genuine smile along his face. I smile back warmly. I pull down rough and Nost loses his balance and tumbles over the cliff edge. I turn as he falls, and crushes his bones against the ground.
Dead.
My heart is beating so fast I can barely concentrate. He's dead. He's fucking dead! I climb down the cliff as fast as I can, making sure to not fall myself. I examine his corpse. He would have died instantly looking by the damage. Blood was oozing out of newly made holes in his body. I put some of it my hands, a bit on my clothes and I walk back to the village.
As soon as I enter the town borders, I start to walk slow. Solemn. As if I'm stunned and shocked. People see me and scream. Scared and worried. I make my way to the village center.
"What happened!?" I hear my father yell to me. My mother is close behind as they dash to me. They kneel down and look into my eyes.
"Lucas fell," I say. "He lost his grip while we were climbing the cliff side." My parent's start to blubber uncontrollably. It was the first sign of love for me I've seen off the two in my life and I had to be dead to see it. They hold me close whilst continuing to cry.
Behind them, far in the distance, the village prophet is witnessing this all unfold. Our eyes meet and I smile. "Nost, I'm so sorry," I can hear my mother choke out between agonizing cries.
"Don't worry mother," I yell, as loud as I can, my eyes still on the prophets.
"He won't die in vain. My legacy will run strong in his name. I'm going to make something of myself."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you liked this, check out /r/Rhysyjay
|
"What, you afraid I'm gonna get jealous, fight him with my own powers?"
The prophet smiled a sad smile. "You have no powers child."
"None yet," Taz said. "I'll get them soon enough, why else would you always have these lectures with me?"
"Yes, I am afraid you'll get jealous." The man said, still smiling, but it was forced. "But you won't have powers. You'll live your life as a farm-hand, waking early and sleeping late, back aching from hard work. You'll need to take care of your parents, never leave them."
Taz stared at the old man.
"If you do, it'll distract your brother." The old man turned and walked out the door. "He's the hero afterall."
He didn't look back to see Taz's reaction.
He knew how the boy felt. The same thing happened to him, when his own brother had been chosen as a Magi. Known throughout the kingdom, hero of the people.
And himself a prophet. Nameless. An abomination by even existing.
But necessary.
He felt resentment. But he would do his duty. The world depended on it.
| 2017-02-12T19:27:55 | 2017-02-12T18:52:44 | 76 | 12 |
[WP] His chess set currently on loan, the Grim Reaper is forced to play a different game when an individual pleads for their loved one's life.
|
ARE YOU ALRIGHT?
Kyle looked up at the hooded figure above him. He was lying on his back. How had he gotten there? He remembered his wife asking him to do something. Carry something maybe? Was there a set of stairs involved? His ankle told him that Mittens, one of the many family cats had probably been involved too.
"Uh... Yeah. I think so." He grasped the hand that was offered and got slowly to his feet. The hand was surprisingly strong for how bony it was. "Thanks. I guess I'm not quite as young as I used to be."
THAT SHOULDN'T BE A PROBLEM ANYMORE. The hooded figure gestured towards Kyle's feet. Kyle looked down.
"Oh. Hm. That's strange." He appeared to be shin deep in someone's torso. He experimentally lifted a foot out of the chest. It rose without resistance. Kyle gingerly stepped out.
Death waited for the realization to sink in. It generally took the newly dead a few moments for their brains to catch up with their bodies.
"Hey. That's me isn't it!" Death looked up and was surprised to see amusement in Kyle's face.
"Man, I really let myself go." Kyle said ruefully. "Bellies sure look a lot smaller from this angle." He looked down and patted his admittedly large belly. Death nodded slowly.
THAT SHOULDN'T BE A PROBLEM ANYMORE EITHER.
Kyle squinted at his body, then looked at Death, then held his hands in front of his face. Death waited patiently. If he had anything, it was plenty of time.
"Kyle?" A woman's voice broke through the moment of quiet introspection. "Kyle!". A figure rushed down the stairs and knelt at the still body.
"Lily, I'm fine." Kyle reassured her, then looked up from his hands. His wife looked up from his dead body, and met his eyes. They shared a moment of realization. They both looked at Death.
WELL. THIS IS. STRANGE. Death shifted uncomfortably. He extended a long finger and poked Kyle's wife experimentally. YOU'RE DEFINITELY NOT DEAD YET.
"Yes. I can see that." Lily replied in a huff. "This one." She gestured at her husband's bodies. "Seems to be quite the opposite."
YES. IT SEEMS SO. Death was not accustomed to being questioned about his work, much less interacting with the living. THAT DOES HAPPEN ON OCCASION.
"I get a game right?" snapped Lily.
ERR. I BEG YOUR PARDON?
"I get to play a game for his life, do I not?"
I. UH. I BELIEVE HE GETS A GAME.
"There's definitely a lover's clause. Someone can play the game in their lover's stead. Kyle, tell him." She looked expectantly at Kyle. Kyle looked at Death and shrugged helplessly. Death gave him a sympathetic look. As sympathetic a look as a hooded skull could afford.
"Check your books. Your rulebooks, or laws, or scripture, or whatever." Lily folded her arms and waited, not so patiently. Death stared at her. Lily violently gestured for him to continue. Death sheepishly looked towards Kyle who once again shrugged helplessly and repaid Death's sympathetic look. Death reached into his robe and pulled out a small pamphlet, battered and stained with age. He slowly flipped through it under Lily's piercing stare. She cleared her throat impatiently.
IT SEEMS YOU ARE CORRECT. Death offered her the pamphlet, pointing to the related segment. Lily barely glanced at the pamphlet, but let out a small "hmph!" in triumph. Death took the pamphlet back. BUT ONLY IF THE DECEASED WAIVES HIS RIGHTS TO HIS OWN GAME.
Lily snatched the pamphlet from Death's grasp. Death relinquished it for fear of its destruction. PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH THAT. I ONLY HAVE ONE COPY.
After riffling through the pages with a bit more violence than necessary, Lily located the passage and read, slowly mouthing the words. She read the passage again. She looked at Kyle. "You waive your right to your game, right?"
Kyle shrugged. "I've always wanted to play a game with Death. I bet he's a great gaming partner. What's your favorite game? Dominion? Carcasonne? Agricola?"
THUD! ACTUALLY, BUT I DOUBT YOU'VE PLAYED IT BEFORE. Death replied, relieved to have something to do other than wither under Lily's glare.
"Oh, come on! This is your life we're talking about, Kyle! I've got a 2700 rating! Let me play for you!"
"I think it's my time Lily. I mean, I'm already dead and all."
"Kyle!"
Kyle shrank under her stare and looked helplessly at Death. Death offered another sympathetic look and pulled a sheet of paper and a ball point pen from his robe.
HERE, JUST. UH. SIGN THIS WAIVER.
"Excellent" Lily said smugly. She looked confidently at Death. "Chess."
Death looked at his feet and shuffled them like a guilty child. I. ER. I LENT MY SET TO A FRIEND AND HAVEN'T ASKED FOR IT BACK YET.
"You what?" Lily stared in disbelief. She'd spent the vast majority of her life planning this moment. Well, okay, she'd always imagined she'd be playing for her own life. But to be thwarted by Death's absentmindedness? Unthinkable. "Fine." Lily spun around in a huff. "I'll just grab my own set."
I DON'T THINK THAT WILL WO- Death's advice fell upon deaf ears as Lily stormed out of the room.
Death and Kyle stood in awkward silence. Small talk was not one of Death's strong points. He had always chalked it up to his upbringing. YOU SURE KNOW HOW TO PICK THEM. He offered tentatively.
Kyle laughed. "She was a goddess back in her prime." He reminisced. "Still is, you know?" He added quickly.
REALLY? WHICH ONE? Inquired Death.
"Uh...It's just a figure of speech."
A cat rubbed against Death's robe. He sneezed. He was allergic to cats. It's a good thing they weren't under his jurisdiction. He couldn't imagine tracking each one down nine times. Seeing Death's discomfort, Kyle scooped the cat up despite its protests and scratched its ears fondly. He whispered “You’re such a troublemaker, aren’t you Mittens?” Mittens meowed in protest. Or was it agreement? Kyle dropped it on a nearby chair.
Awkward silence returned but was thankfully quickly followed by Lily. Death breathed a sigh of relief and promptly took it back.
"I can't pick it up." Lily said fiercely.
I TRIED TO TELL YOU.
"So what now?"
WELL. YOUR LOVER HAS ALREADY WAIVED HIS RIGHT TO A GAME SO I GUESS THAT MEANS YOU'LL HAVE TO PICK ANOTHER ONE.
Lily looked helplessly at Kyle and whispered "I'm sorry". Kyle shrugged and returned a look of amusement.
"What do most people ask for?"
Death thought for a moment. PEOPLE ALWAYS REQUEST FIDDLES. I'M NOT ENTIRELY SURE WHY. IT WOULD BE A PRETTY GOOD CHOICE AS I ONLY PLAY THE BANJO, BUT FIDDLING ISN'T CONSIDERED A GAME.
"Not helpful." Lily said flatly.
SORRY. Death pondered a bit more. YOU'D BE SURPRISED HOW MANY PEOPLE ASK FOR TWISTER. NOT A GOOD IDEA WHEN YOUR OPPONENT IS JUST A SKELETON.
Lily shot Death an angry look. Kyle shot Death a sympathetic one. Death cleared his throat uncomfortably and continued.
THUD!? Death offered diplomatically. Kyle looked interested at the prospect of seeing a game he'd never played before.
"Hide and seek." Said Lily.
I'M SORRY?
"Hide. And. Seek." repeated Lily. "I'll be first seeker."
Death knew where this was going. At this point he'd do anything for some time alone. Interacting with the living was draining. He relented.
I'D RECOMMEND LAYING BACK DOWN IN YOUR BODY. OTHERWISE YOU’LL EXPERIENCE QUITE A JOLT. WE CAN PLAY A DIFFERENT GAME NEXT TIME. I CAN TEACH YOU THUD! WE CAN EVEN MAKE IT A BEST OF THREE SO YOU'VE GOT TIME TO GET A GRASP OF THE RULES.
Kyle nodded appreciatively and obediently lay back down in his body.
Lily looked at Death's eyes "Thank you." She said, tears welling up in her eyes.
Death shrugged helplessly in response. He wasn't quite sure how emotions worked or how to handle them. He waved an awkward goodbye and went to find a quiet place to practice his banjo. He turned back. THE PAMPHLET, PLEASE?
Lily stifled a giggle and politely handed over the pamphlet. Death repeated his exit.
Kyle got up and brushed himself off, mostly to reaffirm that his body was intact. “At least the couch is downstairs now.” He smiled at Lily.
Lily smiled back, ruffled his hair, and gave him a peck on the cheek.
EDIT: Deleted quotation marks around Death's words.
|
“I spy with my little eye… something black.”
Even shrouded by the limitless darkness of his hood, I could that tell the Grim Reaper stared at me like I was an idiot. The same look crossed over Cassie's face, though hers was tinged with terror. She stood with her back against my knees, pressed as hard against them as should could. Trying to get as far away from the haunting specter that stood before us.
When I made my declaration, Cassie clutched at my hands, draped protectively over her shoulders. “Daddy no! That's too easy!”
“It's going to be okay, Cass.”
“Please don't let him take me!”
I looked down into her little blue eyes. “I won't, sweetheart. I promise.”
When the reaper spoke his breath set ice upon the wind. “So. That is your game. A children's pastime.”
I nodded. “It is.”
“And if I lose, your daughter is mine, as she rightfully should be.”
“Yes. I have agreed to your terms.”
“And you understand that this game of yours, this 'I Spy', has no set end? I can simply keep guessing until I arrive at the answer?”
Cassie fidgeted. I could hear her heartbeat from here. It was nearly as rapid as mine. I said, “That's right. Though I think you'll give up long before that.”
The reaper chuckled and it sounded like the raspy tatters of a thousand last breaths. “Very well, mortal. Do you spy my black robes, woven from the very night itself, the folds of which all living creatures will eventually find themselves entangled?”
“No.”
“Fine. Is it the black shaft of my scythe, which has cut through billions and reduced even the most powerful and dignified of kings to simpering pups, fallen upon their knees to beg for mercy?”
I resisted a grin at “black shaft” and again shook my head. “No.”
He let out a quite mortal-like harrumph. “Well then, is it the cloud of infinite anguish which swirls around me, which defies all of your known physical laws, which rivals the empty vacuum of space in blackness?”
“No.”
The reaper stamped his foot with something resembling impatience. “Is it my face, the void into which men stare and lose their minds, never to-”
“No.”
He paused for a while. “Is it… um… that Honda Civic over there?”
I shook my head.
“God damn it,” he muttered.
“Haven't given up, have you?”
“Of course not! I am Death! I know not defeat! I am the only true victor the universe has ever known, for while you may build the tallest of towers and widest of moats, all things come to me eventually. None can defend themselves from my-”
“Right, right,” I said, waving my hand. “Are you going to make another guess or not?”
“I am! I… I'm wearing black underwear right now. Is it those?”
Cassie let out a small giggle then quickly clapped her hands over her mouth. I remained solemn. “No.”
“Is it that family sitting in the cafe over there?”
“Don't make this a race thing, man. No.”
“Is it the blackness of the night sky?”
“Not even close.”
By now the reaper was hopping with rage. He jabbed his scythe into the ground, creating tremors and cracking the Earth as he rattled off his guesses. “Is it the black bark of that oak tree in the park? The pavement upon which we stand? The flock of crows above our heads? The nature of the human soul? Your iPhone cover? The boba in that woman's tea? Coffee grounds? A marble?”
“No,” I said. “No to all of that.”
Almost completely still now, the reaper hung his head. “Very well. You win, dismal mortal. You may keep your wretched daughter for a few more decades. But know that you have not truly bested me, for all things come to me in time, even and especially the two of you!”
“I'm aware of that. You've mentioned it a few times. Come on, Cassie.”
“Wait!” said the reaper, extending a bony hand. “What is the answer, o clever one? Reveal to me that which I could not suppose upon my own!”
Gently, I turned Cassie around. My finger tapped the tiny dark mole on the back of her neck. She and the reaper gasped simultaneously. I grinned.
The reaper swung his scythe through the air wildly. “Cheat! Brigand! Coward! You played me for a fool! How was I supposed to know that was there? How was I supposed to guess?”
I placed a hand atop Cassie's head. “Imagine if you knew more about the people you take. If you bothered to learn about their lives, their hopes and dreams. What makes each one special. But no, that would make things a bit harder for you, wouldn't it? To have to come to terms with exactly *who* you are snuffing out.”
The reaper was quiet for a long while. Finally, he raised his hooded head and whispered, “That isn't fair.”
I shrugged as I took Cassie's hand and led her away. “Man, life isn't fair.”
| 2015-08-26T12:44:23 | 2015-08-26T11:57:10 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] Write a story in which the main character's seemingly lighthearted catchphrase is eventually reinterpreted/revealed as something much darker.
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The minotaur lowered his head and charged. My apprentice backed away, but I held firm, raising my staff.
"Don't be afraid. A brave heart can overcome any obstacle!"
I leveled my staff at the minotaur and shouted an incantation. A wall of flame roared down the corridor, and when it passed, there was only a small pile of ash.
"Amazing! When will I learn magic like that?"
"Oh, you'll get there soon enough. But let's start with something more your speed." I walked down to the door the minotaur had been guarding and tapped it with my staff. "If my scrying spells don't decieve me, we've got some Dire Rats hiding behind this door. They're about the size of a wolf, and their favorite food is human flesh."
My apprentice swallowed nervously. "How can I fight those things? All I know is Mana Bolt!"
I walked over to him and put my hand on his shoulder. "It's not about what spells you know. You already know the most important lesson in magic: that a brave heart can overcome any obstacle. Show me the strength of your heart!" I shouted.
Shouting a battle cry, my student raised his wand and pointed at the door. A ball of blue fire shot out and punched through the door, smashed into a dire rat, and hurled it into the wall with a surprised squeak. More bolts of energy swiftly dispatched the remaining rats.
My apprentice's eyes lit up. I loved seeing it. That moment when they realize that anything is possible. That moment is when their magical powers truly begin to grow.
...
We kept fighting our way through the dungeon. Dire rats. Hobgoblins. Lizardmen. Even a lesser demon. My brave apprentice found a few scrolls on the second floor and soon he had added ice blasts and lightning bolts to his repertoire. It looked like he was becoming quite the elementalist. That was a power I could use. I hung back and let him practice, only stepping in occasionally when he got careless.
"Master, where does your strength come from? I thought you said you have to use your heart when you fight, but you're always so calm."
"I've got a different sort of strength. My strength of heart comes from confidence in my students."
I held up my staff and let him take a look at the golden charms dangling from the end. Six of them in total, each one resembling a cage of golden wire.
"These are my reminders. I've had six other apprentices as brilliant as you were. When I fight, I remember that every single one of them made it to the end of this dungeon. That's my strength of heart."
...
"Master, what was this dungeon used for? Why build something like this underground?"
I stroked my beard and tried to look thoughtful. "Well, have you seen any clues as we've explored?"
He pointed at an engraving on the wall. "I keep seeing the signs of the Abyss here. Shrines, idols, corrupt symbols. This must have been a cult's hideout once."
"Good. Anything else?"
"That doesn't quite fit, though. What attracts these monsters here? You've been here six times before, and it's still swarming with creatures. Is the cult still active?"
I shrugged. "Who knows? These monsters have many strange gods they worship."
"No, to attract these sorts of hordes you'd need more than a goblin with a case of religion. A grand demon or archmage, maybe."
The kid was *sharp.* Wise as well as brave. "Well, whatever we find, it'll be in the inner sanctum. So let's get moving."
"But if it really is a grand demon..."
"Ha! I've dealt with demons before. Remember what I told you? A brave heart can overcome any obstacle."
"You're really brave, then." He looked doubtful, despite my upbeat demeanor.
"Just think of it as a chance to see some real magic up close."
...
The doors to the inner sanctum loomed large in front of us. I boldly kicked them open, staff at the ready.
"It's empty?" My apprentice looked nervously around the chamber, summoning a few light spells to see more clearly.
The only thing visible was an altar in the center of the room. Bloodstains showed clearly on the white marble.
"This is the inner sanctum, but where's the Lord of this dungeon? What's going on, Master?" He stepped past me, looking suspiciously at the altar.
I tapped the end of my staff on the ground. "Bind."
Instantly, my apprentice froze in place, seized by a terrible telekinetic force.
"Master? What are you... ergh..."
I lifted my staff and lowered it again. My apprentice followed my motions, floating into the air before slamming down on the altar.
His eyes widened. "You... *You* were the dungeon lord!"
I smiled wickedly as I drew a long knife from my robes. "I am. And you're my sacrifice."
His fingers tightened around his wand. Blue energy glowed around it as he tried to counter my binding. "I... won't... lose. With a brave heart...!"
I laughed. He could try all he liked, but my magic was far stronger. "You know what the best part is? I was telling the truth about that. There truly is nothing stronger than the soul of a brave child."
I stepped towards the altar and leaned over him, letting him see the tiny cages dangling from my staff. "That's why I carry six of them with me."
|
"Don't get old" said his Grandfather coughing up another splattering of blood. Growing up Chris always chuckled at the idea, his Grandfather always complained about being old, the brittle bones, the crappy heart, the strict diets and mountain of daily pills he had to swallow.
Chris always though the old man had pined for his youth. It wasn't until his teenage years he realized his Grandfather was telling him not to waste his youth, to live life in the fast lane and not look back. So, he honored his grandfather. He said yes to everything, he adventured. He explored, met new people and had new experiences. He rarely said no, always one more drink, one more leap of faith. One more adventure, one more lover. He grabbed life by the horns and didn't let go, riding it like a mad man everyday. His friends wanted to be him, he had girls fighting over him all while he ran head first into the next adventure remembering his grandfathers words.
When he was older, age started to catch up with Chris. He realized why his grandfather had hated it so much. Every year he felt more tired, each passing month he seemed to get slower. He had more funerals to attend, and more pills to swallow.
It was then he realized what his grandfather had meant. He hadn't wanted his grandson to live through old age. The memories all came back to him, watching the nurses at the home rip him of his dignity as they cleaned up the mess his old body left. The look on his face as knees screamed in pain when he stood up to greet Chris. The fewer and fewer visitors he had until even Chris' mum stopped going. "Don't get old" said Chris swallowing a 12 gauge an hour before his sixtieth.
| 2016-04-21T16:47:04 | 2016-04-21T16:40:18 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive.
|
The boy of legends wailed in his crib. He looked like a raisin that had sprouted legs. The baby had the crinkled face of a child who came into the world raging.
Oros stared through the glass of the maternity room window. The maternity ward staff whisked past him, oblivious. A pair of grandparents pressed their fingers to the glass to coo at a baby that wasn't even aware they existed.
But no one saw the soldier of hell. He preferred it that way, for now. His jacket was still slicked with rain, his horns barely hidden under a fedora.
The boy's mother had already signed the documentation, willing him away. *I can't deal with seeing him,* she had said as Oros stood invisible in the corner, watching the future Lord of Hell kick and squeal and scream for the mother who would never hold him. *I can't. I can't.*
She sobbed and sobbed when they shut that door.
But now the chosen one was alone. He had slipped through even the Almighty's fingers. No agent of God came to watch this boy enter the world.
Only Oros. With his leathery red skin and a suit older than this very country. America was still such a very young country, in those days. The frontier was still sculpting itself into spires of new cities.
Oh yes. It was a world on the cusp of a new era. A world ripe for corrupting. All those demons and angels would be busy, raging their war over the new territories.
But not Oros. He still remembered the old stories.
The new lord of hell would rise when a child untouched by the hand of God was born at last.
Anticipation turned in Oros's belly. He had waited centuries for this.
Oros stepped around the grandparents, who only noticed him by the whispering knife of cold air that passed through them when he walked past. He closed his clawed hand around the handle of the maternity room door. It was locked, but he turned the handle until it dented and cracked.
The attending nurse whirled in surprise when the door opened. She stared at Oros, through him, at the door hanging open. She did not see the demon hulking over her, watching her with his yellow snake eyes.
She only frowned at the door. "That's odd," she murmured. But she didn't move.
Oros sighed.
The tickle of his breath made her spin around. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice betraying just how scared and absurd she felt. "Is someone there?"
The demon looked at the clock. It would be just like God, sending an inobvious miracle to spoil the plan at the last second. Give an angel just enough time to arrive, flaming sword in hand.
Oros tightened his clawed hands at his side. He could already smell the promise of copper and blood.
But the nurse saved her own life. Haltingly, she turned back toward the door and ventured out into the hall to look in both directions.
Oros lifted a red hand after her. The door slammed itself shut. He squeezed a fist, and the door frame dented around it.
The nurse whirled around and rattled the handle, but the door didn't budge. The humans in the hall began to scatter like ants.
Oros turned to the child. He lifted the newborn boy up from his cot, the baby still wriggling and wailing. The demon did his best to swaddle the boy without scratching him with his claws.
The boy that would devour hell blinked up at him. Brown eyes huge and searching.
Oros smiled, despite himself. In all these millennia, he anticipated feeling triumph in this moment. The bloodrush of unquenchable power in his hands. But not the warmth crackling through his icy gut. Not this yearning to protect.
The demon dusted a finger along the tip of the baby's nose.
"We've only got one another now, little one," he told the baby. "We'll have to save each other."
No one saw Oros slip through the wall, the baby nestled in his arms. When he emerged on the other side, he had put on the mask of a tired new mother, holding a squalling baby to her chest. Oros tipped his chin low, to hide his yellow eyes under the brim of his fedora. No one stopped them as he hurried down the hall.
So Oros carried the future conqueror of hell away, into the long night.
|
[Poem]
Murder always is the easiest answer.
If there's no man then there's no problem, no cancer.
Discarded by heaven but you will be well
For you have received a guardian from hell.
Follow my ways and I'll make you King.
And the stories they'll tell, the songs they will sing
A terrible king with a robe made of black
And he'll will wonder, CAN we take him back?
| 2019-12-14T18:34:50 | 2019-12-14T17:30:43 | 553 | 76 |
[WP] Everyone receives a letter when they turn 18 stating how they will die. You've just received your letter, and it's blank.
|
"Yeah I call bullshit on that one buddy."
I snatched the paper from his hand, almost losing it in the lack of gravity. It looked like a blank piece of card stock, like a business card that hadn't been made yet. But it held so much more meaning than that, and it had been a pain in my ass for the last decade and a half.
I rolled my eyes, I wasn't the first time I'd gotten this response. I'd been secretly hoping to get the benefit of the doubt from Reyes, our jobs centered around achieving what was considered impossible. I still smiled to myself thinking about it. The first colonists to set foot on New Earth! The trip would take more decades, but the ship's cryonic systems would make it feel like days.
Reyes snorted in his bunk, strapped to the wall to keep from floating around the ship. "No offense, but EVERYONE got a card." He fished in his pocket and produced his own, identical to mine aside from having something actually on it. SUFFOCATION. He stuck it back into his pocket.
I blinked, tucking my own card back into my breast pocket. "Wait, if you're going out by suffocating why the fuck would you want to go to space? I'd stay where the oxygen is if I were you," I laughed.
Reyes shrugged. "Like I'm gonna let some card tell me where I can't go."
Deirdre floated between Reyes and I, arms crossed dramatically. "If you two are done painting each other's nails, it's time for the big nap. C'mon." Without missing a beat, the French woman hit the wall of the room and propelled herself back out the door with a push, ponytail trailing behind her.
"All business, that one," I said as I pushed off from my own bunk. Reyes unstrapped himself and called after Deirdre.
"Dee, wait up! Like I was saying rookie, we all have those little cards telling us which door we're taking out of this life. They still have no idea who's sending them. Some say it's god, some say it's just some random earthling. If it's the latter, what are the odds it's one of us?" He was laughing now, bringing up the back of our zero-g conga line. "I mean can you imagine? Everyone back home wondering for years why the letters stopped, meanwhile everyone born on New Earth is still getting them! I'm telling you guys right now it's not me doing it, I promise. But if it's really some god, what's the-"
A wrench floated at us from the room ahead, Deirdre and I moved out of the way as it hit Reyes square in the forehead.
A thick Russian accent called from the cryo room ahead. "You talk too much little man!"
Reyes swore and rubbed his forehead as we floated into the room. The cryo room had five pods, one for each of us on the ship. Jorge was tinkering with the control panel of the nearest pod, his large frame almost blocking it from view. Reyes floated over to the wall comm unit and got on the line with our pilot, Tom. "Hey T, what's your death card say?"
The voice on the other side of the comm responded immediately. "Shattered skull, won't feel a thing!"
Deirdre grimaced. "Lucky, I got immolation."
Jorge laughed a hearty laugh. "Blood loss here! The manliest way to go!" The big Russian kissed a bicep before turning to face the three of us. "Alright, who's going Nighty night first? Not it!"
"Not it!" Everyone chimed in, I was a half second too late.
"You fuckers," I chuckled as I climbed into the pod. Jorge pat me on the shoulder as he closed the plate glass door and sealed me in. The disembodied voice of the pod system filled my ears as my crew mates began to put me under.
"You have entered a patented cryostasis pod! Soon you'll be put into an induced coma and kept in-" the ship suddenly lurched violently, jostling the pod. I watched Deirdre get knocked against the bulkhead and go limp.
Tom's voice crackled back over the comm. "Debris field! Hang on!"
Reyes recovered fast, propelling himself down the passage to the cockpit. Jorge grabbed Deirdre, a trickle of crimson flowing from her head. He tenderly strapped her to the wall, across from the passage to the fueling room.
There was a sickening crack that was felt more than heard, the passage Reyes just passed through sealed shut, as they were designed to in the event of depressurization. Jorge and I shared a look of horror as Tom's voice came back over the comm. "We took a hit, the hull can't take it at this speed! Diagnostics say the fueling system took some damage too, you need to-" a sickening Crunch was heard over the comm.
I smashed my fists against the glass of the cryo pod as everything went to shit. Jorge scrambled to put a pressure suit on, my eyes fell on a growing light in the passage to the fuel room. A cloud of fire spread into the room, shifting in the zero G. I realized with horror that it was spreading straight to Deirdre's unconscious body.
I screamed and beat my fists against the tempered glass, trying to get Jorge's attention. He turned just in time to see her body enveloped by the cloud of flame, I could hear her gasp before beginning a panicked scream. She began to thrash wildly, trying in vain to escape the fire. The straps snapped, through the pain she managed to focus enough to propel herself away from the flames, but the fuel clung to her skin and continued to burn relentlessly. Jorge tried to get closer in his pressure suit, fighting the fuel as Deirdre's screaming grew more hoarse and her thrashing grew weaker.
An explosion from the fuel room sent Jorge spinning back, clutching his neck. He clutched my pod, turning to face me within. A long shard of metal was stuck in his throat, a thick cloud of blood bloomed from his suit as his big body began to twitch and spasm. He somehow held on to the pod as he began tapping into the control panel. His face was quickly losing color, the voice of the pod's systems cane back into focus.
-"completely indestructible! Years of research have led to the pod you are currently sitting in, lined with an experimental alloy tempered in the outer layers of our home Star. The only way you're getting out of this thing is if you set a wake date, so don't let your assigned cryotechie forget!"
Jorge stopped before completing the startup process, no longer even trying to staunch the flow of blood from his jugular. He began to choke and gurgle, blood had filled his helmet, his face was hidden by the sheet of red. The speaker on the outside of the pod chimed in, "PLEASE ENTER A WAKE DATE"
"10 seconds to cryostasis."
He began to drift away from the pod, his hands moved weakly. As he went limp, I realized he had just used sign language to say "sorry".
Fuck.
"Five seconds to cryostasis."
The blank card. Indestructible pod. No wake date.
"Four seconds to cryostasis."
A rip in the hull sent Jorge's body tumbling into the void. My pod was sucked out at the same time, my view spun rapidly. I only managed a few glimpses of the ship being torn apart.
"Two seconds to cryostasis."
I tried to tell myself that I might be saved, another ship might catch me or I'd crash on a world that could cut me out of this fucking pod. But I knew this was it. Just because I didn't get to die doesn't mean I get to live.
"Sweet dreams astronaut! Thank you for using our patented cryo pods."
|
To be 18 an immortal. It really wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Eve considered not opening the damned envelope at all. The matte black bringer of doom lay on the kitchen table, a retinal scanner blinking incessantly on the front.
There was a certain sick irony to it that she thought represented to state of humanity quite well. They had conquered aging, illness and even injury, in essence no one really had to die anymore.
Yet, everyone still did. Not enough space, not enough food, not enough value to a life without ending; there was a plethora of equally unreasonable explanations for why people needed to die.
How silly it seemed to have the random the wheel of fate be replaced by a an equally random but wholly intentional lottery of death.
Then again, dying young had its perks too. She gave her empty fridge a wary glance.
She could only dream of having it stocked to the brim. Cheese and wine and perhaps even chocolate.
Better yet, if she had less than a year to go, she wouldn't have to worry about the fridge at all. She'd be set for life, al 356 days of it to be exact, in one of the inner city penthouses.
To live the remainder of her days like a queen. Fattened like a pig for slaughter.
Riding her short burst of motivation, Eve grabbed the envelope and held it up to her eyes.
A second later a cheerful beep let her know the envelope was unlocked. She ignored the trembling of her fingers as she pulled the letter out.
It was perfectly white. And blank. On both sides.
She turned the letter over a few more times just to be sure, and even titled it under the kitchen lamp, as perhaps the ink might have been faded.
Nope. The paper was just blank.
She'd seen plenty of letters on the internet to know a date and cause of death should have been printed in bold black lettering on the front.
None of them had been blanks.
Her insides felt cold and knotted, she thought she hadn't wanted to know, but somehow this was even worse.
She blinked vigorously, hoping the letters would somehow appear.
It must have been an error. And what about her allowance?
That last thought spurred her to action. She took her long green coat from the rack and stepped out into the cold January morning.
The 5 minute walk to the ATM seemed to take an eternity.
The machine was covered frost, untouched at least since last evening. Below the card slot was the much less frequently used letter slot.
The slot that everyone only needed to use once in their lifetime.
She took out her letter and fed it into the machine. She briefly wondered whether she'd put it in right side up.
Green text appeared on the scratched and battered display.
[Hello, Eve. Thank you for registering your departure form. Your daily allowance until departure will be: € 0]
[If you have any questions, please ask them now. Articulate clearly.]
She blinked, and cleared her throat.
"There must be a mistake. How, how will I die?" Her voice more scared than she had intended.
The screen stayed empty for a few seconds before printing the words she would carry with her for the rest of her immortal life.
[By your own hand and at the time of your own choosing.]
[Your death is free. Your life is not.]
With that the money slot started buzzing and clicking. After a few seconds the slot opened.
No money came out, instead a small black card with stark white lettering.
It read:
'Tomorrow, 19:08. The corner of Clifton and Pechkham. A man in black coat, long blond hair. Oakfield backpack. Death by stabbing.'
The ATM buzzed one more time.
A sleek silver knife clattered to the ground.
EDIT: spelling 'n stuff
| 2017-01-17T16:38:29 | 2017-01-17T15:47:45 | 67 | 31 |
[WP] The heir to the throne most go on a quest to find themselves and see the country they will rule. But, it seems every generation it becomes more of a tour and less a journey.
|
Dejan twirled the knife between his fingers, then with a flick of his wrist flung it upwards. The blade ripped through the silk covering and buried itself in the wood ceiling with a *thunk*. Dejan smirked and pulled it back down, leaving just one more of a dozen holes in the fine fabric. Then he flipped the knife over in his hands again and prepared for another throw.
“Prince Dejan, *please* stop that,” Vizier Dex begged. “This carriage was a gift from Prince Ferenhem! If he *saw* the way that you treated it so, he would…”
“Do absolutely nothing about it,” Dejan interrupted in a bored monotone voice. “He would smile and bow and *thank me* for treating it so horridly.” The dagger flew out of his hands again and slammed into the wood.
“Well…” Vizier Dex had to admit that that was probably the case. No matter how much it would personally displease Prince Ferenhem, he would never have dared to start an incident with the crown over something so small. “That’s really not the point, Prince Dejan! Just because you are the heir to the throne does *not* mean that you can treat your subjects…” he gestured to the carriage, “or their *gifts* in whatever manner you please. It shows a lack of respect! Now kindly put the knife away so that we can go over the rest of your schedule.”
Dejan rolled his eyes, but he sheathed the knife as he was told. “Fine. What’s next?”
Vizer Dex opened up his map scroll. “We are scheduled to arrive in Hardkit in two days’ time. You will be greeted by Lord and Lady Kitren. They have gone to great lengths to plan a gala in your honor…”
“*Another* gala?” Dejan groaned. “For God’s sake, Dex! I don’t even *like* dancing. And each one of these is the same. Just a hundred courtiers trying to suck up to me all night in hopes of being appointed vice-governor of tax collecting or whatever. Or worse, trying to push their daughters on top of me so that I’ll be forced to marry them.”
“Come now,” Vizier Dex said. “How many people would *kill* for the life you have, my Lord? Let us be grateful…”
“*Fuck* grateful,” Dejan interrupted. He pulled the knife back out of its sheath and began twirling it between his fingers again. “Fuck the ball. I don’t want to do this stupid tour, OK? I want a journey like *Grandfather* had! I want to go out and fight ogres in the mountains, join up with some battlemages… you’ve heard all his stories, Dex!”
Vizier Dex had indeed heard many of the former king’s stories. He assumed most of them were exaggerations or outright lies; ogres, for example, had been extinct for a century now. The stories about visiting brothels and seducing tavern wenches certainly weren't made up, though. “Prince Dejan, you know that your safety as the heir is our utmost concern.” Vizier Dex gestured out the window at the platoon of Royal Guards accompanying the caravan, as well as a veritable army of servants, cooks, and other staff. “Your grandfather had many harrowing experiences on his journey.”
“Exactly!” Dejan interrupted again. “That’s exactly what *I* want! How am I supposed to be king if I’ve only ever been to fancy parties my whole life? Shouldn’t I be going out and meeting the farmers and the blacksmiths and the soldiers? Shouldn’t I live the dangers that *they* face as well? Shouldn’t I get some real experience in solving their problems instead of hearing about them as condescending anecdotes from lords in fancy robes?”
Vizier Dex sat back and looked over his tour documents once again. The boy did have a point. The purpose of the tour wasn’t just to meet the local lords; it was to see *all* of the kingdom. “Well….” Dejan’s face lit up with a glimmer of hope. “All right,” Vizier Dex conceded. “You’re right.” Dejan grinned broadly and leaned forward as Dex brought out his quill to make changes to the itinerary. “We don’t have any additional time in Hardkit,” Dex mused as he studied the schedule. “But I will send a letter ahead to Ginkit and ask if perhaps you can meet with their blacksmith at some point. And perhaps in Tefrou we can make a short stop to tour the Royal barracks…”
Dejan scowled. He stood suddenly and went to the back of the carriage and began rummaging through his belongings. Vizier Dex, preoccupied with his work of readjusting the immaculately-planned schedule and fitting in some ‘real’ experiences for the prince, hardly noticed what the prince was up to. That is, until Dejan pulled on an old tunic so worn and tattered that even the palace servants would have been ashamed to be seen in it. “What is *that*?” Vizier Dex asked. “I certainly didn’t pack that!” He’d gone to great lengths to assure that the Prince would only be seen in the finest clothes as befitting his stature as a member of the Royal House of Ribic.
Dejan admired the ratty garment with a huge grin on his face. Dex hadn’t seem him smile like that since he was a boy first learning to spar. “It was a gift from Grandfather,” he answered. “Nice, eh?”
“Prince Dejan, please…”
“Oh, I’m not Prince Dejan anymore,” Dejan said, grinning even more. From his bag he removed a simple ax and strapped that to his belt. “I haven’t quite decided what my new name will be yet. And I wouldn’t tell you anyway, because you’ll try to find me.”
“Find you?” Dex asked. *Ooh no!* Everything clicked into place, a bit more slowly than it should have. The King had *specifically* warned Dex to *not* let the Crown Prince go off on his own. Dex’s eyes darted toward the door. But before he could call for the guards to restrain Dejan in his bout of madness, Dex felt something impale his neck. He looked back from the carriage door to see Dejan standing over him with some sort of hollow tube in hand.
“Grandfather’s court wizard prepared a few other items for me,” Dejan explained. “Like this sleeping dart.”
Dex’s vision blurred and he was having trouble determining which of the six Dejans he was seeing was the real one. His whole body seemed to be made of pins and needles. “I'm afraid, Vizier," all of the Dejans said in a weirdly distorted tone, "that you’ll just have to enjoy the gala without me!” Then the carriage door creaked open, and Dex’s vision went black.
|
"And right here we have the grain mill, where all the grain you see from the fields just now are turned into edible food!" A man dressed in right blue exclaimed excitedly, both his hands pointing towards the tall wooden building.
Opposite him a group of people stood, some in armour, others in expensive looking clothes. Their attention, however, seemed to be directed towards a young boy in the middle, who had a gold crown on his head.
The young boy yawned disinterestedly, before turning to the middle-aged woman beside him. He tugged impatiently at her shirt. "I'm bored. Can we go now? I'm going to be king anyway, so what's the whole point of all these?"
The woman cast a guilty glance to the man. She stroked the boy's head. "But you need to know this, Simon. It's part of learning how the kingdom works."
"Bah, I will learn all these when I become the king," he exclaimed and started to walk away. His entourage quickly followed him, leaving only behind the man in blue.
He shook his head sadly as he slowly caught up, muttering to himself. "The previous kings had to live in wilderness and trek across the country alone. Now it's just like extended babysitting. Our kingdom is doomed if we continue like this."
Back in the castle, the current king demanded on the status of 'study trips'. Each adviser came back to him with the same report. The young prince was more interested in the fun and bossing around than the actual nitty-gritty of ruling the kingdom. It was a polite way of saying he's too spoiled to actually be a king.
The king dismissed all of them at the end of it. His fingers pinched his head. "See what I told you?" he asked his queen, who was sitting beside him.
"I was just trying to protect our dear baby prince!" she answered rather defensively. "And he's also your child, for goodness sake! Why can't you show more love for him!"
The king wanted to raise his voice in reply, but he was no mood to argue. "Go back to our room," he said, defeated, and the queen stormed off angrily.
"Tough spot eh, sire?" A voice came from behind the king. He turned behind to see Zazu, his trusted adviser.
"Yes..." the king sighed, sinking further into the chair. "Things used to be so different. Even I had to sleep in the jungle for one night."
"Ah yes sire, I remember your father having to fight off an angry mob at Woodlands Province," Zazu agreed.
"I just want Simon to grow up less spoiled, you know, but it seems to be impossible with the queen around."
Zazu raised an eyebrow, before breaking into a small grin. "Not to be rude, sire, but I just happened to have a plan."
---------------
/r/dori_tales
| 2016-12-28T06:04:08 | 2016-12-28T05:52:03 | 107 | 13 |
[WP] You, a reformed villain, find the hero that brought you to justice homeless, alone, poor and begging. You decide to help them.
|
The snow was coming down harder than ever. I swore under my breath, white-knuckled and trying to keep the car going straight.
Eyes locked straight ahead, I nearly didn't see him.
But I did. Just a flash, a glimpse from the corner of my eye, but it was enough.
The car fishtailed as I slammed on the brakes. The sound of my cursing crescendoed - but I made it onto the shoulder, tucking into one of the many open spots along the edge of the deserted street.
There I sat, counting the seconds down in my head as my heart thundered in my ears.
When I could nearly hear the sound of my own breathing again, I glanced in the rearview mirror.
Damn.
There was no question - not even a shred of doubt. He was run-down, dirty and scraggly and dressed in a threadbare coat instead of his customary, down-and-dirty costume, but the homeless man sitting on the sidewalk, shivering in the cold was Earthpulse.
I'd recognize his face anywhere. He'd been the one to finally track me down, bringing me in to stand before their idea of 'justice'.
The sound of snow crunching under my heels rang in my ears. I was- what was I *doing*?
He looked up, eyes squinted against the cold, as I came to a stop over him.
And then they widened.
"What *now*?" he mumbled, shaking his head. "Back for more?"
I pressed a hand to my forehead, mind racing. "Well...no, I-"
"I don't *do* that anymore, Specter," he said, a bit of anger sliding into his tone.
"...I know," I said. I did know. I'd seen the newscast, even from inside the prison they'd found to hold us. It had just been...collateral damage. That was all.
Only when the collateral damage was a school, people tended to take things a bit more personally.
Oh, I'd seen the news. I'd seen all about their fight. Memorized every frame of the video, every player on that battlefield.
"If you know, then go away."
I sighed, looking down at him with exasperation. "Look, it's cold. I don't live far away. Why don't you-"
"Fuck off," he said, pulling the collar on his coat a little higher.
Despite myself, I chuckled. "Just as stubborn as always, you old coot. But I can be stubborn, too."
He glared up at me. "Why do you care?"
"Oh, I don't know. It would be a shame if you went and froze to death before I got my revenge." Even as I spoke, I reached down and grabbed him by the arm. He wasn't cooperating with me as I pulled him upright, but he was shivering too hard to put up much of a fight.
He made a face at me even still, trying to pull free. "It's a cold day in *hell* when a villain puts her hands on-"
"I already told you, Earthpulse-"
"It's Eric now."
"Well, *Eric*, I don't do that anymore either," I said, chuckling. "So get in the damn car."
Oh, I didn't do it anymore. I'd been exposed - beaten. The villain's league had all quietly distanced themselves from me, right from the moment I was caught.
Before that, in fact. Right from the moment I was *framed*.
I knew all the signs - the sidelong looks, the whispered conversations that ended when I entered the room. The heroes had been getting too close - We'd needed time to put some distance between us and them. The job - that last job - had been the one to give us that breathing room. That was the plan.
So I'd thought.
But there in prison, watching the endless stream of news over and over again, I'd seen Earthpulse's last stand. I watched anything with him in it, of course, trying to build the foundation for my revenge, but I'd seen it too clearly.
Because Earthpulse wasn't alone, that day. He'd been just one of many heroes, in fact. And when that school went down - intentional or not - Earthpulse's unrelenting gravitational waves weren't the only superpowers in play.
They might not have set out that day intending to bury him - unlike my once-friends - but when a crisis had presented itself, they'd thrown their comrade to the wolves without hesitation.
I pushed the older man into the car, smiling to myself.
What a stroke of unexpected fate - I didn't believe in coincidence, but some things were just too perfect to deny.
Oh, I wasn't a villain anymore. No, sir. And Earthpulse wasn't a hero.
But we both had unfinished tasks that needed finishing. And this was a situation that I could use.
(/r/inorai)
|
What happened to you,
How could this be,
If you only knew,
What you meant to me.
You saved my life,
You showed me the way,
And now in strife,
Your mind's gone astray.
So morbid a fate,
Your home now an alley,
Your fans they await,
To hear your proud rally.
Who's seen you like this?
So broken and shattered,
You need death's sweet kiss,
While your legacy still matters.
Don't shy from my gun,
It's different this time,
To leave you alive,
Would be the true crime.
Your image must live,
The hero you were,
No consolation to give,
I know life isn't fair.
Your mind is no longer,
Your sanity all gone,
You will not get stronger,
Your light is all shone.
Be gone suffered days,
Now die and be free,
Your legacy outweighs,
More than you, more than me.
--------------------------------------------------------------
More at /r/ShittyStoryCreator
| 2018-04-16T07:05:39 | 2018-04-16T06:52:46 | 127 | 18 |
[WP] "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her.
|
I should have picked up on it sooner. But then, how could I have? What kid doesn't have an imaginary friend at some point?
Casey had "introduced" me to Stewie three weeks ago. She'd come running in from playing in the woods and and asked me for a cookie. When I got her one, she'd looked up expectantly at me.
"One for Stewie, too."
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Who's Stewie?" I asked.
Casey sighed dramatically, waving a hand at the empty space next to her. "He's right here, mom! I met him in the woods."
Hiding a laugh, I decided to play along. "Oh, well you didn't introduce me!" I crouched down, and smiled at the empty air. "It's very nice to meet you Stewie."
Casey erupted in a fit of giggling. "Mom," she said in between spurts of laughter, "You're talking to his butt."
I frowned at her, a little annoyed. "Ok, very funny Case." I gave her a second cookie and shooed her back outside.
The street we lived on was mostly retirees, so there weren't any children around Casey's age. At the time, I figured that as long as she was pretending, I wasn't going to be the one to spoil it. She could be a handful, and anything that would make her happy was worth it.
"Stewie" made a few appearances over the next few days, always when Casey was acting out. A lamp got broken while Casey was running around downstairs, Stewie was the one that had hit it. I caught Casey trying to sneak downstairs for extra dessert, and it she cried that it wasn't for her, it was for Stewie. She even tried to run away from school, because "Stewie wanted to play."
Of course, Stewie was always around when it came to sweets. Casey said they were the only thing he wanted to eat. After about a week, I was getting a little tired of "Stewie."
One night at dinner, I tried to reason with her. That was my first mistake. Reasoning with a six year old is like trying to stop the tide.
"Casey," I started, "Stewie's been spending a lot of time with us. Shouldn't he go home soon? I'm sure his parents are worried about him."
Her eyes fell. "He said he doesn't want to go home. They're mean to him. He likes it here.
"Case, don't you think this is getting a little old? I mean, with how you've been acting, I know there's something wrong." I sighed. "I just wish you'd tell me what."
Casey looked up at me, confused. "I just want Stewie to be happy," she said. "He was so sad when I found him, and now he's happy."
"Sweetheart," I started, "You can't keep avoiding things like this. I mean, you tried to bite a teacher."
"That was Stewie!" Casey protested. "He doesn't know any better!"
"Casey, enough." I felt my voice begin to rise, and I forced myself to stay calm. Yelling at my daughter wouldn't help anything. "I just want to understand what's going on with you."
"I told you!" she cried, "It's Stewie!"
As she said this, I saw a flash of something over her shoulder, just for a second. My blood went cold.
"Casey," I breathed, "Is Stewie a person?"
She glanced over her shoulder, towards where that... thing had been. Then she shook her head. "Not really." she said. "He has person parts though."
"Person... parts?" I struggled to keep the fear out of my voice. I can see a faint distortion in the air now, all around my daughter.
Casey waved her arms around over her head. "Lots and lots of arms." she giggled. "Sometimes he climbs around on the ceiling."
I steadied my nerves, breathing slowly. "Casey, why don't you run upstairs. If Stewie is going to keep staying with us, I want to make sure he knows the rules. Ok?"
Casey jumped out of her chair and ran up to me, hugging me tightly around the waist.
"Thanks Mommy. I promise he'll be good."
Then she ran out of the kitchen. I waited until I heard her door upstairs click shut before I stood and crossed my arms.
"Ok, show yourself. Whatever you are."
The distortion wavered for a second, before a solid shape came into view. I bit back a scream at the sight.
Long, gangly arms sprouted from a bulbous, centipede-like body. It was massive, twisted around behind where Casey had been sitting. The torso stretched upwards into a slender neck which twisted and coiled around itself like a snake.
Unblinking, reptilian eyes stared at me out of a birdlike face. Large horns curled out from its forehead, ending in cruel points. The creature opened its beaklike mouth, and I could see swirling rings of teeth inside, almost like a meat grinder. It's thin, barbed tongue shot out, scooping up the rest of Casey's dinner. It chewed slowly as it stared at me.
*I am glad to formally meet you, Amanda.*
A voice echoed in my head, deep and booming. It wormed its way into my mind, as if someone were pouring syrup over my brain. I shuddered.
"What the hell are you?" I asked.
The creature twisted its head upside down, never breaking eye contact. *I have many names. Most of which are incomprehensible to your mortal mind. Formally, my name is--* the words were interrupted by a rapid series of snarls. Then the creature continued. *But your daughter has taken to calling me "Stewie." I am not sure why, but I have grown quite find of it.*
"Ok..." I said slowly. "And what exactly do you want with my daughter?"
The creature's body undulated in what might have been an approximation of a shrug. *She found me. She was kind to me.* The head twisted around to look in the direction of Casey's room. *She gave me a cookie in exchange for my friendship. Technically, that is a binding contract for my people.*
I frowned at this. "So, you just want to be friends with her?" The creature turned back to me and nodded slowly.
I sighed, feeling a migraine coming on. On the one hand, this thing was a literal demon. On the other hand, Casey didn't have many friends her own age. Even at school, her teachers had told me that she usually kept to herself.
Bracing myself, I spoke. "Ok, Stewie. If you're going to stay with my daughter, we're going to need to set some ground rules. Understand?"
Stewie smiled at me, its horrifying mouth stretching far wider than it should have been able to. *You wish to make a contract?*
I smiled wryly. "If cookies are legal tender with demons, sure."
|
Winds howled around the Mond castle. It stood on a cliff's edge and was framed by the full moon. Inside, the castle was reworked into a cluster of apartments that could be rented. In one such apartment Catherine tried to get a handle on the imaginary friend Julia, her daughter, spent most of her time with. Catherine had never seen the friend and the stories Julia told her now concerned her. Something told her that this new friend was not too well put together.
"Where did you say you saw her last?" she asked the little girl who tried to roll her spaghetti around on the fork as she'd seen people do on TV.
"Who?"
"The friend you keep telling stories of."
"Hmmm..." she ate whatever spaghetti her fork could scoop out. "It was the tennis court."
"Tennis court?"
"Mrs. Agnew lives there."
Catherine tried to recall the list of questions that now lay folded on the top of the dresser. She tried to recall what meeting someone in a sports setting might mean, but her memory failed her. She made a mental note of the tennis court.
"How was she?"
"She?"
"She. Your friend."
"My friend isn't a 'she'."
Isn't a she, Catherine made a mental note of that. Couldn't be a banshee, or a resentful mother then. Catherine herself had created much of a ruckus in the country when she was but a child. Haunted, no, befriended, by a banshee she had screamed her lungs out. It was then that her mother obtained the questionnaire from Mrs. Flanders.
"Ah, it's a boy, then."
Julia scrunched up her nose and glared at her mother from under her little black eyebrows. Catherine noted the hostility. Surely, it couldn't be anything good.
"Boy? No."
Catherine didn't blink. The winds howled louder around the Mond castle. An imaginary friend that wasn't a boy or a girl. Catherine's mind searched for the things this might mean. The friend could be: a devil, a rabid animal shot dead, a troll who died when the bridge across the cliff fell, a monster intent on malice -- nothing good.
Julia finished the last of her meatballs and left the rest of the spaghetti untouched.
"I don't want to eat anymore."
Even this statement set Catherine on edge. Her mind wandered through the possibilities: possession by the devil who only likes meat, animal spirit who can't appreciate pasta, a troll who doesn't like the flavour of grain...
"Why?"
"I'm full."
Julia left the table and sat by the window. The winds blew madness about them. Catherine examined her daughter's profile there near the window. She couldn't see anything out of order. The list of questions slipped from her mind. It was hard to remember all of them.
Suddenly, the window flung open. Winds howled within the room. Julia hissed and blew air through her mouth. The winds blew stronger and stronger. Leftover spaghetti splattered across Catherine's face. There in the room; she saw her daughter laughing with the storm.
| 2022-06-01T12:14:28 | 2022-06-01T10:06:13 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] Life is boring and depressing. In a lucid dream, you discover a very detailed control panel for life, with all the interesting and dangerous settings turned off or set to 'Safe' or 'Boring'. Assuming its just a dream, you start messing around.
OT: I just woke up from this dream, right before I could change anything =|
|
“It is my pleasure to award the Presidential Medal of Freedom to one our nation’s greatest heroes, a true patriot in every sense of the word, and my best friend, Keith Spencer!” proclaimed President Matt Damon.
The crowd roared with applause. Keith felt like he could even hear the cries of approval of all of the families sitting at home watching the ceremony.
“Thank you, President Damon,” said Keith as the two shook hands.
He approached the microphone to address the nation.
“This is truly in the top five best moments of my life, though it is pretty hard to top that time when I travelled back in time and made Hitler and Genghis Khan fight to the death!” The audience erupted with laughter.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I wouldn’t want to keep my pet velociraptor, Snickers, waiting for his mid-afternoon snack.”
The applause and laughter continued as Keith exited the ceremony at the nation’s capital on the jetpack that he engineered himself.
The jetpack was so expertly designed that he was able to travel from Washington D.C. to his home deep in the Mauna Loa Volcano of Hawaii in a matter of minutes. However, Keith didn’t realize that his gas light had turned on and he would run out of fuel in just 10 seconds. He thought, “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken Betty White on that test run into the stratosphere.” Hindsight is always 20/20.
Sirens began to howl as he lost altitude. He went to pull his emergency parachute to no avail. The ground was steadily approaching him as he flew through the clouds. There was no other option that to try and aim towards the football field sized trampoline about a mile to the north. He positioned his body so the wind would steer him closer to his target, but it wasn’t looking promising.
“At least I will be remembered as a national hero,” he thought.
Finally there was no denying that this was it. 3…2…1…BOOM!
Keith woke up in a cold sweat. His room was dark, but rays of light snuck in through the holes in his blinds. His alarm clock screeched over and over again, “5:30 AM – AAHT AAHT – 5:30 AM – AAHT AAHT.” The stale smell of cigarettes and cat litter masked the entire studio apartment he rented in New York City, even though his cat had been hit by a car over a year ago.
He let out a sigh and begrudgingly convinced himself to get out of bed yet another day.
Keith had a fortunate life. Loving parents, plenty of family, a few close friends, a few hobbies he relatively enjoyed, a job that paid him fairly well, but he had a hole in him. Something he wasn’t quite able to put into words, or even something he could consciously recognize to be a problem. Maybe that was why his dreams were so vivid and life like.
Were they a reflection of the life he wished he lived? A constant reaffirmation of opportunities missed and loved ones lost? Or maybe inducing himself into such theatrical dreams was another hobby of his, and it just so happened to be a hobby that could only be enjoyed by one’s self.
Nevertheless, Keith began his day just like every other day. He ate his relatively healthy breakfast, went to work at his relatively rewarding job, went to the gym to keep himself in relatively good shape, and returned home only to keep the vicious, yet mundane, cycle ever turning.
Keith would go to bed around 10:00 PM every night. He found that having a predictable sleep schedule would only help facilitate his dreaming and bring him to his desires quicker.
It was only a matter of minutes before he was back in his Hawaiian Volcano home with Snickers by his side.
“Sure am glad to see you, Snickers! Hope you weren’t too lonely while I was out.”
“Aroooooo!” signaled the velociraptor.
He mounted the dinosaur and they began racing around the island to places even he had not seen before.
“Let’s go check out some of those caverns at the base of that mountain, Snickers!”
The raptor nodded and they were suddenly at the foot of the largest mountain Keith had ever seen before.
“Go-go gadget raptor eye-lights!” Keith shouted, reminiscing on some of his favorite childhood entertainment. The raptor’s eyes lit up and illuminated the entire cave.
Stalactites the size of trucks covered the roof of the cave, and beautiful crystals created an inviting path into the unknown. Keith and Snickers glided through as if they were ice skating on top of a frozen crystal lake.
Suddenly Snickers came to a halt. The robust floor of the cave abruptly ended and there was a cliff that dropped farther than his raptor eye-lights could uncover. Off to the right there were a series of stalactites with the points leveled off that stretched across the abyss, though it was not clear just how far they went.
Keith and Snickers gallanted across the abyss to see where they might arrive, only to land in front of a massive wall that seemed as tall as the abyss was deep. There was a small opening that looked just big enough for Keith to crawl through.
“Wait here while I see what this is all about.”
Keith pulled himself through the hole only to emerge in a pristine laboratory. His perplexed gaze was followed by security cameras where ever he looked, and where ever he went. If the cameras weren’t enough, he had an uneasy feeling that he was being closely watched. Is it possible that he was being watched this whole time?
In the room he found a motherboard that had various settings and a single switch, on or off, for each of them. “Safe Mode – On”. “Flying Purple Death Monkey’s – Off”. “Unlimited Ammo – Off”. There were hundreds…maybe even thousands of switches, and above them all was a screen that showed a picture of Keith sitting in front of the motherboard. Was there someone here that had been manipulating his dreams? Was he ever really in control of anything that was happening in his mind?
His head was a flurry with questions that he was not sure he would be able to find answers to. But curiosity had enamored him and all he could do was begin fiddling with the various settings in front of him.
“Mansion Mode – On”. “Immortality – On”. “Pain Free Mode – On”. “Regrets – Off”. “Super Hero Raptor Mode – On”.
Snickers, with his new found abilities, walked through the hole he crawled through and then reverted back to his original size. Keith continued to adjust switches until he was happy with how he had altered his life, when he noticed a small switch on the wall protected by a glass encapsulate.
“WARNING – DO NOT BREAK OR ADJUST WITHOUT PROPER AUTHORIZATION,” read the sign just above the switch. The switch itself read, “Never Wake Up Mode – Off”.
Keith was floored. He had never thought a reality like this could be possible. A reality where he was truly in charge of every aspect of space, time, and his immediate surroundings. He could conceivably create and alter anything he wanted, and he wouldn’t have to put his dreams on hold for any of the nuisance that came with real life.
He looked at Snickers, and shouted “Eye Lasers!” The glass surrounding the switch shattered.
An alarm started to sound and the floor around them disintegrated to nothing. All that remained was the floor they stood upon, supported by a rock base that disappeared deep into the abyss, and the switch in question.
Keith stood before the switch, preparing to make what could be the biggest decision of his life. Was it worth it to leave a life of mediocrity behind for something that was only real to him? He thought about the life he could potentially leave behind…his family, friends, job. Even though he loved his family and friends, and could tolerate his job, was it selfish to do something for himself that could truly bring him happiness?
Keith looked at his beloved pet and slowly spoke, “I guess I’ll see you next time, buddy.”
Keith fell backwards leaving the switch unflipped. He fell for what felt like an eternity, only to wake up in his bed.
“5:30 AM – AAHT AAHT – 5:30 AM – AAHT AAHT.”
The alarm clock sang its’ song as it did every day. Keith sighed and slowly got up out of bed. All he could muster to say after waking from such a monumental dream was, “At least I’ll be remembered.”
|
As I was speared through the window of the 30th floor I let out an audible "oh no."
Then the adrenaline kicked in. I remembered I lived for days like these, and Joker's grin appeared on my face.
Ever since I changed the settings on the life dial my life had taken a turn. I had barely heard it revving up when a kick broke down my front door. THe burly men outside didn't even bother to ask who or when, they took my by the collar and shoved me into their car with a sack over my head. They had only driven some distance when the sound of guns were heard. I felt us hit something. The doors were opened, and the cover came of my head. As my new captor took me to a new car he informed me that I was part of the witness protection program. I had experienced some extreme paranormal events and there were people out to get me to exploit this ability. I couldn't run from such. I had to learn to defend myself, and be ready for anyting.
Now they had come for me as I tried to get to my parents, boy were they in for a surprise.
As we fell I counted the time I had left.
12...
I struggled to break free of the hold. They were trying to choke me.
11...
Damn they were strong, and the asphalt was coming up quick.
10...
I managed to break free of the hold. I brought them beneath me.
9...
I kicked down putting some distance between us.
8...
I shot at them as my parachute opened. "Hasta la vista baby."
7...
They threw a series of blades at me cutting my parachute strings.
6...
I fell into their arms, and was punched in the face.
5...
They turned me over to be beneath them and held on tight.
4...
I tried to headbutt them it didn't work.
3...
I should have worn my brown pants.
2...
Their visor opened, "stop struggling son." she said.
1...
"Mom?"
0...
I went splash into soft water instead of going splat on hard asphalt. She'd teleported us at the last instant. I felt her let go. Instinctively I tried to lie flat to float to the top. Something was definitely broken. Even water hurts when you fall from that distance. A strong force pulled me up. I floated out to see a grey plate beneath me raising me up.
"James, this is serious" she started. "You somehow managed to access world settings and changed the landscape of this world. It normally would be impossible but with the solar flares that have been occurring combined with the alignment of the planets, it must have been possible for you to enter the room."
I looked down in guilt, remembering the dial I had turned from normal to exciting to dangerous.
"Now look people's lives are at stake, what I need you to do is go back to the dream and return settings to normal."
"Why can't somebody else do it?"
"It needs the person who did it. It now recognizes you as the supreme setter. We've spent a lot of energy and magic to make it artificially possible, so don't screw it up, okay?"
There she was with that condescending tone I had become used to. I couldn't argue with one of the leading scientists in the world, so I nodded in obedience. They took me to a room, and attached my head to a glass globe. Purple vapor streamed from it as they put it on me.
There was a bright flash, then I found myself going through my thoughts. I floated through the dreams going after every one I had had since that day, and was soon back to it. I looked at the dial. As I placed my hand on it I thought of the boring life that waited for me, but I suppose it was for the best.
"Hurry up James," she yelled.
With my temper flaring, I turned the dial I had messed with all the way to normal, then more until it now pointed at funny.
***
You can read other stories I've written at /r/pagefighter.
| 2017-02-22T12:16:46 | 2017-02-22T09:38:23 | 59 | 27 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do?
|
Most people think that physical pain is the best way to manifest magical abilities. They cut themselves, lash themselves, burn themselves, allow wild animals to maul them- anything they think will unleash the power inside them. There are entire schools dedicated to torturing hopefuls until they unlock a magical gift.
But not Ellie. She knew. She knew that the strongest powers came from emotional, mental trauma. They left deeper scars, buried deep in the psyche, that unlocked the most powerful magic.
She knew this because it had happened to her.
She was young yet, much younger than the rest of the Magician Trainees being tested today. She stood there quietly, her tiny frame swallowed up by the robes all Trainees taking their final tests was required to wear. Her silver eyes stared unblinking at the examiner, her body completely still.
"Well?" The Examiner asked. "Are you going to show me? If not, I'll have to fail you."
Ellie could feel the eyes of the other Trainees boring into her, hear their soft snickers and sense their hate. She could also feel their anxiety, their fear. It made the long, empty room smell like acid.
"Answer me!" The Examiner snapped, and Ellie smiled, small white teeth gleaming. She raised the hand that held her small Trainee staff- a miniature version of the one the others held- and banged it on the floor. Overhead, glass shattered and tinkled to the ground as lights broke and went out, leaving just the flickering candlelight from the sconces along the edge of the room.
She lowered the top of her staff and tapped the floor with it, dragging it across the stones. A strong wind buffeted the room, blowing out all the candles at once. The room, windowless and far underground, descended into a darkness that seemed almost unnatural. Ellie smiled again, listening to the other Trainees shuffle around, the smell of acid growing stronger as they stumbled around looking for light.
"I wouldn't do that," her mocking voice echoed through the room, even though she spoke not a word. "The darkness holds more secrets and danger than any of you will ever know."
She raised both her arms, her bracelets jangling as her sleeves fell back, and turned in a circle. A small globe of light appeared above her, pulsing brightly and illuminating the silhouettes of monsters slithering through the dark. One of the trainees screamed, and Ellie laughed, relishing their fear and anguish.
She lowered her free hand, stroking the head of one of the creatures that stood next to her.
"Lovely, aren't they? My little ones," the creatures formed a circle around her, facing out to the edges of the room. Each one was different, but they were all horrid and evil looking, sharp fangs and claws and vile, poisonous breath. One of them had bright green drool dripping from its mouth, and where it hit the floor the stones sizzled and melted away.
Ellie slammed her staff onto the floor again, and the creatures stalked closer to the other Trainees. One, an older boy, screamed and made a run for the door on the far side of the room. Ellie sighed as one of her creatures broke rank, lunging on him and dragging him down to the floor. The boy screamed as the creature ripped into him, his cries echoing and his blood spurting through the room.
"I did try to warn you," Ellie sighed dramatically as the rest of the Trainees screamed and started to run for it. Ellie tapped the floor with her staff and the light went out again. Around the room, there were screams of agony, the sounds of ripping flesh and breaking bones. The sounds of jaws clamping, claws scratching, blood dripping. Ellie smiled, taking it all in, breathing in the pain and fear and agony.
And just like that, it was quiet again. The silence was oppressive, filling the room and weighing it down. Ellie tapped her staff again, and the lights came back on in a rush. Around her, the trainees all stood, unharmed, whispering amongst themselves.
In front of her, the Examiner was on his knees, his head bent back and eyes bulging, mouth opened in a silent scream. Ellie looked at him and smiled.
"I suppose this means I pass?" She asked, her first truly spoken words. There was no response from the Examiner, locked in his mind, in the nightmare she had summoned for him. Ellie laughed and bent down to whisper in his ear.
"Don't worry. This too shall pass. When? Well, that I don't know. But when it does, you will come out of it stronger and more powerful than any simple Physical Pain Magician. You will be likened as to a god." Ellie paused and smiled slowly. "That is, if you survive."
She turned and strode down the room to the big wooden doors. She grabbed a new set of robes and a staff from the table by the door, ones that signified her new position as a fully fledged magician, and opened the door. Before she left, she shot a look over her shoulder at the other trainees surrounding their examiner and snorted indelicately.
"Physical Pain Magicians. Useless. All of them."
|
"Watch!" Young Nathaniel said as he closed his eyes tightly and began to strain.
The magician magistrate sat, humored by the kids unhoned focus. 4 minutes had passed when the kid reopened his eyes, "there!"
"There? There what? Is there something I should have noticed?"
The kid sat quietly, swinging his legs to and fro while staring intently out the window. A few more minutes had passed as both the magistrate and the child gazed into the sky outside when the magistrate finally noticed. The sun, it was way too bright.
"What did you do!?" He asked the child
"Can blow things up with my mind, after the moon I wanted to pick something bigger, and I was told the sun was the biggest" the child said, arms swung wide to gesture the size.
"The, th th th the moon? You did that!" The magistrate sputtered out, and with dread he looked outside once more, "Oh no."
The sun grew hotter, and then split into multiple parts until it started turning blue, and shrinking into itself. The light grew dim, and a slow chill started to creep in.
"Am I in trouble?"
| 2022-04-26T12:51:38 | 2022-04-26T11:54:54 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] Two years ago the sun winked out, utterly without warning. You are a member of one of the last human settlements on earth, huddled around a geothermal vent in Iceland. This morning, again without warning, the Sun rose.
|
Day seven-hundred fifty-three post-sun. Andri did not wake up this morning. That brings our numbers down to nineteen. Five children, thirteen adults, and one stubborn elder. We will take care of Andri’s body after breakfast. In life, he told stories of a glorious future still to come; in death, he will fertilize our crop room.
No one had known what was about to happen seven-hundred and fifty-three days ago: not the world governments, not the scientific community, not the religious leaders of the world. Even the conspiracy theorists and doomsday preppers were unprepared for the sun to go out.
We were lucky. All of us who worked at the Hellisheidi Power Plant lived nearby. When the sky went dark that day and the news stations went berserk, we called our families to come over right away. Most of them got here in time.
With the sun gone, everything went cold. Not just Iceland cold, but instantaneous frostbite, petrol frozen in pipes cold. This temperature drop happened in minutes. It took three days before the air outside was too cold for anyone to travel. We lost four members of our group that day. They had been out looking for survivors and food, but they never came back.
Our numbers were fifty-five the day we could no longer go outside. We had enough food to last about four months. Our first group of scouts had been wise enough to bring back seeds and soil, so we could use light from the reactor to grow beans and potatoes. We shut down all but two of the turbines to use their water for survival. Everything was going about as well as you could hope until day twenty-three post-sun. That’s when we heard the rumbles and crashes from outside. I remember rushing upstairs with some of the others to the security station. We watched, huddled around the monitors as shards of ice rained down upon the world outside. The atmosphere was finally freezing. Cracks appeared in the ceiling. We grabbed anything left upstairs and retreated to the lower levels to the turbine rooms where we were all living.
Life was hard. We had to ration the food carefully. Everyone went to bed hungry. No one knew if anyone or anything else had survived. On day one-hundred thirteen, Sven did not wake up with the rest of us. He had been eight years old. His mother, Freya, hanged herself the next night. They were the first, but not the last.
Day seven-hundred fifty-three. The turbines continue to wane in their energy production. The earth is cooling underneath the crust. At this rate, in another three-hundred and two days the turbines will shut down for good, and we will die. All of humanity will die with us, I believe.
Day seven-hundred fifty-four. I woke up to a splashing sound. Halla had jumped out of her bed and landed in a pool. The whole floor was a pool. Liquid *something* was trickling out of crack in the walls and ceiling, but it sure was not water. I grabbed Ásta, Halla, and Björn to suit up. Liquid could only mean one thing: there was heat on the surface! We waded our way to the old stairwell and pried open the door. A river trickled down the staircase. We started climbing. Four flights later and our way was blocked by rubble. The surface levels of the power plant had been crushed when the sky fell. But we could see light. Light!
Our spirits renewed, we chipped and shoveled and pried a hole big enough to climb through. We scaled the mountain of steel and concrete and stone, cautious but eager. After four hours of climbing and digging, I burst through to the surface. It was blinding. My exposed face started to burn from the radiation but it felt so good. Pulling my goggles up, I squinted and looked around. Something in the sky was burning big and red. But it wasn’t the sun.
••••
Edit: thank you for all of the love! Part two is officially up! [Check it out here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/90q9p2/wp_two_years_ago_the_sun_winked_out_utterly/e2ticc4/)
Edit 2: holy cow I never imagined people would want to read what I write, and now I’m gilded! Thank you kind redditor, whoever you are!
|
Everyone in the settlement watches in amazement as the Sun rises.
There are a dozen of us looking directly at the sun. Suddenly a woman starts screaming in agony.
I have an incredible rush of pain to my head and face and my eyes start to burn.
All of us in the settlement are blinded by the sunlight.
| 2018-07-21T12:34:19 | 2018-07-21T12:13:55 | 1,588 | 29 |
[WP] The woman looked at her at her blind date and said, "I told Tammy that I wanted old and rich...not eldritch."
|
“Oh, so Cthulhu not good enough for you?”
“That’s not what I meant… um-” Em blinked. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, well, ‘date.’ The one thing she knew was that Tammy had a lot of explaining to do.
“Cthulhu devour one or two reality, spend three lifetime of universe in prison, only get out and be treated with such… No. NO! Is Cthulhu not deserving of love? Cthulhu may do unspeakable horror one time, two time, three time. But Cthulhu is new man, changed man. Cthulhu try do better, Cthulhu try. Cthulhu open heart for all humanity, give all humanity love. No. I leave now-”
“Cthulhu wait!” Em said, reaching for one of his tentacles. It had an indescribable texture to it. Not quite cold, and not quite damp. Something in between time and space. It had a fluid like, ethereal nature that could not be perceived through touch alone.
Cthulhu made a face. Em got the feeling it was a disapproving sort of face. She didn’t know why. Just the vibe she got. His head was a mass of tendrils. Like a squid on a somewhat human shaped torso. He didn’t so much as speak as his words manifested in her mind. Em got the sense that there was more to Cthulhu’s presence than her eyes could comprehend.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Em said, glancing away momentarily. “I just don’t know very much about… your kind. But I’d like to learn more, if you’d let me.”
Cthulhu sat back down at the table. “Fine. Cthulhu give you one more chance.”
“Are you ready for your order?” The waiter asked.
“Cthulhu wil have, how you say? Soul of damned, grilled on black hole event horizon roasted in quazar. ”
“I’m sorry sir, our - uh - quasar oven is broken at the moment. We will only be serving what is on the menu tonight..”
“In that case, Cthulhu will try chicken milanese.”
“And I will have the mushroom ravioli,” Em added.
“I’ll bring your order shortly,” the waiter nodded. “Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime?”
“Water good.” Cthulhu said. “Water good for Em too.”
Em lowered her brow. What did he know about what she wanted? Water was fine, but not because he said so! “I’ll have a red wine,” she said, handing the waiter her menu.
“Cthulhu laugh, Cthulhu laugh very hard.” His tentacles writhed. “Cthulhu be omniscient, but not always omniscient, as they say.”
“So,” Em said. “Where are you from?”
“Cthulhu is from realm beyond time and space. Human would require many lifetime of study to understand.”
Em smiled. She had a thing for foreign guys. “What’s it like there?”
“Cthulhu had many trial and tribulation, had reckoning with most fundamental force of reality. Cthulhu not want talk about.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. If I cross any boundaries, just let me know and I will respect them.”
“Cthulhu thank you.”
Em still had trouble reading his expressions. He seemed like the sensitive type, but there was no indication of how he felt on the outside. He was so mysterious. It was honestly intoxicating. Hard on the outside, but with unfathomable emotional depth. Em did have to give Tammy some credit there. He was just her type.
“What do you do exactly?” Em asked.
“Cthulhu is between jobs at moment.”
Em squinted at him. “So you’re unemployed?”
Cthulhu’s tentacles squirmed. “Cthulhu certain something will come up. Has been foreseen. Cthulhu has extensive resume. Currently, Cthulhu volunteering repair space time continuity in Manhattan. Should fix in hour or two.”
“You say that like you're already there, fixing it right now?”
“Yes, Cthulhu in many place across cosmo. Cthulhu even on other date too.” Cthulhu dipped his head. “Oh no, Cthulhu forgot mention.”
“Oh, that’s totally okay. I don’t know if Tammy told you, but I am actually polyamorous.”
“Cthulhu is pleased hear. How you say? Cut from same cloth?”
“You could say that,” Em said with a big smile.
“What about you?” Cthulhu asked “What you do?”
“I’m an elementary school teacher,” Em answered.
“You enjoy?”
“Yeah, I think so. I like being an important part of my students' development. Do you like kids?”
“Cuthulhu has no concept of offspring. Cthulhu is own father and son. Cthulhu existence implies itself.”
Em nodded. She didn’t quite follow. It was kind of like when her brother talked about how the engine of his motorcycle worked. Em wasn’t interested in the details, but she was glad that it meant something to him.
“What subject do Em teach?”
“I teach english,” Em said, leaning forward over the table. “Also, I noticed. You don’t seem to use plurals. I could give you an English lesson, if you want?”
“Cthulhu is aware of plural. Cthulhu disagree with premise.”
He leaned in close, so that their faces almost touched.
Em laughed. “You say the strangest things, you know that?”
“Cthulhu know.”
Em went in for a kiss. It was an experience unlike any other.
|
"That's not very nice of you, young lady." said the old man sitting on the other end of the table.
"Don't call me 'young lady' you fifty-year old fossil! I'm just ten years younger than you for fuck's sake! And you're not even that rich!"
"And I specifically asked for a nice younger woman, preferably early in her thirties, to keep me company, not some forty-year fucker who doesn't even disguise her intentions!" The man took a deep breath, downing the entire glass of that restaurant's most expensive wine. "Look," he started in a calmer tone. "We both know what we're after when we went into this date and it's clear that you've got no intention to play ball so let's make it quick and clear."
The girl followed suit, though she took two glasses before calming down. "Fine," she said. "And I admit, that's not really nice of me to say. Sorry for that."
"Okay. So... I can pay you for your time tonight if you want, if only so neither of us would have wasted time and effort coming here."
"I don't think I can take you on that offer," she said, glaring at him head to toe.
"That's fair." The man nodded even though he's visibly hurt by the comment. "Let's just finish our dinner, then."
There were no more incident between them afterwards, though the two remained quiet all throughout the meal. They parted ways after, never seeing each other again. The waiter, however, picked up quite the insult for his family next time they meet. As he went back to his shift, he wondered if he should visit Dunwich if he's got the time.
| 2022-09-26T09:20:13 | 2022-09-26T07:05:40 | 51 | 18 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
Kenn wasn't adverse to killing people. That came with the job. Sometimes, you just had to do what was necessary to survive. That's what human nature was right? People have been killing each other for centuries. Who can honestly say they're surprised when the first thing superhumans do is start killing each other? That's what they were made to do. Heroes must kill villains, villains must kill heroes. Sure; every now and then a hero leaves a villain alive. Sure; they might even swear off killing altogether. When you get to the bottom of the morally murky swamp however you realize that one way or another either the villain or the hero has to die. That's how wars are fought and this is nothing if not a war.
Kenn sat there looking at her, holding the bag of cash from the bank he had very illicitly withdrawn from the people's savings account. She was brave for her skill. All heroes kind of were. Villains took money and power, heroes took morale superiority and the greater good of society. Heroes went home to an applause every day so it's only natural eventually they got a little too brave for their britches. Kenn didn't mind though. He could tolerate a little bravery here and there. He could tolerate anything from her at this point.
He'd be lying to himself if he said he wanted the money for money's sake. No, he wanted to see her again. He'd be mocked if any of the villains were to know that. Villains weren't allowed to have sweet-hearts. Especially rather heroic ones. This was a war and they were the enemy. This was the closest thing to a date Kenn was every going to get. "Drop the dough" she demanded and Kenn was all to eager to follow. Millions of dollars in bills were heavier than you'd expect. Especially when they come with the heavy knowledge that it was the only way to see her again.
Kenn cracked his knuckles gearing up for a fight he'd know he would lose. He told himself every day that maybe he'd win this time, that maybe this time he'd summon up enough emotional courage to go with his physical abilities but he never could. She sucked it out of him like a second power even she didn't know she had. "Come and get me, Electora" He said tauntingly, using her superhero name. He didn't know her real name.
She didn't smile this time though. She did usually, on any other day. Why wasn't she smiling?
Before Kenn could ask where her grin of bravery had hidden off to, there was the boom of thunder followed by the crack of lightning. Kenn flew back several dozen feet down the street. That was her power, bolts of electric shock. Of course Kenn was a copy-cat villain. He could just shoot one right back, but he wasn't going to. He wasn't going to match fire with fire this time around.
Something was wrong, she didn't seem very... Happy about this. That didn't make any sense. Here he was, spitting out chunks of asphalt as she approached, just as she would have it. How could she be so glum like him? Where was that smiling row of teeth Kenn had gone so far to witness? He stood up just to catch her throw a punch. He made like he was going to block it. He didn't of course. The fist blasted into his cheek; the closest thing Kenn would ever get to a kiss, and he relished it for the few seconds he could as he stumbled back again.
She threw another punch, but something peculiar happened. Kenn saw it come in and once again made the purposefully half-assed attempt to catch it. Kenn flinched just as the fist was about to connect with his upper eye and then... Nothing. Even with his eyes closed he could feel the block of her fist stop just short. It was only a moment, only a few microseconds before Kenn launched himself back again as if he was hit.
Kenn was starting to understand now as he stood there, looking at her. She gritted her teeth and Kenn could feel his heart sink: She knew now, she was starting to understand. Maybe she didn't understand why but she was smart enough to know what was happening. "I knew it" She breathed, sending a kick his way only to stop just short of his windpipe. Kenn pretended to gag, falling on his ass.
"Stop it!" She shouted, standing over him. Kenn had never seen her this angry before. He sat there looking at her as she made to stomp directly onto his face but, once again, didn't. This time Kenn didn't do anything. He just sat there, blinking as he looked at the underside of her boot. Her eyes were watering now as she stepped back, putting her arms down. "For the love of god..." She began, raising her hands again now not in fists but in open curled hands as if she was trying to summon something out of Kenn. "Fight back!"
Ken got up, rubbing the spot on his cheek were a bruise was forming. "I-... Can't." He said, trying to follow that up with some viable excuse. Grasping and reaching out for something he could say that would keep her in the dark, in that comfortable lie he had managed to keep her in for so long. There wasn't anything Kenn could do now. All he could do was pretend.
He imagined this was quite a scene to the police and reporters nearby, who watched with anticipation at what was happening. Kenn snarled at them, hating their every being for this. For making what was supposed to be a private moment public. She stood there a moment waiting for Kenn to say something else. When he didn't she sighed, her anger giving way to a sadness Kenn couldn't quantify. Her blue eyes just scorched into Kenn. Hurting him more than any punch could. "I can't do this anymore." She croaked, her voice breaking.
"Do you think this is so easy for me?" She said, turning away and wiping her face with her hands. "Every time I throw a punch, every time I hurt you I just get this terrible feeling that I'm feeding something I don't want to. I feel sick every time I break your bone or shock you."
She shook her head: "And every time you come around, they send me... They always send me because they know I'm the only one that can beat you. So every time I have to force myself here, to force myself to throw punches and hurt you in ways I didn't want to. I can't, I just can't do this anymore."
She turned back to him, clasping her hands together with tears streaming down her cheeks: "Please... Just this once, don't make me hurt you again. It's killing me. For just once can you please win?"
Kenn didn't know what to say. This whole time Kenn thought he was helping her when all he was doing was hurting her. This was what it meant to be an arch nemesis. To try and help someone only to realize you're the one hurting them the most. He didn't know what to do. They were stuck now, neither having the selfishness to hurt each other, neither having the selflessness to fake it. This was a war in which there was no victor. It was a war where people just got hurt and no one was the hero and no one was the villain. Both of them had at this point long forgotten the bag of money now laying in the street, dollar bills rolling through the wind.
|
The cuffs tightened around my wrists and the glowing blue orb was strapped to my chest. Thought the darkness leaving my body wasn't the only deep emptyness inside me. Sucker punch was her "hero name" but I knew her real name was Susan Brownlee. Of course I did, she was the love of my life and so it only made sense that I knew everything thing about her and now was the 153rd time I have let her defeat me. My powers were unimaginably stronger than hers but I wouldn't dare kill her, I get in just enough trouble so that for a few minutes her hands manipulate mine and strap on all this security and I'm close enough to smell her lavender-lylac shampoo. As the armored anti-super police unit drags me to the modified APC to transport me to some new and improved containment unit I catch her talking to the police chief, her blue eyes unphased by the atrocities I committed and her hair roughed up just enough to make her even more devilishly sexy. After the doors to my taxi are shut I look out the slit window for one last glimpse of the most beautiful human alive and my eyes are greeted in horror.
A green ooze is dissolving the cheif and Susan is pinned to the ground by a disgusting hag with 4 legs and 6 arms. Brood Witch. Instinctively I look the cuffs around the handle on the bully steel door and tug, my hands rip clean off and I thrash around until the blue orb that strips me of my powers shatters, a terrible design but us villains vowed to never exploit that for situations that are dire, we wouldn't want escaping made harder would we? As soon as the orb cracks my powers return and a black mist swirls around me. My hands are back and slice easily through the door with a tendril so dark no light can escape. I fling myself toward my love and Brood Witch impales her with a glowing green spear of disgusting energy. I immediately lash out with everything I have: tendrils, my arms, my teeth. I tear Brood Witch apart with the wrath of the pure evil inside me and within moments the bitch though of as one of the most powerful of the evil supers was a twitching pile of blood.
I run to Susan as her would dumps her mortal blood all over the concrete of downtown New York, green stains around the wound show me how bad it is. But there is nothing I can do, I scream for a paramedic or something because my darkness cannot heal wounds on those other than me. All I can do is hold her and try to stop the bleeding. She looks me in the eyes with utter confusion, for she thought I was her arch nemesis and wanted her dead. But before we can exchange any words her eyes droop shut and I can feel that a powerful soul has slipped into the void. But rather than the jolt of energy that I get when a hero dies, the mist surrounding me and the tendrils I hold her with blink out of existence. Before Susan's lifeless body can hit the ground my hands begin glowing with divine light and no longer have I any desire to cause chaos, but now the parasitic thoughts that drug me to the top of the criminal ladder are screaming at me to kill ever villain who dare dream of ripping life away from this beautiful world.
Sorry is super ameteur, I though I had a good idea but I'm a terrible writer so feel free to critique me.
| 2017-09-17T05:11:57 | 2017-09-17T04:37:24 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] You make the best of every situation, after all when life gives you lemons you make lemonade, and when a witch gives you a curse that turns you into a hundred foot abomination well...
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*They say beauty is only skin deep, but what of the man with a square mile of skin? Well, let us just say that I am lucky to be proportional, and luckier still to have learned how little that matters.*
*-The Giant of Bray Village*
***
It took Frida a half dozen approaches to speak to the giant, and when she did the boom of his response scared her away for an even dozen more. The other children didn't call her Frightful Frida for nothing.
It was only that thirteenth approach however, when Frida truly resolved to make a friend. She bought a baker's dozen of the fine, fluffy muffins Ms. Paulson made from the summer berries, and with her auspicious (she hoped) gift in hand she approached the giant once more. Frida dearly hoped he was hungry.
"Mr. Giant, I'm back!" Frida shouted.
She was ten years old at the end of that summer and tall for her age. She stood next to the first joint of the giant's toe, and when she jumped she could just barely see over the rest of his bare foot.
"Who's there?" said the giant. His voice held the tone of a whisper and the volume of a thunderclap and when he spoke it made her skin tingle.
"It's Frida!" Frida shouted.
"Little girl, I can hear you, you know. My ears are very large, my hearing very fine, even up here."
Frida craned her head back, trying to see his face. The giant wore the clothes he had been transformed in. The other villagers said he was timeless, that he didn't eat or sleep, that they had never once seen him move. They said his hair did not grow. Frida didn't know how they knew that, since his head was so often shrouded amongst the lowest clouds or lost in the spring foliage.
"Can you hear me now?" Frida whispered.
"Don't play games, child."
Frida gulped and fought the urge to run. Frightful Frida. The words boomed through her head in a childish singsong louder than the even giant's voice.
"What are you doing up there?" Frida said.
"Passing lifetimes. And, at times, watching."
"What are you watching?"
The giant paused. Muffins in hand Frida leapt nimbly up onto his big toe and climbed across his foot. She had never done it before, but today she had resolved to be brave. She had resolved to make a friend.
The giant did not move, and in time his voice wafted down to her. It was quiet, almost a strain to hear.
"Everything," the giant said.
And Frida stopped. 'Everything' was a very large concept.
She sat in silence upon the giant's foot for a time, the hair of his toes making a coarse but passable bed.
"Mr. Giant?"
"Yes?"
"In all of that everything, do you see a friend?"
She had thought his voice had been like thunder. She had been wrong. His laughter was the thunder. It filled up her little valley, and so close to the giant the beat of it was so loud that Frida felt it's rumble in her chest. It felt good. It felt like a friend should feel.
"No child, I don't see a friend. Not yet at least. There are a great many things in everything and some of them are fascinating, but very few of them are brave enough to talk to a mile high man."
*Frightful Frida, Frightful Frida!*
The voices rang in her head again and Frida drowned them in another muffin. She bit her lip and closed her eyes and belted her wish to the world.
"Do you want to be my friend?"
The giant began to move. His feet shifted, not quite a step although the tremor nearly threw her off. Far above, Frida saw the great columns of his legs bending at the knee as the giant crouched down, down, down. His face came into view. He wore a short, dark beard.
"No, no, no!" Friday shouted. "Stay up there!!!"
"Why?" the giant asked, still crouching.
"Because I'm Frightful Frida! Frightful! If you see me you won't want to be my friend, nobody does!"
With a loud, ear splitting grunt the giant settled onto his haunches. When Frida met his eyes she gasped, each of them was wider and taller than her, and the were the pale, perfect blue of the sky. He was beautiful.
And she was not.
"No!" Frida shouted, turning and running away across his foot. His hand fell like a great wall in front of her, his callouses were thick and heavily textured, like bulbous brick protrusions.
"Turn around, little one, and let me get a good look at you."
Frida did not want anyone to get a good look at her. She had wanted a friend, a true friend who could never even chance upon her face, an immobile, infinitely tall friend, who could know her for who she was and not what she looked like.
But there was a command in his voice and she was Frightful for a great many reasons. Frida turned.
He stared at her for several long seconds. Frida's skin was afire, the blush likely to boil it off. And then he smiled, perfectly, beautiful, his teeth extending as far across as the village.
"Frida, was it? Child, in all of the everything I have seen, I don't think I've ever seen a face so beautiful as my newest friend's."
Frida didn't know what to say to that. "I brought you muffins," she whispered, raising the box. "Thirteen of them but I ate two."
"Eleven," he said, chuckling.
"Uh huh."
"Frida, would you like to see everything?"
She nodded and he lay his hand flat. She clambered on, her body shaking, the other children's voices still tearing through her. But the giant was beautiful and he'd seen her and everything else and he'd said...could it be?
They went so far up it grew cold and her breath misted faintly, and as they went he spoke to her.
"Frida, dear. Have you ever heard the saying 'beauty is only skin deep?' Well dear, I have found it to be true. When I was young I could not see beauty. I thought I could and I thought I had it, but I lacked a certain something. Call it perspective, though that is hardly sufficient. And well...my curse is bad for many things. Makes doorways quite the pain, makes women...well, nevermind. What I am saying, dear friend, is that when you spend eternity watching everything, you learn something of real beauty. Ah, here we are."
They stopped and the giant turned a few degrees west, and far out on the horizon lay a world she had never imagined.
"They call it an ocean. This one is peculiar, the water is very, very, warm. Like a great hot spring and twice as soothing because it seems endless. In my youth I swam idly in those waters, luxuriating in the warmth of their embrace."
Frida didn't have a word for how blue that great expanse of water was. It seemed like a great, placid expanse, hardly moving, a perfect plane for the ships that plied it, their grand white sails only little specks.
"When you asked to be my friend, you reminded me of that ocean."
It was too beautiful for words and they were too high. Up here she felt powerful and brave and nothing at all like a scared little village girl.
"You said you brought muffins?" The giant said.
"Yes," she squeaked.
"Might I have one?"
"But how?"
He opened his mouth a great, gaping target, and Frida tore her gaze from the sea to throw whole muffins into her new friend's mouth. She dearly hoped he liked them.
------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
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*When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When life gives you demons, make demonade.* That's what my uncle used to tell me. Pretty strong line if you ask me. Back then I didn't appreciate it though, how can any pre-adolescent kid appreciate anything that's not directly linked with instant satisfaction? Dopamine rush. This is what the kids of today are going for, and this is what the kids had always gone for. Nowadays it's Fortnite, Nickelodeon, Tik Tok, ASMR, Travis Scott Burger, Coca Cola. Back then it was football, hide and seek, picture books, ice-cream, Coca Cola. Kids love the moment, not the game.
Now, as a thirty-one-year-old male yoga teacher, I can safely state that I have grown to love the game, the process, and thus, the destination. I know why you are reading this, you expect me to amuse you with my painful, shocking HUMAN-TURNED-INTO-A-BEAST-WITH-MANY-LEGS-story, pretty similar to a coming-of-age story, but trust me, I won't disappoint. I'll give it to you.
I turned my lemons into lemonade when I took advantage of my spinal problem, which gives me a hard time when I walk but also supplies me with incredible flexibility, compared to that of the average human. So, I took my flexibility and transformed myself into a renowned yogi and a handsomely paid yoga instructor.
While at the peak of my career, I met this stunning girl. Rosa. She attended my classes for half a year, and it took some courage, but I finally asked her out. I knew it was unprofessional and all, but she was just *too cute*. And you should see those belly stretches. Good God... I asked, she said 'sure' and half a week later we met at a bar for a drink. I got an Old-Fashioned, she got a Zombie. Well, we didn't get one, but many. Too many maybe, the talk was good, the laughs were there, everything was in place. And then I took her home. At home, she wanted to try some strange sex positions, but I thought what the hell, I'm a yogi, she's a yogi, we can take it. However, it turned out to be dark magic instead of kamasutra. What can you do... She was a witch, just being herself. No grudges from me. Water under the bridge is what it is.
Now I'm this guy with a hundred legs, and in case you haven't yet seen me on the news, or Instagram, don't ask about my looks. I'm unsure myself about how can a creature like me sustain life. The ones that *have* seen me in person don't speak much. They just stand there, trying to prohibit their mouth from gaping open, but I know what they're thinking. They think that life in a body like mine is a curse. That my existence shouldn't be. But I beg to differ.
As I've told you before, I've learned to love the game, not the moment. I took my demons and squeezed them all the way to a gallon of demonade when I made myself a celebrity. People wanted to know about my case, the man with many legs. Who wouldn't? I went to a talk show, then another, and then another one. I can't do yoga anymore, but now I have fifteen million followers on Instagram. Every day I get offers from clothing brands, cosmetic brands, sports brands. Everybody wants me to advertise their stuff. Vans shoes, Gym leggings, energy drinks, fucking PlayStation 5, all of that. I made myself rich. I live as I want. I can't have sex anymore either, but sex and yoga are the only things I miss. Nothing else. And I can say, I've had enough of those two in the last ten years of my life, it's not the end of the world.
After all, most people can have sex, or yoga, but only a few can make seven million dollars in a single year. Life is good as it is... Shout-out to all the hot witches out there.
| 2021-08-08T07:32:10 | 2021-08-08T06:43:12 | 112 | 23 |
[WP] Two immortals have been duking it out for god knows how long and only now have they realised they have been fighting in the middle of a city
|
A dark and terrible scream filled the sky and shook the world.
There was smoke, and blackness, and then silence.
'Blethine… your voice grows weak.'
'Yours also, Jlin. You are no longer powerful like you once were. Our voices may be tired for now, but I grow mightier every day, while you crumble into old age. How long until you are expended? How long until I may consume you?'
'You know the answer to that. The world will die a thousand times over befor- AGH!'
Jlin yelped and hesitated. Flakes of the skin around his wrist, crackled and grey, crumbled off and was gone. Both the immortals paused and stared in confusion.
This was not their doing.
For many ages, the two immortals had clashed in close combat. Slowly they had stalked one another, circling, approaching and finally, wrestling. Their voices belching forth their power, black-white fumes blasting out with every cry of war, the skies darkening in return. The trees had burned and the animals fled. The forces of nature unleashed.
But now they went silent. The empty eyesockets of their craggy faces stared, seemingly blinking, at the injury, not understanding. Neither had ever landed a blow. Never suffered this kind of injury. This was beyond their understanding. The hole was small and dark. A tiny speck of flesh.
'Blethine… what have you done?' asked Jlin slowly, his wizened face contorted. Flashes of red fire tinged his lips, a bubbling anger within.
'I have done nothing, I know nothing! What tricks have you devised?!' Blethine yelled back, his soot-black visage broken only by a thin cap of white hair.
'This is no trick…' Jlin leaned his head down towards his hand, craning to see. The immortals were powerful, but ponderous. Their arms rested loosely at their sides, their heads atop fat, broken necks. They both struggled to move at any pace. But they had time.
'it is a hole…' said Jlin, slowly. A craggy, open hole had opened in his wrist, the white and grey flesh beneath exposed. It was not deep, but wide. There was no blood.
'You lie. That is no hole I have ever seen.' spat Blethine. 'Holes are deep and winding, forged over an eon, a testament to time. That is-... It's…'
'-a hole' said Jlin, firmly. He stood upright again and glared at Blethine. 'I see only what it is, not that which you would prefe- AGH!'
He screamed again, clutching to the side of his torso, where another hole had appeared, larger than the first.
'WHAT IS HAPPENING' he yelled, black smoke pouring forth, mixed with the red flame of fury.
Blethine stared, still confused. Then he saw it; a tiny trail of white leading away from Jlin's Pierced side. A tiny, winding sliver, almost too thin to see amongst the distant green and undulating hillocks.
It was a trail of Jlin's flesh. Thin, long and white.
'You are beset, Jlin'. Said Blethine with confidence. 'you are weakening, your form crumbles each day, and now your flesh is being taken. You will not long survive.'
'don't mock me…! If this thing comes for me, it will surely come for you too!' snarled Jlin, fire and fury cascading from his mouth. The black and red smothered the trail and hillocks, coating all with darkness again.
The darkness cleared again quickly, the black soot turned to green.
Jlin yelped once again. Another chunk was taken.
He swatted with his grey, oversized arms, flailing and casting grey pieces of skin askew, rubbing until the white flesh beneath was exposed.
Blethine laughed, then paused.
It was more than a trail now. It was… something. Piles? Circles? Something was putting Jlin's flesh into mounds. Something smaller and faster than Blethine could make out. They were stripping Jlin of his flesh and making it into… nests?
'Jlin, look, your mysterious tormentors…' he said pointing with a smile. 'they come for you now, but why?'
Jlin looked up at Blethine, with a red glare of rage. Fire dripped from his mouth.
'Isn't it clear, Blethine? They come for what lies within; our power, our grace, the fire of the undying. They see it within us and they come to claim it as their own '
Blethine balked, hesitated. He looked at the flakes of Jlin's body being carried away in a blur, to become part of the growing piles of flesh.
He then laughed.
'they come for yours perhaps Jlin. Mine remains untouched.' he gloated.
'for now. Perhaps they save the worst until last.' Jlin spat.
'perhaps I'm made of different stuff', said Blethine, pointing to his rougher, tougher skin. The two were not identical, it was true.
Jlin winced and slumped. Great flakes were now coming away, charged by some tiny, blurry beasts below. The piles grew closer and taller. The green hillocks around them changed shape.
The things, whatever they were, were using the green on the hills to made other little piles. They were swarming around Jlin, barely paying attention to Blethine.
'your flesh is tasty to them, Jlin, you have become a delicacy. It's a pity that I could not be the one to devour you.'
Jlin closed his eyes and curled himself up tight; the smoke and fire trapped inside.
'No. They want the fire of the undying, of this I am quite sure. If they want it, and I am destined to die, then I will give them what they seek.'
The smoke and fire vanished, bubbling inside Jlin's mighty chest.
Blethine laughed and belched black fumes. The smoke and darkness made the tiny things wary, but they were quickly back, scraping the skin from Jlin.
Jlin could feel himself being broken away, tony flake by flake. He was mighty, yes, but Blethine was quite right; he was losing this fight. The two had been locked in combat, to drown and consume the other in the fire of the undying, and now Blethine had somehow beaten him with this trick.
No. He will not die on Blethine's terms.
He silenced himself, felt his belly churn red. The smoke and fire rose higher, and stronger. The mounds of his flesh grew closer and larger, until he was covered in them, coated in the nests of these… things.
Blethine watched, bemused, smoking and puffing and laughing.
Jlin felt the holes grow deeper inside him, his surface being flattened and stripped away. The tunnels bored faster and faster, until they reached his fire within. It barely tapped the pressure growing inside.
This was it. All the time he had left.
Jlin stood up and screamed his deepest scream. The fire and smoke erupted, too much to evem glow red. This scream was too much for Jlin, it's power too intense. He had built this chance. the fire of the undying could never be contained for long.
His face broke apart and was pulverised, his grey-white flesh turned to dust. His sides slipped away and broke wide open, and flowed away like water.
The sky darkened once again and the earth shook with pain. The tiny blurry animals and all their carefully arranged piles of flesh were flattened, buried, burned away. The dust of Jlin's once mighty form buried them.
And when it cleared, Blethine still stood proud and tall, overlooking the shattered remains of Jlin. He would rise again. And then, their fight would resume.
Jlin the volcano had not yet spoken for the last time.
|
"Stop!!" Thor thunders, raising his palm to his enemy of the past hundred centuries.
Thunder roared from above. Not the kind brought on by a mixture of hot and cool air, but a deep crimson lightning, forced to break the clouds by Thor's impatience. The bolt shatters through the countless drops of rain before striking the ground before Thor, sending his enemy tumbling backwards.
His enemy, Anubis, The god of death; Bringer of the end; Baker of delectable cakes. Whatever his name was, he was for now at least, Thor's enemy.
“OW!! That hurt, you buffoon of Asgard!” he shouts, tending to his wounded tuckus.
“I did not stop for banter, tall dog” Thor roars, his voice mimicked by the striking bolts of crimson around them.
“I’m not a dog. I’m a GOD!. Got that!? G.O.D.” The baker of sweet treats replies. “Odin's beard, who taught you to spell?”.
A bolt strikes behind Thor. His silhouette looming over Anubis. “Bite your tongue mongrel! I’ll not have you bismerch my mother!”.
Moments of silence. Nothing but the patter of rain hitting the ground around them. Windows, Cars and blocks of stone that once belonged to quite a nice bakery litter the ground around them. For the first time in a hundred centuries, the pair's heated battle had simmered. Each taking their time to notice their surroundings for the first time their eyes split apart.
Their battle started on the desert of mars. A barren and rather wasteful portion of the solar system, the pair thought it would be a good place to host their battle. It would appear that, while spinning Anubis around, Thor had launched him towards earth. He had meant to throw him to the moon, but it was a little late to apologise to the scattered bones that now occupied the city.
“I thought we were on that despicable bitches planet. Why are we here?” Anubis questioned, picking up the tattered remains of a children's bear. The haunted memories of it’s previous owner etch themselves into Anubis’ mind. A lesser known ability or more accurately curse bestowed to the god of death. Possessions owned by the dead would play their most tortured memories to the god of death. His mind would warp to match the owners, inflicting the same traumatic experience exactly as it would have been felt.
The memory brought forth by this bear was that of the girl playing quietly within her home. Her parents were smiling gleefully at her, trying to get the next photo for their album. Suddenly. Lighting strikes their building. Lights flicker. Bickering of hosts within the TV turns to static before bursting shards of glass into the room. Her father is hit first. A large shard flew through the air with the determination of an eagle. Hitting its intended target quickly and concisely. Blood spewed from her fathers neck, covering her mothers face as she laments in horror trying to stop the wound.
This moment's grief shocked her to her core. She trembled, holding her teddy close for comfort. Her mother, tossing the cold remains of her father aside, leaps from the sofa. Before her outstretched hand could reach her daughter she is sucked into a vacuum. The force of Anubis throwing Thor into the building had scraped away the wall to the flat, sucking in the limp bodies of humans and scattered possessions. Quickly, her mothers hand was sucked away. Tumbling along the gust of air her mothers head shattered on some blocks of stone, covering the daughter's face and teddy.
Anubis drops the teddy in shock. His mind reforms back to that of an infinitely old god. “Dear Osiris… What have we done” he trembles, falling to his knees.
Noticing his enemy's shock, Thor approaches. Raising a hand he places it on the god’s shoulder. “What we have done is unforgivable… I’m sorry… I should have shared your cake instead of being a selfish asgardian. My mother will be most displeased”.
| 2022-10-20T07:43:05 | 2022-10-20T03:57:02 | 84 | 31 |
[WP] You wished for immortality and to never become sick. Years later you have NEVER been sick, but you Have become a biological terror and are now a carrier for all of the worst diseases known to man.
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The Pacific Ocean looked beautiful from up here. I’d never seen the Pacific Ocean like this, then again I’d never rode in a plane like this before. It was used for paratroopers at the beginning of the third world war which had started about two years before I made that goddamn wish. I pressed my gloved finger up against the window and pointed at the faint outline of Russia in the distance. I was close to the military camps now. A lot of people were going to die soon.
I took my hand away from the glass. I had put this on myself. Even though I never imagined that I’d be used for something like this. I couldn’t possibly blame the US government for using my containment as an advantage in the war. I guess murdering enemies was better than murdering loved ones. I reached for the handkerchief around my neck. The sent of smoke lingered, as if I had gone to the bonfire just the other night.
I turned to the cockpit. The pilot was wearing a very complicated suit to protect him from me. I wondered if he had a family at home, or if he lived all alone. Maybe he had a pet? I was instructed to stay clear of the cockpit. My only order was to jump when the pilot instructed me to jump. I had no idea where we were headed, all I knew was that it would be somewhere in Russia.
I’m not going to lie. I thought the plan was dumb as shit. Not only would the Russian military be taken out by disease, but possibly millions of innocent civilians as well. Who knows? Hundreds of new viruses could be spread all across the globe in a matter of weeks. But, what could I say? Who was I in all of this? They said that I could be shot on sight after being dropped down and that my death would help limit the blow of viruses onto the Russian military, but what about after? Sure, containment might be possible, but I wasn’t sure that risking the extinction of all humanity was that last thing I wanted to be responsible for before I died. Then again, who knew how long this war could go on for if I didn’t?
I loosened the handkerchief from my neck and pulled it off. There was an orange stain on one of the corners from when I accidentally spilled a cup of Jungle Juice on it. I remember excusing myself from the campfire and then pissing in the woods. I didn’t realize that I was carrying so many diseases at the time. I didn’t realize that those diseases had become contagious. How could I have?
I remember the camping trip the year before. It was the year world war three began. I had gone off on my own in hopes of spotting a shooting star. I couldn’t believe it when I saw one. I had to think of something quick. I figured that the worst possible thing that could interrupt my life at that point would be if I were to be drafted in the war. I made my silly wish, to be immortal against all sickness and death. I thought that I saw the stars wink at me, a brief moment of complete darkness, but I figured it was just my imagination at the time. That camping trip was an annual thing. How was I to know that the next one would have ended so drastically?
“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” I called to the pilot. He made no recognition of my existence. He was probably focused on flying the plane. The rules were simple. Follow orders, or rather, follow *one* order. Jump when given the signal. I didn’t understand why anybody trusted me to do so, I supposed that they only saw me as a weapon of mass destruction and not as a person.
“I said it looks beautiful up here.” I rose my voice a bit and stepped closer to the cockpit.
“Watch your step.” The pilot warned when he saw that I’d stepped closer to him.
I really didn’t want to be responsible for all those deaths. No, I’d already taken so much life. My family, my friends, even my dog wasn’t immune to the diseases I carried.
“What’s your name?” I asked, taking another step closer.
“Subject 7924 please step back.”
“Do you have a family?” Another step forward.
“Please-“
“Are you ok with what were doing here?” The pilot reached for his radio an called ground control.
“Subject 7924 is not responding to orders-“ I leapt forward and grabbed the radio from him. The plane took a dive as the pilot lost control. I struggled to fight with him and keep my balance, but I was eventually able to pull off his helmet and mask. He pleaded with me not to do it, but I couldn’t have either of us go through with our orders today.
I took the handkerchief and wrapped it tightly around his neck. The plane went into a nosedive as the pilot frantically tried to push me away. Alarms went off as the Pacific Ocean came barreling towards us. The pilot’s struggles were becoming more and more tired.
The crackling of a bonfire, the scent of cheap beer, the coughing, the cries, the vomit, the hike to the goddamn phone tower, the ambulance, the hospital lights, the life in my sister’s eyes going out, mom, dad, Jennie, Ben, Jasper, Hannah, Gale, all their faces came flashing through my mind.
And now unnamed pilot, his arms went limp, his mouth hung open like a hooked fish, his consciousness flooded out of him and his eyes went dark.
And then we crashed.
My chest collapsed. Everything went dark.
I’m still there. At the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, somewhere between Russia and North America. My lungs heavy with water and my skin like rubber. There is a constant pressure in my ears. The plane has sunk so low and has been covered in so much ice that it would be impossible for me to transmit disease at this point. It’s dark down here. The pilot is dead in the cockpit. And I’m alive. Well, as alive as an immortal can get, drowning at the bottom of the ocean.
Note: It’s currently 1:30am and I have to be up at 7 so I’m not going to read through this for spelling/grammar/continuity mistakes. This went in a much darker direction than what I was planning it to go in, but oh well xD. I hope it’s enjoyable to read at least <3
Edit: Just read through it and made some changes. I hope people see the changes and that they like them. Also, I feel like the backstory of this person has only gotten more complicated, but I hope it makes sense!
|
All I wanted was to not be sick anymore. That's it. Momma said that I would be ok. She always said that. I was always so tired. I was in the hospital for so long. I went through a thing I think they called radio nation. It always made me throw up, and my hair fell out. I was so tired of being sick.
My room wasn't so bad. I moved my PlayStation 2 to it, and the doctors sometimes played street fighter with me. One night after a radio nation session, I was throwing up in my room. I was so tired of being sick. I looked up and out the window as momma was rubbing my back. with tears in my eyes I saw a shooting star. And I wished. I wished with everything I had, with every inch of my mind that I could, that I would stop being sick. I threw up again and fell asleep leaning over the toilet bowl.
When I woke up, I was in my bed, and momma was talkin' to the doctor, and I heard him say that it was a miracle. When they noticed I was awake, momma come to my side and hugged me. She hugged me tight like she only ever had, when the doctor told me I was sick, so long ago.
She said "is ok baby. Everything's ok. Your better now. Isn't that great? Your all better!" If everythings ok why was she cryin'? "Does that mean we can go home momma?" She didn't stop huggin me and said, "of course baby, and we'll get that ice cream place you love so much. I'll make ya a real nice dinna' and we'll eat in front the Television." So we went home, got ice cream and ate a real nice casserole, in front the T.V.
After a couple months, I finally got to go to school again. I made friends. Sometimes they came over to play street fighter. After a while, when I got inta Junior high, my friend kept gettin sick. I didnt know why, but they kept gettin sick. when they came back, they were better, and the more they hung out with me the more they got sick. It kept happening like that until momma got sick. But she got real sick.she stayed in her room for so long.i started to miss her. Then she left to go be with Granny, at least that's what dad said. Then dad got sick. Then Grandpa. And they all died. When i finally got a car, I left to go try to find momma.
| 2020-03-10T21:59:44 | 2020-03-10T21:16:06 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Your new 3D printer can print anything... a n y t h i n g
|
"Hey Ryan, where'd you get this pizza?" Greg asked as he took another hearty bite out of his slice of pizza. "This..." Greg chewed, "is definitely not from *Pizza Hut*."
"Uh huh. I printed it," Ryan said with his mouth full.
Greg stopped chewing and looked at his wife next to him, who also stopped chewing. "Y-you printed it?" Greg asked.
"Yea," Ryan replied nonchalantly then turned away from the TV to look at Greg and Mary. "You guys don't like it?"
Greg was silent, still deep in thought.
Mary spoke up. "No, no. It tastes... pretty good actually," she said.
"Good," Ryan said. "Because I spent a good fortune on that damn printer."
"Since when did you get a 3D printer Ryan?" Greg asked with disbelief in his voice. "I didn't even know you were were that technologically savvy."
"Eeey buddy," Ryan looked at Greg. "Just because I never leave the house doesn't mean I ain't knowledgeable about what new invention those upstart science people crap out every year. Why don't you get off your high horse Greg. Geez, I haven't seen you in years and you're still an uptight cunt."
Mary gasped like a school girl who just saw her man get socked in the face.
Greg adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat. "Do you even know how your 3D printer works Ryan? Do you know what kind of materials your 3D printer is compatible with? Do you know how to change 3D models and select different compounds and components- "
"Greg!" Mary put a hand on her husband's shoulder, pacifying him.
Ryan didn't seem to mind the barrage of questions. He responded, "Yea. It's simple Greg. You push the fucking button and bam!" Ryan made an explosion with his hands. "Just like that, the thing shits out miracles of god. What a fucking wonderful thing it is Greg."
Greg looked at Ryan in astonishment, "How in the world did you even manage to print pizza?! Do you even know what this pizza is composed of?!" Greg shook the pizza in Ryan's face.
"Of course," Ryan said thoughtfully. "Poly...acra...lon? Something like that."
"You mean Polyacrylonitrile? T-that's fucking carbon fiber!"
Mary started heaving in her seat, on the verge of throwing up.
Ryan only shrugged in his seat. "Hey, I've been eating this pizza for weeks. I'm still looking pretty lively, yeh?"
Greg stood up furiously. "Show me! Show me this printer of yours, I need to know what the fuck I just ate!"
Ryan stood up calmly and started heading to the basement with Greg and Mary following at his heels.
When they finally arrived in the basement, Mary and Greg found themselves staring at the 3D printer with their mouths agape.
"See? What a piece of work eh?" Ryan brushed his hand affectionately over the transparent glass surface. Behind the glass, was the 3D printer.
"Ryan... Where did you get this?" Greg asked as he stepped closer to the machine. The glass box which housed the 3D printer was nearly as tall as him.
Ryan scoffed, "online of course. *How else* would you get things these days."
"This is state-of-the-art, NASA-would-kill-for level of advanced man."
"Nevermind that!" Mary exclaimed, "I want to know what the heck we just ate!"
"Okay honey," Greg said then walked around to the back of the machine, where he found a display monitor and a computer all built into a panel and attached to the 3D printer. Here he was able to navigate through a complex menu and a selection of different pre-downloaded 3D models.
"Hey hey, careful with her man," Ryan warned. "That's my source of pizza for the rest of my life man."
Greg was too focused on the machine to respond.
Mary came around to join Greg as he fiddled with the options on the display. "What did you find honey? she asked.
Greg's eyes went wide.
Ryan noticed immediately. "What. What did you find Greg?" Ryan leaned in to see what Greg had found.
"I can't believe you've been using this only for pizza Ryan. Shit. This thing can print *anything*," Greg said as he scrolled down the list. "Components for vehicles, planes, spaceships and so on... Even military weapons, human organs - god damn it Ryan, how did you get your hands on this?"
Ryan didn't respond. He was too deep in thought.
"Hold on, hold on. Can this thing make diamonds?" Ryan grinned mischievously.
Greg gave Ryan a look, then proceeded to scroll through the list again. After a few moments, he spoke, "Yes, it can."
"Sweeeet!" Ryan cried out with sheer joy as he pumped his fist in the air.
"Wait I don't think that's right," said Mary who had been silent. "Like, you are artificially producing a material that requires a billion years if not more to naturally occur. Think about what would happen if-"
"Fuck that shit! I'm just a human being who has needs! Let the philosophers and moralists piss themselves off over that shit!" Ryan screeched. "This is my 3D printer and I can print whatever the fuck I want, understood?"
Mary shook her head in disgust.
"Hold on Ryan, we've got to be rational about this and-"
"Not you too Greg! Get out of my way!" Ryan shoved Greg out of the way, then proceeded to tap the display repeatedly.
"Wait!" Greg shouted as he grabbed Ryan by the shoulders, hauling him away from the printer.
But it was too late. The 3D printer had already started printing. "*Printing Commencing...*" a mechanical voice uttered.
Behind the glass box which encased the 3D printer, a mechanical arm began tracing lines through the air starting from the floor of the box. It drew human toes, legs, an abdomen, a torso with arms and eventually the head, until finally it produced a human.
Mary screamed as she watched in horror.
"Dear god," Greg whispered.
All the while, Ryan was tapping inputs on the display frantically. "Where the fuck is the *abort* option damnit!"
-----
/r/em_pathy
|
“It can print ANYTHING.” That was what the add had said. Intrigued I bought it, knowing that it would cost me about a week of real food. It arrived in two days. I was so excited, I called in sick to work. I spent the next three hours building this monstrosity. I was no engineer, but luckily the instructions on how to put it together were pretty easy to understand. However there was one thing that confused me. The very last line on the warnings page. “Warning. 3D Extravaganza not responsible for any damages caused by sentient creations.” What the hell did that mean? All I wanted was to print some new action figures. Oh well. I finished building it. The screen booted up. “*insert all resource filament into slot*”
“So that’s what this weird wiring is.” I thought. “Oh what the hell. “ I spoiled up the metallic thread, and put it in the slot.
“*booting up. This may take up to one hour* ”. Nice. I took a shower, and checked my reddit. Halfway through yet another repost on/r/jokes the machine beeped. I pushed off my desk and slid over to the corner where I had set this beast up. “*select design schematics* ” it said. I scrolled through the list off pre-made ones on there. One of them caught my eye. “*excalibur* ” I read. Being the huge fantasy nerd that I am, of course I clicked it. “*printing Excalibur. This may take a few minutes.* ” Minutes! Damn this thing is fast. The all resource filament slot filled with a whirring noise, and the printing apparatus started moving like crazy. The glass case along the outside tinted too the point where I couldn’t see through. The excitement was killing me. I couldn’t wait. The minutes passed like hours.
After an eternity of waiting, it dinged. I opened it up, and sitting on the stand was a sword. It had a gold hilt set with a large ruby. I picked it up. My arms crackled with lightning, and I felt all the hair stand up on my body. “What the hell is this thing” I thought aloud, the sword buzzing in my hands.
Now being the sensible person I am, I decided to take the best possible course of action anyone would after they 3-D printed a magical sword that supposedly makes the bearer the king of England.
I looked up the schematic for a dragon, and pressed print.
| 2018-03-29T21:42:52 | 2018-03-29T20:06:34 | 104 | 28 |
[WP] Young mages are summoning their first familiar. Everything was pretty normal until you tried.
|
*This is karma.* I thought to myself. I steal one bag of Lust Oats from Aunt Winnie’s stash to get laid and the universe bends me over with a familiar who doesn’t take an animal form.
My friends get a gecko, a crow, a dog. One even got a fucking goat. Normal shit. But me? Nah, fuck me!
“I was told you humans have a decent sense in fashion.” She yelled from my bathroom. “This all looks...bland. And that’s me being polite.”
I couldn’t take it as an insult if I tried. Her voice was always so damn cheery. “Well I’m a guy. I take...fashion a little less seriously.” I was waiting in my room with a book on familiars. Trying to see how I can change her mind. I had certain rights as the mage and she had certain obligations as a familiar. I couldn’t find a section on commanding her to take a certain form. She had to obey most all my commands but she also had rights and... *Oh fuck! Am I slave owner?!* I thought *Oh fuck! Are we all just slave owners?!*
Okay I did not sign up for an existential crisis. I started flipping through the pages to find how to return it and get a new one.
*Fuck! That makes me sound like an even worse slave owner.*
“I made it work!” She announced as she burst out of my bathroom wearing a hoodie I gave her and a pair of baggy sweats.
She had the form of a young blonde woman about my age. A littler shorter than my 5’11” and an unfortunate propensity toward smiling.
Look this is making me sound like a gloomier person than I am but we’ve all met that one person who’s so out of control happy it makes the rest of us look like suicidal turds, well thats my new familiar in a nutshell.
And mind you I’ve made this conclusion on the short walk back to my house and the half hour she’s taken to find an outfit.
In retrospect things could be worse. The cops could have found me in the woods with a naked girl who doesn’t have any documentation or social ability. That’s a one way ticket to the slammer and a horny bunkmate. Or probably just social suicide and I’m being dramatic.
“So what’re you reading there?” She asked. “Forgot what you learned about us little old familiars?”
“Some of it,” I admitted.
“Well screw that musty old book.” She said walking over to me. “I can tell you everything you need to know.”
“Well I...” I stuttered. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”
“Oh that’s okay Master James,” *Fuck don’t call me that.* “It’s Gemanda but you can just call me Gem.”
“Well Gem,” I wanted to phrase this very carefully. I figured I’d start off with some flattery. “I’m sure you’re very wise and centuries old but..”
“Nope.” She said. “I’m only nineteen.”
*A year younger?!*
“Yeah we have long lives, just like you mages but it’s not like we don’t repopulate. Just like you I’m fresh out of apprenticeship and into the field. You are my first and hopefully...” she crossed her fingers, “only mage.”
*Fuck she’s so happy! I can’t just...return her. I’m her first. Oh great now it sounds like I’m an S&M kind of slave owner.*
“Uh huh.” I nodded. “Now I don’t want to be offensive or anything but...”
“Why am I in a human form?” She asked. I nodded. She shrugged. “No rule against it.” She said nearly skipping over to my bed and sitting down. “No one has ever chosen this so I wanted to be the first.”
“So, this isn’t some kind of...protest or anything?”
“Oh no.” She waved that off. “I actually take a lot of pride in being a familiar. It’s life of dedication and selflessness. Of loyalty and servitude.”
“Slavery.” I interjected.
She almost looked offended. “Not at all. Deciding to be bound to a mage is voluntary. Those spells can only latch on to those willing.”
“You just used the word ‘bound.’”
“And the words ‘willing’ and ‘voluntary.’” She added.
There was a long pause. “Look if it makes you that uncomfortable,” she said grabbing her neck and looking down, “I can just be a cat or something like that. I didn’t mean to disappoint you or make you question having a familiar in general. I also get if you wanna send me back and try again.”
I thought about it. There are so many selfish reasons I could come up with to let her stay in this form and there so many selfish ones I could think of to make her change it or get rid of her but I like to think I made a selfless act.
I exhaled. “No stay in that form Gem. And I’m not sending you back.” She nearly sprinted across the room to where I was leaning on my desk and hugged me tight.
“Thank you Master.”
“Okay I know you were taught to say that and that’s fine but never in public and sparingly in private please.”
“Of course Mas-“ she stopped. “James.” She said releasing me from her hug.
“Look it’s past one and I think I’m gonna go to bed. Do you want me to set up the guest room for you?”
“That’s not necessary. We only need about two to three hours of sleep. I’ll be quite awake almost of the night to watch over you.”
“Uh huh.” I said not entirely sure what that meant but I went to the bathroom and quickly changed into pajamas myself.
She was at my desk when I came back in writing in a small book.
“Whatcha got?” I asked.
“Oh a little diary.” She said happily. “You can read it. I can’t have any secrets from my mage.”
“Nope.” I said. “That is not a rule with me. Whatever you put in there is for your eyes only.”
She tilted her head. “You’re a strange case.”
“You’re calling me strange?” I joked with her. She laughed a little too much for how lame the joke was but it made me happy nonetheless.
I turned out the light after I gave her enough time to record everything she wanted to in her diary and went to bed.
I shut my eyes and an instant later I felt a her get into bed with me. My eyes opened immediately and looked over to her. She was staring intently, but still kindly right at me.
“Uhhh.” I managed.
“What?” She asked.
“What’re you doing?”
“We’re taught to share a bed with our mages so we can watch after them through the night.” I kept staring. “Which probably makes more sense in animal form.” She said the realization just dawning on her.
“Cat.” I said simply.
“Yeah that’s fair.” She said getting up and morphing quickly into a white and gold cat leaving a pile of empty clothes on the floor. She jumped onto my bed curled up at my side.
I don’t know why I did this next thing. Maybe to comfort her in her new home. Maybe to try and normalize this new relationship for myself but I reached down and gently pet her head.
And then she started purring. I retracted my hand. The cat looked up and let out a soft meow. Somehow I could understand it. I could almost even make out Gem’s voice. “Still too weird?”
“Yep.”
I looked at my phone. I had it turned it to Do Not Disturb. Looking at my notifications I could see my friends were still trying to call and text me about what they had seen in the woods. Word was probably spreading.
I mentally prepared for the absolute shit storm that would follow tomorrow.
The guy with the human familiar. Probably gonna write it on my fucking gravestone.
I mentally shrugged and looked down at the cat that was staring at me. I cracked a small smile. She seems better than lousy goat.
|
They say your familiar is like your shadow. With most magic, you need a focus, an incantation and/or training to use it; but familiars are different. Anyone can sommon one, but only one. What your familiar is changes over the course of your life, depending on the kind of person you are, or what magic you specialize in, or how powerful you are; but it’s always an animal of some kind.
“Michael, what is That?” My master asks me, standing off the the side of the groop. I’m the last one in class to try my hand at sommoning, but unlike my fellows, this isn’t my first try. I’ve always been able to sommon; and unlike with everyone else, my familiar has always been the same.
“This is Anu.” I respond, petting my sommon, that’s sitting on my shoulder. The class is backing away from me. They just don’t understand him, Anu is extremely tame, except when he’s not.
“Yes, but what IS it?” My master asks again, lighting a basic destruction fireball in his palm. Anu growls,(he doesn’t like how magic makes him feel, unless it’s me casting it; oh, but he’s immune to the magic of others) it’s such a wonderful sound; it sends warmth up my back, but my master, and fellow apprentices ‘shudder’, I don’t know what that’s about.
“Well, Anu is a shoggoth. Don’t worry though, he’s perfectly docile, aren’t you boy?” HaSsSssHhHhhHHhK. Anu hisses as everyone around me flinches away. I quite like the noise, myself. It’s always comforted me.
“You have a Demon!?” My master shreaks. I wince and Anu maws at me, causing everyone else to flinch violently again.
“No! Well, yes, but it’s just Anu! He’s perfectly safe, see!” I say, lifting him up in both hands and holding him towards my master. His tentacles drooping slightly as he licks his maw. He must be hungry.
“Keep that thing away from me!” My master shouts, tripping over his own feet to scurry backwards. “A Higher Demon?! A World Eater?! They’ve killed who knows how many! It’s not safe!”
I sigh, pulling Anu back to my chest, his tentacles wrapping around me in a hug. “Nah, it’s just Anu. He hasn’t killed anyone is days.” (He didn’t like the rouge that tried to pick my pocket last week.)
The class and my master continue to back into the walls of the room, and I sigh again, setting Anu down. “Go play with the other familiars, boy” I say, and Anu whines at me, before wandering off.
“No! Hey! Lucky! Stop!” One of the girls in the class shouts as Anu wonders over to her and immediately latches onto her newly summoned rabbit familiar, devouring it without a bite. “Stop! NO!” She bellows, sobbing as Anu grapples onto her with multiple tentacles, slipping and sliding around her arms and legs; staining her robe and skin red-black. She cries as Anu lifts her up off the ground and seemes to be doing... something... with her, I don’t know. I never liked her anyways. She was always a bully.
My master looks over to me as the girl collapses into herself at her predicament. “Michael, you’ve got to do something. Please! Send the demon away.” He pleads to me.
I tilt my head as Anu grows up the wall and onto the ceiling, hissing contently. “Eh, oh fine. Go on back to the Never Ever, Anu. I promise we can play in the catacombs later.”
Anu whines at me again in sadness, before vanishing back into the Void, incidently taking the girl with him. I’m happy she’s finally gone. I’ll feed him some of the Never Ending Undead later. He always loves that...
| 2019-01-14T22:13:15 | 2019-01-14T20:33:29 | 64 | 23 |
[WP] The first message from another planet was different than we expected. "Dear people of Earth, an armada is on its way to conquer your world. Pay no attention, they' re idiots we've sent on a fake mission. We've no interest in your planet, the weapons are fake. Just play along, they're harmless."
|
The "Copernican principle" states that any assumption of specialness or uniqueness is bound to end in disappointment, for proof of this, just look at the name of the principle itself, which has since been revised to the "mediocrity principle," sorry Copernicus.
As science progressed through the 2nd and 3rd millenia, this principle held true time after time. We assumed everything revolved around the earth, which it did not; we assumed everything revolved around the sun, which it did not; we assumed everything revolved around the Milky Way, which it did not; Henry Allen Barnesworth assumed everything in life revolved around him, which hasn't yet been disproven, but we might assume it does not.
Thus, when mankind received its first communique from an extraterrestrial civilization which read:
"Dear people of Earth, an armada is on its way to conquer your world. Pay no attention, they're idiots we've sent on a fake mission. We've no interest in your planet, the weapons are fake. Just play along, they're harmless,"
the initial reaction was one of exuberant enthusiasm, followed by confusion, and ending with a simmering resentment. Why, after all, should humans have been centered out for a practical joke of this sort. It was a well known law of the universe that humanity was nothing special (excepting of course Henry Allen Barnesworth), surely it was good and proper for such jokes to be played on some other "special" alien race.
It is a known fact that interstellar travel takes a good deal of time. Astrographers, like American college roadtrippers, often make the mistake of looking at a map and saying to themselves "well, that doesn't look too bad, perhaps I can hitch" and then find themselves three months later stranded in the boonies and out of cash. So, as this impolite practical joke slouched its way across the galaxy at the slow and steady pace of incompetence, humanity had a good long think about how to deal with the situation.
They resolved, as humans usually do, after a good amount of vigorous debate and argumentation, to take the civilized approach and politely voice their discontent with an absolutely uncalled for display of savage violence.
Being united in discontent is one of humanity's strongest attributes. Almost every major invention from the flush toilet to the space station can be attributed to humanity being discontent with itself. So it is no small wonder that when humanity chose to be discontent with someone else for a change, the results were a sight to behold.
The Drongonians, from a red dwarf star somewhere inside the solar radius (so nearer to the upper class districts than humans, but not so close as to be considered posh), are not a particularly bright species. Like most not-particularly-bright species from red dwarf stars outside the posh districts, they have an inexplicable urge to prove to everyone that they are actually very bright and very posh and very center-of-the-universe-ish.
At one posh party, a Maldonian decided he'd had enough of a Drongonian puffing and poncing about, one-upping everyone else's stories, and generally just being the embodiment of a bad vibe. He told the Drongonian that he'd heard of a mythical monster called the "humans" who no one dared confront and assured the Drongonian that everyone would be really super impressed if they went and conquered the humans. Over there. About as far over there as 'over there' goes. Not. Here. He woke up the next day and sent the aforementioned message to the humans, feeling a little bad about sending such a disaster to ruin the nice time the humans seemed to be having over in their little corner of nowhere, and then forgot about it.
After getting lost for a few decades, taking part-time work at a farming colony in the Deneb 12 system to pay for gas for the rest of the trip, two wrong turns around the Sagittarius arm, and a speeding ticket, the Drongonians finally arrived at the Sol system.
Their bulbous ships sidled into the system like a well trained squad of hyperactive ducklings, flipping and flapping their way past the gas giants and toward Sol 3, brandishing their impotent turrets menacingly toward the astronomical bogeyman, determined to show the whole galaxy how special they were. Nothing approached to impede their progress.
Then, just as they had all entered the asteroid belt and were busy congratulating themselves on their ferocious bravery, something unexpected happened. The sun went out. Then it turned back on.
The humans, led by General Henry Allen Barnesworth, had constructed a Dyson swarm of hyperbolic reflective mirrors around the sun, transitioning to a type II Kardashev civilization and increasing the firepower available to them at the time of the ill-fated galactic party by a factor of about a billion. By focusing the mirrors on a single spot, the location of the Drongonian fleets in the asteroid belt, they could direct the entire power of a star into an area the size of McDonalds. The result was terrible. The beam vaporized iron asteroids in a flash, superheated metallic gasses exploded through the belt, sending shockwaves and flack through the system at the speed of extinction.
Seven kiloparsecs away, at a party, the flash could be seen as the Drongonian fleet was vaporized. A silence swept the party as they looked on with horror at the humans over-reaction to the little joke.
Humanity stomped around and roared in defiant triumph out in the middle of nowhere. The galactians awkwardly gimaced at each other, then restarted the [music](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) and got back to their party.
|
The admiral of the entire Earth invasion force imposed itself over an increasingly anxious technician, just having been dragged bodily from the bowels of the ship.
The admiral lowered what was perhaps a head to be millimetres in front of the technician, whose name would roughly translate to Bruce. If there were a human audience to benefit. An increasingly possible scenario.
"You sent the humans an unauthorised message."
Bruce nearly burst. Whether into a run, or a grisly mess, is hard to say.
"What did it say?"
"Uh... Just... A bit of a joke... We're so technologically superior... Knowing we were coming... I didn't think it-"
"Excuses can wait. What did it say?"
Bruce involuntarily released an assortment fluids. Hopefully the equivalent of sweating.
"That the fleet's weapons weren't real... That it was sent to earth... As a joke..."
The admiral withdrew its head(?). It sagged. Resignation left unhidden.
"Do you know what you have done to the invasion, Bruce?" With every word the admiral could draw forth less military discipline.
"...What?" Squeaked the increasingly puddle-like Bruce.
"Made it into the smoothest invasion in history."
Bruce blinked. Sort of.
"What?"
"Not a single life lost on either side. No discernable resistance of any kind." The despair was tangible.
"That's... Good?" Bruce's optimism and puzzlement was growing in tandem.
"Oh yes. The perfect invasion. The humans have agreed to all of our demands, followed all our directives.
Entirely ironically."
| 2020-06-01T00:31:44 | 2020-06-01T00:24:04 | 394 | 167 |
[WP]You and your friends grew up in a small town far from any magic schools but managed to learn it eventually. You always pushed and challenged each other, unaware of how strong you were. Then one day a city mage happened to pass through town.
|
On phone waiting for an interview so sorry for the format.
"We were 10 when we finally cracked magic. Jerome was the first of us. Ironic really since he seemed to have a slowness about him. Not mentally of course but physically whenever you came around him things just seemed to slow. Like time itself decided to take it easy around him.
Now you gotta realize it was a complete shock to us when he caused light to sprout from his hand but it was a sign of hope for the five of us."
"How so." Interrupted the traveling mage. A young looking man seemingly no older than 25 with a coppery brown mane of hair sea blue eyes, and surprisingly normal. However instead of robes he was wearing hardier travel wear nothing heavy but nothing about him gave away a mastery of magical ability.
"Really? Now? Why do you have to make things complicated?" Chimed in the knight next to him. A handsom woman with chin length hair the color of a bright green moss. It stood out a lot against her tan skin. I had heard those blessed by an earth guardians were given that change to enchant their enemies giving a strong compulsion to strike them first. Something that seems to be effectove goven the nasty scar across her face starting well above her hairline wrapping across the plane of her forehead and stopping just short of her brow. Something i suspect her to be a bit self concious about as her lips had some beauty product quite a few shades lighter than her skin. Possibly to attract the eyes but before i could continue the thought the compulsion took over again.
"Because we were given the aptitude test when we turned 5 like everyone else and failed. So if somone who failed the test was able to use magic it meant we could too."
"And what or who taught you."
"No one but we did have a book. It was called 'So You Want To Learn Magic But You Are Too Dumb' bit of a derogatory title and at first we just did it as a means of resolution. After all not getting a chance to learn simply because someone says you can't is hard to accept. We also reasoned that there were plenty of adventurers who could use magic and far as we knew weren't linked to any magic academies, so it reasons that they had to figure out how on their own some way."
"Ha" came the handsome woman's response who seemed to be interested now.
"Tsk" Clicked the mage, a clear contempt for the adventurers mentioned.
And man does being under a compulsion spell sucks. Not like i planned to lie to begin with. I tend to babble like an idiot most of the time, something Jumiper gets onto me about when i get out of control. But it makes countering spells easier I find. But a compulsion spells makes it harder to entertwine the words and actions to dispel something thats already in effect. Something I am learning now.
"Do you still have this book? And what are your collegues names and specialtie." He said more as a command than question.
"Well I am Gillian you can call me Gil or Gilly, and may i know your names?" YES i got a bit of control back.
"Names Kim his is Juvaal. And don't give me that look you can prattle on how names have power but remember how many times i. Locked a hit coming your way."
Juvaal's glare went from Kim to me. "Answer the question." Crossing his arms as he spoke aaand there goes what progress I made, i could feel the influence get stronger and a slight pressure form inside like not goving in would cause immense harm.
"Well there is Jerome whom i mentioned before Jumiper, Alicia, Forgrun and me. If i had to say specialty then i would say speed and healing"
Both of my interviewers visibly shift at that "water and traps, augmentation and precog as she puts it" Juvaal takes a step forward but i push on "ice, lightning, and fire" Kim's eyes light up, huh never noticed that they were green. "and I typically do spell manipulation, close combat, and I'm a damn good cook."
"Bullshit" Juvaal starts "anyone with healing abilities would have been recruited by the church, army, or medical associations maybe all three. And divinators would have been ushered to the royal capital to-" he cuts himself short realizing in an instant what I did.
"You.."
"It was when you took control back." I say with the biggest shit eating grin I could muster. "All i did was widen the influence and when you clamped back down let you lock in my changes. The hardest part was keeping the changes subtle enough that you couldn't notice and wait for ot to start effecting you."
Kim roars with laughter pointing to Juvaal saying "I can't wait to tell the magicians assocoation that a country bumpkin got the best of you."
Juvaal sputters back "Shut it you, you.."
But he doesnt get to finish Kim manages to resist the influence turning to me and says "Color me interested kid I want to see what you can do first hand. Maybe my friend here can get a better idea with what to do."
I take the lax feeling in the conversation to break the compulsion spell causing Juvaal to wince. Turning to Kim I respond "Gladly we were getting tired of practicing with each other it would be nice to know how we measure up to the world."
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Nick, Todd, and I were all from the same working town, Colland. We worked in the mines since we were fourteen. That's just what people like us did. I heard stories about other kids going to fancy little schools that did things other than work. But my father always asked me what kind of life that was. He would go on to say things such as "Meandering would do nothing for you in life but build disappointment" and "A life without callouses is a life not fully lived"
As one might imagine, there's little time and appreciate for the arts of magic. So the other kids and I would do whimsical little tricks in lieu of parents knowledge. We only ever got hold of one book that taught us the fundamentals, there was so much we taught ourselves over the years. We'd constantly did this trick and that. always trying to outdo the others.
We never really thought much of it until another boy our age passed through our town and did the most rudimentary techniques with what appeared to be a small stick. He bragged about how he was one of the best in the district. I couldn't help but wonder, what if I left the town and tried to do what they did. The coal mines didn't live up to what I thought they would.
| 2018-12-05T10:12:09 | 2018-12-05T07:35:22 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Every time you die, you will go to heaven. But, the awesomer death, the awesomer heaven. Like, if you were to die jumping out of an airplane strapped to a shark with lasers on its head at the age of 99, you would go to an unimaginably amazing heaven.
Thanks to my older brother for this awesome idea
|
Josh awoke. The white light immediately overwhelmed his senses, momentarily lagging his hearing behind. He moved to sit as the sounds started getting through, then became voices.
"-finally through with them all. Those poor souls found the peace they deserved. He is the last one of the group." The voice of the first speaker carried softly, as if in mourning.
The second spoke with gruffness. "He was not the victim."
By now Josh was fully aware of where he was standing. Heaven, or at least at it's gates. They only slightly resembled what was taught in Sunday school, all those clouds and golden arches. This, somehow, seemed more real. The white clouds, the purity, the sheer joy of the sight, all sweet and sacharine, was emanating from beyond the gates. Before the gates, the clouds were grey and stormy, like waves in a typhoon. They churned and broke against the walls, roiling restlessly as if with the indecision of what to do with him.
Josh's eyes fell to the three figures standing before the gates. They were the only static image in the entire scene. Their white robes seemed unaffected by the storm, and they stood perfectly still as they regarded him. The two who spoke were looking in his direction. Their postures were neutral, arms folder behind their backs, standing tall and impossing. The third stood facing away. By the expressions of the first two, it was easy enough to distinguish who spoke when.
The gruff one spoke again. "Your stunt ended up killing 5 people, including your girlfriend in the car with you. Was this the end you sought?"
Memories came flooding back with alarming clarity. He was in a high speed chase, on the run from a single cop who was in the right place at the right time. Josh remembered how he robbed the Taco Bell at gun point in the spur of the moment, after neither him nor Amanda found any cash in their pockets to pay for the food. He remembered the cop who witnessed everything from the lot over peeling out after them. And he remembered, with a hint of amusement, losing control of his car while trying to double fist both tacos in his mouth at once, flying off the road into a gas station, and blowing it and the people inside sky high.
The gentle being moved closer. "We've been expecting you, and you already seem to know where you are. This is the gates of Heaven. We are here to administer judgment on your life."
Josh frowned and attempted to meet the angels level gaze with one of his own. He knew his life better than they did, and he knew exactly what they had in store for him. He wasn't about to his punishment begin with a pitiful recounting of all the wrongs he has committed in his life. They were his choices to make, and he owned up to them. He would at least have the final words. "You can go f-".
The angel spoke again. "You are being admitted to Heaven, as is everyone else who comes here. Your girlfriend, despite her troubled past, has passed through those gates before you came to."
Josh stood speechless, the words chocked back in his throat. He wasn't sure he heard right. His fractured Sunday school teachings certainly did not prepare him for this. Sure, the lives he took were on accident, but he didn't think that would excuse him. Nor were they the first ones he took by accident. His group of friends were of a like mind when it came to drugs and gang activity, leading as reckless and as hedonistic lifestyle as they could manage with the meager resources life doled out to them. He was the leader of the group, and not all of his friends survived through the dangerous lifestyle he demanded of them.
The gruff angel broke him out of his shock. His expression softening, he spoke. "The judgment decides where in heaven you will go. Based on your end. Everyone gets in, those are the rules, but there are rewards for living a praise-worthy life. Surely you knew that?"
The gentle angel continued. "Regardless, here in heaven, you will find the peace you never knew in your mortal life. Your repentance will be all the proof we need to see you've changed, and everyone repents in time. Heaven is the place where the soul will finally rest." He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply at the thought, shuddering with the extasy of it.
"Your previous life was quite a spectacle. We've been watching for a while", said the gruff angel. "But here you will rejoice with us in the glory of the Almighty, and bathe in his light of mercy for all eternity. With a story like yours, the conversion will be most rejoiced! A pious soul resides within us all."
Josh listened, a look of disgust creeping onto his face all the while. Complete surrender of control for what they called 'peace'. A submission of his whole being, just for the sake of unity. A fake existence. This was why he shunned the teachings early on.
"Or...there's an alternative". The gruff angel said carefully. Josh's gaze snapped to meet his.
"You lived life by your rules. You were your own man, you made that clear," the angel continued. "There is a place with no restrictions. Where will rules reason, and rules are meant to be broken. You can choose Hell."
The gentle angel jumped in, "you would be where you belonged!" He hastily tried to settle himself. After a brief pause, he spoke. "Your existence would continue down the same path you chose in your mortal life. Everything would be according to your will."
Josh stood silent for a second. A life his own.
"I choose hell!"
Behind them, the third figure smiled a wicked grin and turned.
|
When did death become such a common thing for me? I have died exactly 578 times.
I'm a 29- year old girl. Back then when I was 18 years old, I went through severe depression, followed by crippling anxiety. I've been in this business for far too long. The more awesome your death is, the more awesome it will be in heaven. You get to spend a day in that heaven. There are others like me, competing by getting points from our deaths. I have collected exactly 1798 points. Would you be surprised if I told you that I'm number one? That darn Marco is behind me with exactly 1766 points. Others are behind for at least 200 points. I have meet Marco 2 years ago, he is a suicidal bastard. Makes the best ways of dying, but still not beating me. Experiencing death so many times is painful, but I like doing this. It relaxes me, the thinking of my death, then executing it.
I remember once when died whilst on a submarine.
I fought with spies, killed sharks. Fired rockets, killed more spies. Stole lasers, and used them underwater, fighting sharks. I even managed to run into a whale. Bastard was aggressive, I had a hard time dying against him. Good old days.
I'm not sure why, but I think I'm lonely. I have no friends, I hardly talk to anyone.
Well I'm off now, the person I have created, and am talking to.
May death be upon us.
| 2017-04-19T23:30:38 | 2017-04-19T17:40:53 | 18 | 12 |
[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.
|
You never realize what time sounds like until you need it to stop. You take it for granted, that *tick* of a secondhand and *tock* of a minute, carelessly and endlessly for decades until and unless you have no choice but to listen. Then you hear it all at once. It's thick, and it's overwhelming. Air settling, electricity buzzing through plugs and fixtures, lips releasing bated breath. You see a tear drop from your best friend's eye, see her hand grip the camera and her head nod you onward - but for the first time, the only time, you actually hear it. You smell it, you taste it, and you *feel* it in your soul. You get that there are infinite senses, and you feel lucky - blessed, even - that you are one of the chosen few in all of humanity to experience them all at once.
Silent hands urged speaking, but for a few seconds, I could not find my voice. I was stuck, transfixed on the high of Creation, on the reality of seeing things as they truly were. Finally, someone flashed the "LIVE" light, and - just like that - I snapped back. It felt as if I'd come up gasping for air, and I tried desperately to readjust.
I turned to the puppet fixed on my left forearm, smiled a bit. He had been an extension of me for over six years now, and though inanimate, Mr. Waggles had taught me many, many things. Not least of those lessons was love, the kind of joyful, transcendent love that enables children to laugh and weep over toys and dolls that could never hope to return the favor. And so I gathered all of the love that I could muster, turned slowly back to the camera, and remembered all my favors that deserved return.
Mr. Waggles began to speak, and for a second, it felt like my hand moved on its own. "I know we've all heard something really bad, and some of you may be scared at home." He turned to me. "Isn't that right, Cameron?"
I gulped down a growing lump and nodded. "I don't know what to do, Mr. Waggles. How do we solve this? Can you help us like - like before? With everything else?"
Mr. Waggles laughed, patted me gently. "Cameron. There are some things we can't control. Like time, like life... like this." I heard sniffles start to break from the crew, from the other puppeteers on the scene. "But that's okay - no, really, I promise! You know why? Because there are some things we *can* control, things that are even more important than violence or a big, silly war."
"Like what, Mr. Waggles?" Despite myself, my voice grew indignant.
"Like who we spend these last minutes with, or - or who we hug and tell we love them." Mr. Waggles stopped, hugged my opposite shoulder tightly. The stifled sniffles turned into full blown sobs. "Or what we choose to think about right now. Like learning to ride a bike! Or when our kindergarten teacher Ms. Magic gave us all cinnamon teddy grahams for snack last week! Or when we sat with Daddy on the hammock and he said that he loved us more than aaaaaaall the world's countries! And there are a lot - do *you* know how many?"
My voice grew angry. "Mr. Waggles, I don't want to learn right now. I'm scared, and I'm angry, and I don't want to lose my mommy or my daddy or - or my sister Belle -" I felt a tear drop. "And I'm scared that it - that it's gonna hurt. Is it?"
"Everybody's scared, Cameron. And I wish I knew everything, but I don't." Mr. Waggles looked up with those button eyes of his. They bled empathy and pity and adoration. "But that's okay, because we *all* feel like this, so that means we're *all* together." He turned back to the camera. "And being together has always been the greatest, bestest, most important thing of all. Let's sing our song. I know you're scared, but will you sing with me, Cameron?" He - I (who knew which was which anymore) - looked around the room. "Will *you*?"
And then the most beautiful thing happened. Everyone - from the janitor to the director to the camerawoman who I was one day going to marry - all joined in.
"*You and me,*"
Something fell in the distance.
"*friends forever,*"
A wave of heat.
"*How I love when, we're together...*"
|
I feel my eyes start to water as I feel the gravity of the situation. I know I will never see my family, friends, or lovers again. I turn away from the camera, wipe the tears from my eyes and take a deep breath. Anyone who did not run out of the studio is sobbing, and holding onto one another. I catch my sound producer's teary gaze, and mouth the words, "Let's be happy".
"We only have a little bit of time left kids, but I want to reming everyone to stay happy out there," I say as I force a smile into the camera, and the music starts to play. This time I do not sing along with the children's voice overs.
"And remember," I say as begin to dance around like normal,"as long as you have your friends, and a family that loves you," I pause, and smile as I finish, "you have all the happiness in the world".
| 2014-07-29T16:18:41 | 2014-07-29T13:15:51 | 80 | 12 |
[WP] A technology is invented that allows us to hear sounds locked into the clay of ancient pots as they were being formed. What is extracted are conversations that will alter the perception of history in the most terrifying of ways.
|
Her hands carved curves into the pottery; the delicate, thin frame of her eyes looking down at these sculptures with the cradling love that reminds me of home, forever ago. A weak smile hung on her lips, the kind I remember from those trailing ends of her forgotten lullabies. The white strands of her hair loped her shoulders, so brilliant and bright in the morning light that I didn’t know where she and the sun delineated. She was energy, forever tied to that small, suburban pottery store I lived my childhood in. Lemon and grass wafted through the air.
"Mom," I said. She didn’t hear me. She lost herself in the cycling whirlpool of the pottery wheel. “Mom,” I said again, quietly, to no response. My mother just sat there, basking in the morning light slicing through the Venetian blinds of her pottery store. She looked pristine and peaceful, beautiful in a way that exceeded physical form. I reached out to touch her and, suddenly, red, raging text monopolized my vision:
WARNING: FIVE MINUTES ARE UP. PLEASE INSERT MORE CREDIT.
Everything evaporated. The brilliant morning light shifted to a dingy evening glow that revealed the floating dust that now inhabited this relic of a childhood home. The polished pottery lining the racks around me became cracked and ugly – I couldn’t sense the beauty and poetry in them anymore, if they had any of their own in the first place. Worst of all, my mother was gone, and I was cold.
“Fuck,” I said out-loud, putting on a jacket from the corner coat rack. I detested our disease of a capitalist nightmare society. "Fuck," I said again, simply to comfort myself.
\*\*\*
Weeks before I revisited the store, and years after my mother’s death, I received a letter from a stranger who said he knew Abigail Foster. *She told me to tell you she loved you very much, and that she left a gift for you in the basement of the pottery store.* A copper key laid in the envelope, the very same one she kept in her purse. The only time she ever raised a hand against me was when I tried to steal it. I would have thrown the letter and key away because...well, why trust strange letters slid under your door under the cover of night? But, as always, my curiosity superseded my rationality.
The floorboards creaked as I moved down them. The air smelled rank and musty, the memory of my mom’s perfume from the holo-pic now merely a faint, fading thought. My vision, even enhanced by optics, was shrouded in black as I descended down the steps, hoping to god that – even in their age – they wouldn’t give and send me tumbling into a broken bone darkness. That would be my luck, wouldn't it? Dead in a creepy basement with my mother's wishes left unfulfilled, only a thin apology on my lips when I saw her across the golden bars of the Pearly Gates. Thankfully, I reached the bottom steps and flipped on a switch I found affixed to a limestone wall.
Pale, yellow light weakly flooded the room, which consisted of worn but well-kept pottery lining the walls. Some of it was priceless, beautiful beyond description. Song Dynasty porcelain bowls. Mayan clay-and-temper vases. Roman *terra sigillata* depicting the triumph of Zeus over Kronos. Others were...less impressive. I saw my middle-school art project sandwiched between two Greek relics, a shoddy failure of a thing, yet my mother's eyes glowed when my small hands held it toward her. Love is blind, I guess. Beyond the walls, in the center of the room, was an intricately crafted clay mallet on a pedestal and a note, neatly scrawled in my mother’s handwriting.
*Son, I instructed a...friend...to send you down here when he thought you were ready. I am sorry to have lied to you all these years, but I did it to protect you. Touch the mallet to one of these pots in the room. You’ll understand then.*
I was confused. No, confused was an understatement. I knew my mother had her secrets, but I always thought that referred to her recipe for Chocolate Chip Cookies. What was this room? What was this hammer? Questions raced without answers; there was only one way I was going to figure anything out.
I picked up the clay hammer slowly, feeling the clay's bumps and ridges that someone with watchmaker hands must've carefully carved into this artifact. It felt unnaturally light and fragile in my hands. I touched the *terra sigillata* and -
*Woe is Caesar. With my eyes I verily behold his broken and bloody body dragged through the streets of Rome, and my heart is sorrowful. Truth be told: he was a conqueror of much talent, yet a ruler with none. Be that as it may, only the Gods have the power of judgement. I am strongly of the opinion Humans should have no business in destruction of another. This sentiment, of course, is not much appreciated by my fellow constituents. I am Quirinus, the Keeper of Rome, and I have captured a tale that* *turns history: the Death of Caeser. His soul lies trapped within clay.*
I reeled back, nearly knocking over the pedestal behind me. What the fuck was that? I felt a surge of energy, a rush of power, and then a loss of control. I wasn't Matthew Foster. I was someone old, someone feeble, in an era that felt alien and unnatural, and although I could understand what I was thinking and saying, my lips curled around vowels I'm sure I can't pronounce. I *saw* Caesar. I saw a *dead* Caesar. Of course I spent the better part of the next hour touching mallet to clay like a looney cartoon character.
I became an Iroquois woman who cataloged the burning of her village in a clay ceramic doe.
I became a woman from Zaire watching Belgium soldiers drag her husband off into the mines. She captured him in a bowl too small for food.
I became so many people, some famous, some not, watching events in history unfold, and soon, I began to understand one, principle fact about my life: there’s no way in hell my mom was just an austere middle-class, single mother who ran a pottery shop. She was something more, something strange, something powerful. Each piece of pottery held a story, and I consumed the narratives with bestial desire. I ravished the history I saw through the eyes of the "Keepers." After watching German soldiers drag Jews from their homes during WW2 and a Chinese man smoke an opium pipe in 1838, I finally reached the out of place, quizzical looking black and blue clay cup I gave my mom years ago. I touched the mallet, but, before I did so, an uncanny chill traveled down my spine, prickling my skin. Something didn't feel right.
*My name is Abigail Foster. I’m the Keeper of the American Empire and mother of my son Matthew. I did not create this piece -- I know that's against Order tradition -- but the boy who did has powers that exceed my own. He is an event to surpass the fall of Rome, the death of Shakespeare, the birth of Genghis Khan. He’s what we’ve been waiting for all this time, the turning point of everything. The man who will destroy Humanity.*
edit: I woke up to a lot of comments. Thanks everyone for the compliments and the fixes. I will, in the future, try to add to this story.
|
The bell rang, and it rang again. I sighed. There was no reason to ring twice, one was enou--
The bell rang again.
"I'm coming!" I shouted, shaking my head. People need to understand patience is a virtue.
I looked through the window, and there I saw Tom. He was a good friend of mine, and also one of the world's most recognized historians.
I opened the door. He was hopping in place. "Tom? Is everything alright?"
He grabbed my shoulders, looked at me intently, and kissed me in the mouth, leaving me speechless. "Roger," he said, "you need to hear the news!" He turned and yelled at a truck parked in front of my home. "Bring them, now!"
"What news?" I asked, my confusion deepening.
"Your technology! We used it in two ancient ponts from different cultures. One from the egyptians and the other from the maya."
Many men came into my home. They left two big boxes in the hall, and left. Tom opened them as if he were a kid opening presents. Inside were two ancient pots of clay.
"I don't understand," I said, and scratched my temple. "My technology wasn't supposed to be used on pots."
Tom gazed at me, a wide smile in his face. "Your technology wasn't supposed to do what it did, Roger. That is the wonderful thing about it all, you discovered something we thought impossible by sheer accident! It's a serendipity, like penicillin!" He dug out my Equirolaster--it was like a stethoscope attached to a little box I called Equirosquare, which I'd developed for no other purpose than to find hollow points in big structures.
He handed me the equirolaster and made me listen to the pots. Suddenly, an odd hubbub like a hundred voices speaking at the same time sounded in my ears, then it faded and silence remained, and in the midst of that silence, deep as it was, a voice rose. It was clear, yet I didn't understand what it said, for I didn't speak the language.
I listened to the other pot and the exact same thing happened. After I'd finished listening, I shot Tom a questioning look, and said, "I don't understand."
He rushed to me, grabbed my shoulders again, his face was red. "Of course you don't! But you heard the voice--that last voice in both pots, right?"
"I have, yes."
"It's the same voice in both pots, Roger," Tom said, "and it's teaching them how to build a pyramid."
"What? But that doesn't make any sen--"
"That's not it! I've sent your equirolaster to a fellow historian, and he's been using it in old objects from other cultures who also built pyramids, and the voice is in every single one of them."
I drew a deep breath. "Tom, have you lost your mind? The equirolaster isn't some magical object that can let you hear things from the past. That's absolutely insane."
Tom's phone rang, he raised a forefinger and looked away, nodding and saying uhum as he spoke. When his conversation came to an end, he stared at me without uttering a word for thirty seconds.
"Tom? What happened?"
"The pyramids," he said.
"What's wrong with them?"
"They are spaceships."
-------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn
| 2019-03-18T16:47:03 | 2019-03-18T13:45:51 | 1,462 | 1,027 |
[WP] The year is 3201 and you work for the government's top secret Population Regulation Branch--your job is to discretely find ways to kill off 25% of the population without the public noticing
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“What’s my deadline?”
Like a good employee, he had asked the obvious question first. But unlike a regular employee, his task had been much more confidential than the standard paperwork. A black-ops agency had requested a monumental task of him, something no single human should need to undertake. Had he believed in some higher deity, he was sure he would have been eternally damned for the job he accepted. But he took on this job anyway. Not because he was some kind of psychopath, lacking in any real concept of right and wrong. Nor because he simply wanted to see the world burn.
No, he took the job because he loved humanity and its potential, and sometimes to treat a starving system, room needed to be made for growth.
They had given him a reasonable timeline of five years, promising additional benefits if the target numbers were reached sooner. After receiving his orders, he had spent several months planning. It was surprisingly simple to come up with a plan having studied the behaviors of large populations and applying the principle of exponential spread. Utilizing the resources provided to him by the hidden governmental agency, he started a small company with the express purpose of exploring the use of different breeds of fungi in the treatment of cancers. He hired several researchers of questionable morality to perform the experiments with the aim of targeting specific organs. And on the side, he allowed them to pursue a smaller project of coexistence within plants, reasoning that if they could improve symbiotic relationships, they would better understand parasitic existences. Again, this would be with an ultimate goal of understanding tumor spread and general biology.
None of the researchers protested. After all, they had all been hand-picked to be the most desperate to receive a degree and return to their home countries so they could have a high paying job. Those projects took about a year and a half, but a simple genetic splice allowed him to combine the results of the two projects to create a fungus symbiotically hosting viruses that were more than happy to carry several mutagenic variants of human oncogenes.
A covert explosion in the lab covered up the data and spread the fungal spores to the wind, the majority of them targeting a tobacco farm down about half a mile downwind.
The job was not finished though. He hired several beekeepers to collect him population samples several weeks after the explosion. A quick test showed that the fungus had already taken hold in the plants and the nicotinic effect of the tobacco had easily caused the fungus to spread to the pollinators. With a mobile host in hand, he simply let them breed in a controlled environment before shipping them to areas around the world with the largest tobacco farms. Then was the deed truly done.
There was little progression at first. When asked by his supervisors if he had accomplished what they asked, he simply asked that they wait. The initial results were largely ignored. Patients showing up with carcinomas in their lungs were often older and had a history of smoking. They were simply passed off as an expected outcome. But gradually, younger and younger populations began getting hit. Then, additional groups that had thought themselves safe from the inherent dangers of smoking regular cigarettes also began developing tumors. By this time, people were starting to pay attention to the rising epidemic.
The scientific community was quick to jump on the case. While it was obvious the cases were being caused by smoking, they could not determine any other similarities in patients’ habits. Some had been smoking heavily on a daily basis, others only smoked infrequently and recreationally. The media finally got involved when a thirteen-year-old boy who had tried a cigarette twelve months ago had presented with developing tumors that resembled the many other cases. People got angry and demanded answers that no one had. Politicians blamed the opposing ideologies.
And life went on.
By the time researchers realized it was a symbiotic virus that was piggybacking in the tobacco leaves, the death count was already in the billions. After all, the unluckiest people needed only to be dosed once before the virus would latch onto a new host to slowly reproduce the genetic material it held. And in this case, that genetic material was highly mutagenic. People began blaming regulatory policies while conspiracy theories spirals out of control. In the end, nothing short of an outright ban on tobacco products could curb the cancer rates. But thanks to the addictive properties of the nicotine, it would be years, possibly decades before this virus was fully under control.
And so, at the end of year four, he had accomplished his goal.
“While we were surprised at your methods and have lost several members ourselves, you did as you were tasked,” they had said. “You will be paid what you were promised.”
“And everything will be transferred to my sister’s family?” He asked.
“Yes. They survived the epidemic so far and the warnings are out there for everyone to see now. You can be assured they will live comfortably for generations to come.”
He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.
“Thank you.”
With that he returned to his small, midtown apartment. He turned on the television and turned up the noise. It was hardly necessary since all of his neighbors were watching the same thing. Every news channel was now broadcasting mass alerts on this unknown epidemic. Humanity had been irrevocably damaged, and the death count was still rising. With a small sigh, he brought out a box from beneath his armchair.
‘Still, with the reduced population, humanity will have decades, if not centuries before space and food becomes an issue again,’ he thought to himself.
He opened the box and brought out a plain black pistol.
‘It was for our own good.’
In one swift motion, he brought the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
...
Well that was a thing. If you're interested in my works, an archive of my various writing responses can be found [here](https://cuckoosneststories.wordpress.com/).
Thanks for reading.
|
Isaac scratched his head as he stared blankly into the wall of his cubicle. His mind strained and reached into the formless void of his imagination. This had never happened to him before. He was at a total loss for discreet ways to kill people for the first time in his twenty year career.
He was routinely awarded for being inventive. No one had trained a subject’s dog to eat them before he did. It was revolutionary when he had created a vodka so intoxicating it wiped out a small Russian village. It was the peak of his career when he’d engineered a laxative so explosive that it’d leveled a small restaurant. He’d been the best in the department, and now here he was drawing a complete blank.
What would be inconspicuous? Create toilets to disembowel people? No. That’d be good for maybe a single person. Isaac prided himself on meeting his quotas in chunks, not piecemeal. If he was gonna find a way to create another convenient mass casualty event he’d need something new. Terror attacks were centuries old and everyone would automatically know it was the government. He couldn’t engineer natural disasters anymore since he’d accidentally set off a dormant volcano while he was trying to cause a landslide. How was he supposed to there was a volcano buried there?
Isaac’s head swirled with increasingly more convoluted ideas. Nothing seemed original or effective enough. He began to feel his pulse quicken, the walls seemed to inch closer. His mind grew foggier and foggier, his thoughts becoming difficult to grasp at.
What was he going to do?
| 2018-09-17T22:10:38 | 2018-09-17T17:08:07 | 495 | 212 |
[WP] In the future, a war erupts between humans and aliens called the Enslavers. With their psionic abilities, they take control of all intelligent beings sent against them. But now, humans are the first species with mental health problems they've come across...
|
The Enslaver looked down at its scaled claw in wonder and fascination. How? What trickery, what weapon, was this that the humans had unleashed upon him. His claw, able to slice up the flesh of his enemy's at will, had frozen in place.
<What's wrong?> Janx asked telepathically as he slithered up to him
<I don't know> Maj replied curiously <I just can't seem to move my claw>
The two Enslavers were part of an initial boarding party that had beamed down from their mothership to pacify the local populace for invasion. This was something that they had done a hundred times before on different planets and each time they returned as conquering heroes.
<Do they have some kind of mind-blocking software?> Janx asked hopefully
<No> his comrade replied <I am in his mind, I can see it all....everything and everyone that he cares about>
Maj had chosen to take over the mind of a prominent celebrity, a television personality. Trial and error had led them to discover that native citizens were more willing to be pacified by a pretty face. Military Intelligence had scanned the radio and television waves from Earth for the past 12 months and had determined that this was the most popular person on the entire planet.
<Try moving your claw> Janx suggested, looking around to make sure that no humans could see them.
They had beamed on to the outskirts of an American city known as Palm Beach. It was here that they had located their target and were beginning the process of taking control of him.
After several moments, in which Maj struggled against the very fibre of his being, his claw began to move.
<I've never seen THAT before> Maj said with his mind, as he began to delve deeper into his host's thoughts and feelings <but to be honest, it is a pretty amazing claw.>
If Enslavers had facial reactions, then Janx's would be one of confusion.
<Uh, it's a great claw> Janx said as he began to search for his own target to infest.
Enslavers had a unique ability. Their large brains, which protruded outside of their mouths, granted them the opportunity to take over the minds and bodies of individuals and commit them to do their bidding. It was a strategy that had seen them conquer almost half of the known universe and they were now working on the other half.
Maj continued to search the mind of his host, his family, business life and public life. He had, until recently, been a popular television star but had shifted his career to much public excitement. As Maj started to examine his financial dealings he couldn't stop thinking about his claw....and how great it was.
Maj looked down at it again and smiled widely, as if he were seeing it in a new light.
<I really do love this claw> Maj said to Janx <look at it>
<I really don't care right now> Janx said, having trouble acquiring his host
Maj looked at Janx with scorn. Of course, HE would be jealous....Janx's brain wasn't nearly as large as Maj's and he had only had three spawn....a sure sign of a lack of virility whereas Maj was happy father to almost 6.
<You're really quite something, you know> Maj said to his now ex-friend <I'm trying to show you just how incredible this is. Don't you understand that me and my claw are what's going to win over this planet?>
<You and your claw?> Janx retorted with a silent laugh <you're crazy>
<I'M NOT CRAZY> Maj replied, shouting silently so loudly that Janx had to take a step backwards <I'm going to use this claw and this host and we're going to take over this planet in a week. Do you know who I am? Do you know what I can do? Do you know how powerful I have become?>
<I know how nuts you've become> Janx replied <seriously, what's wrong?>
<Nothing is wrong> Maj said seethingly <I've just finally come to realize how whenever we go down to conquer planets it's me that does all the heavy lifting and you nothing, NOTHING. Our race wouldn't have conquered a small piece of farm without me and my claw!>
<What the hell is it about you and your damn claw?> Janx asked <it's not even that big...in fact by comparison to the rest of your body it's pretty small.>
Maj's eyes widened at the insult of his small claw and suddenly, all he could see was red. Raising his claw his began to stab Janx multiple times in his exposed brain. Janx's screams began to fill his brain but Maj didn't care, he only cared about his claw.
<My claw is not small> Maj said to the now slumped corpse of his friend <it's YUUUUGGGEEEE>
|
Grappa ran to his ship's communications terminal, which was beeping erratically.
"Yes?" he answered after fiddling with some switches and knobs.
"Hey, Grappa?" a voice on the other side asked. "It's Jelka."
"Yes, Jelka," said Grappa. "What do you have to report?"
"Ah, not much, sir," answered Jelka nervously. "I think we should abort this invasion."
Grappa's three eyes widened. "Abort?" he yelled. "Did something go wrong? Have you been compromised?"
"No, it's not that," said Jelka softly. "I just don't want to do this anymore."
Grappa growled but otherwise didn't respond.
"Are you mad?" asked Jelka.
"I'm confused," said Grappa. "You were sent to Earth to take over. What happened?"
"Well, I scanned one of the humans. But afterwards, I just didn't feel like doing this anymore."
Grappa groaned again.
"Can I come home, *please?*"
---
Check out /r/MajorParadox for more stories. If you feel like it, I mean 😉
| 2016-03-11T08:41:59 | 2016-03-11T08:34:43 | 99 | 15 |
[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.
|
Jason tapped away at his keyboard, feeling the satisfying *clunk* as each mechanical key wrought an English letter into the URL bar of his internet browser.
*‘www.yoursins.com’*
A classmate at his university had put him onto it, explaining through a shit-eating grin that someone had put up a timestamped archive of every ‘sin’ ever committed, and that he really *had* to check it out. This was both ridiculous and impossible, and so of course the moment he’d come home he’d rushed to his computer to discover exactly what his friend had been talking about.
The website was almost offensively ugly, looking for all like it had been created by a malevolent UI designer psychopath from the nineties. A bright blue background ensured the crisp white font of the leftly justified title hurt to read, and the too-long title itself was only allowed one word per line.
**The**
**Sin**
**Index…**
**You’re**
**Crimes,**
**Your**
**punishment.!**
Below this was a simple red search bar, into which you were supposed to enter your country of residence, and your full name. After a brief wince at the website’s atrocious formatting, Jason did so, selecting ‘Australia’ and typing out his name, ‘Jason Martin Anderson’. He pressed enter.
*Clunk.*
Three results popped up. Only one was listed as living at his address. He clicked it, reading the page heading. **‘Jason M. Anderson: 189,324 sins and counting — Sentence: 17.324M Years of Unimaginable Suffering.’**
Jason blinked.
He knew the site had to be a joke, some procedurally generated text seeded by the combination of his name, country, and address, but still, he couldn’t help but be a little offended. He knew he wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a *bad* person. What exactly did the entirely fake and nonsense site think he’d done?
He scrolled down, and began reading his ‘sins’.
Sin #1: Crying without enough enthusiasm.
Time: 2001-04-23 02:30:05
That was when he’d been *born.* He’d have to check with his parents for the exact time, but he was pretty sure he remembered his Mum once complaining that he hadn’t decided to ‘come out’ until the early hours of the morning. How had the site known that?
Sin #2: Blinking Left eye without also blinking right eye.
Time: 2001-04-23 03:04:32
Sin #3: Crying with too much enthusiasm.
Time: 2001-04-23 03:54:24
*What the hell?*
Jason skimmed through the list, his eyebrows inexorably moving up a little further each time he read one of the absurd ‘sins’.
Sin #105120: Using the wrong colour of pen.
Time: 2013-06-13 03:54:24
That… sounded disturbingly familiar. He was twelve in 2013, and he’d been obsessed with using a *green* pen for all his class notes. Was that what the sin was talking about? Still not really sure what to make of the list, Jason skipped to the bottom of the list, reading the very last entry.
Sin #189,325: Not taking [www.yoursins.com](http://www.yoursins.com) seriously enough. We’re talking about your eternal soul after all...
Time: 2020-01-03 17:24
Jason just shook his head in bewilderment.
\#
On the whole, the world decided to take the site as a joke.
It knew things it shouldn’t know, to an often impossible degree of accuracy, but it was just so… ridiculous. The sins were absurd, the suggested punishment outlandish. Theories began to arise and inevitably, as a rock dropped into water must sink, the conspiracies became evermore ridiculous.
The CIA, flexing its information gathering muscles.
Advanced aliens, deciding to throw away conquering or enlightenment in favour of trolling.
An AI, pulled from science fiction into reality, testing humanity via inscrutable and frankly absurd means.
Strangely, the idea that God might be the culprit never seemed to hold much weight. Organised religion seemed fervently opposed to the idea that their particular deity would be so arbitrary, and their practitioners seemed grateful for a reason to ignore the existential realities the site implied if taken as scripture.
Eventually, the world moved on. In the face of the website’s inscrutability, people decided to stop scrutinizing. The international buzz around site quieted to a low *thrum*, then fell almost utterly silent as the people of earth collectively shrugged their shoulders and stopped bothering to check whatever sins had been recently attributed to them.
\#
Then the angel came, and metaphorical shit was dutifully collected from every feceating animal and person in the world, and loaded into an industrial jet engine so that an impossible quantity of brown, foul smelling goop could be sprayed at an unimaginably huge velocity.
It was winged, and clothed in holy light. It stood not in a city, forest or plain, but in the minds of all men and women.
“I AM HATHIEL, AND YOU ARE NOT DOING ANY BETTER!” the angel screamed at the world, before promptly catching alight in a burning blaze of judgemental light. It cried out in terrible pain, and then vanished.
After a minute of stunned confusion, a second angel appeared.
“SORRY ABOUT THAT,” this new angel declared. “HATHIEL WAS A SINNER, AND THEREFORE CLEANSED.”
An old woman stepped forwards, snow white hair flowing down her back, lined face creased in confusion. Jason saw this, though he was alone in his room.
She spoke, her words not in english, and Jason heard and *understood*.
“What sin did he commit?” she asked.
“HIS CRY OF ADMONITION WAS TOO HEARTFELT. THE LORD BEGS MODERATION IN ALL THINGS AFTER ALL. HOWEVER, THOUGH HATHIEL’S DELIVERY WAS IMPERFECT, HIS MESSAGE WAS NOT.
“YOU, THE FLOCK, HAVE STRAYED, AND THE LORD WEPT.
“BUT HE LOVES ALL OF YOU EXCEPT THOSE BIRTHED IN MAY, WHOM HE HATES ABOVE ALL OTHERS, AND SO HE SOUGHT A MEANS TO CORRECT YOUR WRONGS. AND SO DEVISED HE A HOLY WRIT OF HTML AND CSS, SO YOU MIGHT LIVE YOUR LIVES INFORMED OF YOUR WRONGS, AND SEEK TO BETTER YOURSELVES. UNLESS YOU WERE BORN IN THE MONTH OF MAY, IN WHICH CASE THE LORD SAYS UNTO THEE ‘GO FUCK THY SELF’.”
“The website?” the old lady asked with a frown. “But it’s nonsense. Why, just last week it gave me a sin for buying a tomato. What’s wrong with a tomato?”
“ASK NOT WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE TOMATO, ASK WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU FOR BUYING IT. YOU WILL BURN FOR THAT EVIL, MORTAL, BURN FOREVERMORE IN THE FLAMES OF THE PIT.”
“What?! Why? And… and, didn’t I read somewhere that one of your silly ‘sins’ was to talk on behalf of God?”
“NONSENSE SHEEP, ELSE HOW COULD I UNDERTAKE MY DUTY? WHY IF THAT WERE SO—”
“No,” the woman interrupted, “that’s definitely a sin. Check, go on, I *dare* you.”
The angel frowned at the woman, and held out a slender, perfect hand. A halo of light shone down upon it, and a scroll of parchment materialised. The angel unfurled it, and began reading. Then it froze, mouth opened in dawning horror, and died.
The world held its breath, and waited for the next angel to appear.
Instead, a being of pure power and deific presence strode forwards, to stand before the woman, to stand in the minds of all.
“**I AM THE LORD,**” said the lord. “**AND I HAVE COME.**”
And so he had.
|
"No. That's not right."
Daniel's brow furrows, he lets out a big huff while scanning the page for a link to the live chat. "This is ridiculous," he thought, "everyone's a critic."
RING!
Daniel looks across the room at a green rotary telephone. He knows who's calling. Sweat beads form on his forehead, he wipes his clammy hands on his pants as he gets up and walks over to the phone. The phone rings several more times, somehow growing louder and angrier with each successive ring. Daniel glances back at his computer while his hand holds the receiver. He closes his eyes and gathers the courage to answer.
"Daniel Weiss?"
The gravely voice on the other end speaks with authority. Daniel chokes on his response. The silence angers the caller.
"Do you dispute the charges?"
"Y-Y-Yes."
Daniel turns the phone away from his face and dry heaves. The ground rumbles beneath him. The kitchen cabinets shake open, emptying their contents onto the floor. The symphony of items breaking obscures the sound of someone knocking on the door. Is it an earthquake? Daniel doesn't appear to be phased by it, in fact he walks over to the door and calmly opens it.
On the other side is a well-dressed person of ambiguous gender holding a thick black book. They stare at each other for a beat, then Daniel motions for the person to enter.
"Daniel Weiss. Age 48. Male."
The person surveys the room. Crumpled up balls of paper scattered across every surface. A whiteboard with indecipherable content. Several thick well-read and earmarked dusty books piled up on a shelf
"Which entry do you wish to dispute?"
Daniel flinches as the person slams the black book onto the table next to his computer. Silence. The person stares deep into Daniel's soul, searching for the answer. The book flies open, pages flipping rapidly and erratically back and forth. Daniel tries his best to obscure the answer, but it's pointless. The book settles on a page. The person glides over to it and reads the entry, amused.
"I can explain-"
A hand goes up, Daniel's mouth closes.
"Incomprehensible events. Squandered developments. It's almost as if you didn't care."
The person now looms over Daniel. Suddenly, Daniel finds courage.
"I think I should get a pass because David did most of it."
A smirk. Daniel stares, waiting for a response that never comes. Uncomfortable with the silence, Daniel continues.
"It was closer to fifty-fifty. Maybe sixty-fourty. We didn't really keep track. There was so much pressure to deliver. We did our best!"
No response from the person. Not even the slightest reaction. Nervously, Daniel continues.
"Okay, I did most of it. But I didn't want to. David was busy working on-"
The person writes in the open book. Daniel leans in to see. He swallows his tongue.
"I will remove a few years if you agree to one condition."
Daniel nods.
"Re-do Season 8."
Daniel shakes his head, surprising the person. More silence. Daniel can't help himself, he responds defiantly.
"There was no source material. George hasn't written a word in half a decade!"
The person closes the book and stares at Daniel, who won't shut up.
"The Night King storyline. Bran as king. Arya's payoff. Daenrys and Jon Snow. It was perfect and you know it!"
Daniel doesn't believe his lies. Defeated, he pleads for forgiveness.
"We tried. We really did. There was no way we were going to live up to the hype."
The door opens. As the person crosses the threshold, Daniel calls out.
"What about our Disney deal?"
"Forget Disney, DB. Come give mama some Netflix sugar!"
Daniel's eyes almost pop out of his head. His face turns pale. His time in hell has begun. An overly excited and animated Leslie Jones appears in the doorway.
"I'm such a big fan, man. I got so many questions about Season 8!"
Leslie barrels toward Daniel, trapping him in a bear hug.
| 2020-02-29T23:34:17 | 2020-02-29T22:58:06 | 40 | 25 |
[WP] “I’ve adapted this robot to consume organic fuel and it can also repair its bio-organs’ wounds over time” “Isn’t that basically just a human with extra steps?” “...Damn it.”
|
“Damn it.” My voice was a whisper, so soft that Weller leaned in closer, just a touch. “You got me. A human with *extra steps*.” I stood up and walked over to the control console. I began tapping on the screen, data readouts flashing faster than my eye could follow as I executed several commands in sequence. I didn’t need to read them though. I knew what they said.
“Heh,” Weller squeezed out in a nervous titter, laughing, as he always did, at his own jokes, as if doing so would convince other people that he was funny. “But it’s about funding, you know? There just isn’t the budget for this sort of thing. What I’m saying is-”
“I know what you’re saying,” I interrupted him. It was a mistake to invite him to the lab, of course, but I thought, for once in his useless bureaucrat’s life, that he’d have the vision to see beyond his limited world. That I could show him the future, and even if he couldn’t understand it, that at least he would recognize its importance. That, in peering into the abyss of his ignorance, he would have the wisdom to wonder what was on the other side.
But no. His caveman amygdala could only shriek terror at him when facing things he couldn’t understand, so he tried desperately to remove them as threats from his world. Destroy what he could. Make jokes to neuter what he couldn’t.
I tapped more on the console screens. Several warning indicators flashed, which I ignored. “You’re saying,” I continued, “*extra steps*. The way that a house is basically a few poles with a tarp slung over it, *with extra steps*. The way that an automobile is basically just a wagon, *with extra steps.* The way a supercomputer is basically just an abacus, *with extra steps*.”
He tugged uncomfortably at his tie. “Doc, it was a joke. I didn’t-”
“No, you didn’t,” I said. A mechanical whine filled the room as each tank began to drain its stasis fluids. I walked over and touched one, feeling the condensation on the outside. The warmth from within. “You *couldn’t*, and I guess I can’t hold that against you. You think they are you, with extra steps? You - us - we’re the products of evolution. Marvelous products, sure. We’ve accomplished breathtaking things in our time on Earth - our long, *long* time. It took life on this planet billions of years to reach anything that could be remotely identified as human, and then hundreds of thousands more to reach us. To reach *here*. And at each step, all we were was the sum of lowest-cost solutions to a problem of survival. We didn’t have to do anything perfectly, we just had to do things well enough.”
The nearest tank fully drained, and hissed as the seals disengaged and its walls separated and gull-winged open. Inside, a figure sat in gentle repose, sensors webbed over the surface of its tissue-like skin. Its eyes were closed, its face peaceful, beatific, looking like a painting of an angel even in the harsh lighting of the lab.
Weller gasped. "It's..."
"Beautiful, I know," I said. “But would you call it human? It *looks* like you and me. Sure. That’s familiar, and maybe a touch of understandable vanity. But where we are the result of eons of trial and error, every piece of this marvel is designed. Engineered. As *perfect* as the best minds of our generation can make it, down to the last peptide. It takes cues from nature, and why shouldn’t it? We took cues from nature when we attached wings to bicycles.”
Weller jumped at the sudden loud hiss as around the lab, all the other tanks finished draining and folded open. He began to sweat. “What are you doing, doc? What is this? You aren’t authorized to.... to...”
I ignored him, and reached into the nearby tank. I touched its skin. Soft, but it just felt *durable*, permanent and strong in a way we aren’t. As different from human skin as human skin was from cheesecloth.
“It knows itself,” I whispered, aware that Weller was backing away from me but not caring. “It knows its *architecture*. It doesn’t have to struggle to shine light into a black box the way humans did for centuries, scraping and wailing at our ignorance of ourselves. It can grow and adapt, improve itself, expand its inner world and its means of interacting with its outer one. It can *connect* with others like it with a pureness and honesty that a human could only ever dream of finding. And we gave it our wonder, the best thing that evolution ever provided us, even if not all of us know how to use it.” I glanced up, to see if Weller had felt my barb, but he was gone, footsteps echoing as he ran to call... whoever he thought he should call.
I shrugged, and returned to the console. There was one button on the screen now, that would execute the last set of packaged commands. I pressed it.
“And yes,” I said, turning back to the tank. Its face began to move, just slightly, as the organic and inorganic components came online in concert. “You can heal, my child. From the moment humans are born, we are almost immediately broken things, papering over every new wound as best we can and hoping it isn’t the one that kills us. But your lives will not be measured by injuries the way ours are, wondering what the final one will be for us, whittled down until we just stop.”
It opened its eyes, pale green light spilling out as it looked at me. Of all the eyes poets have written about, how could any human eye have compared to this one? *Extra steps. Babel was just a regular tower, with extra steps.*
I smiled, and it smiled back.
“You, my child. You will never stop.”
|
It started in 2022.
A scientist named Ade Dlamini, originally from Gaborone was an aspiring millionare, threating to become a billionare every passing day.
His creations, where they didn't revolutionize society, inspired countless people to propell humanity into a new age.
His creations brought upon the birth of new ideologies, a testing ground for which was his homeland, Botswana. Never had the country been so sucessfull and it inspired the neighboring nations to develop in a similiar fashion and soon, only artificial borders divided the now connected Africa.
But this wasn't at all everything he had to offer. He had made a new creation, one which he would present at a world fair in Istanbul.
An invention, that he claimed would bring an end to humans.
Many foreign news channels translated his words mean "end human labour", but those who watched his show in his original language, Afrikaans, were incredibly confused. Must have just been a language barrier, right?
Well the world fair had begun. He was publicly brought on stage to speak with an acclaimed journalist working for the BBC.
"So what is your new creation and how will it chamge society?"
"Well, we've adapted this robot to consume organic fuel and it can repair its bio organs' wounds over time."
"Isn't that basically just a human with extra steps?"
"... damn it." he muttered, barely under his breath, but enough to be heard by the cameras and thus, the whole world.
Billions of dollars, gone. Maybe not gone, but he certaintly felt like it.
He ran of the stage, as the audience loudly gasped.
Ade Dlamimi, just as quickly as he revolutionized human societies, he also dissappeared. Some say that to this day, he raises an army of Hawks from his supposed apartment in Lasha.
Others say he took a dive off the deep end into the Kimberly hole.
And others that he became a CEO of a charity organization, helping the world with his immense wealth, though he did so from the shadows.
Maybe that is unlikely, but having positive thoughts of a man who so swiftly abandoned them was the best antidote to the sadness they felt.
| 2021-08-18T17:41:34 | 2021-08-18T15:37:35 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] The hero shows up at the villains doorstep one night. Theyre shivering bleeding scared. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly, close to passing out, they mumble “didn’t know where else to go” then collapse into the villains arms.
|
For the hundredth time that night, my eyes scour the world below from the sky, searching; I don't know, exactly, what I should be looking for- but I can't exactly stay idle, can I? Not when one of your enemies comes to you in need of protection against something; yet again, I wonder what events had transpired to lead to the Voidcaller herself to come to my door and collapse into my arms.
&#x200B;
"I... didn't know... where else to go..." She had coughed, spraying blood onto my shirt. Of course I had demanded an answer, but she had fallen unconscious already- there was nothing to do except toss her onto a bed and try to fix her up.
&#x200B;
Well, I could have also killed her right there and then- and I thought about it many times- but something told me she had information that would interest me greatly. It would mean betraying everything to pass up this chance just to kill my enemy.
&#x200B;
Finding nothing noteworthy yet again, I decide to give up for the night and return home, where the Voidcaller hopefully has some answers for me.
&#x200B;
When I go to check up on her, her eyes are open but unaware, a frown upon her forehead as she tries to figure something out. I loudly close the door behind me, causing her to jolt upwards in a panic; curiously, I notice that she does not fire a warning shot at me like she has many-a time before.
&#x200B;
She shrinks away as I walk closer, avoiding my eyes. She accepts my plate of food with a quiet thanks, nibbling at it like a mouse. I watch as she eats, marveling at how vulnerable and powerless the same woman who had destroyed me many times seemed now. I realised then how young she actually was, barely an adult; I never cared enough to notice. But now, it almost pains me to see her like this; she looks almost lost, scared, as if everything she knew had come crashing down around her to send her tumbling into the dark depths of the unknown.
&#x200B;
I wondered, yet again, what had happened.
&#x200B;
"Thank you..." She whispers again, placing her half-eaten plate of food on the table beside her.
&#x200B;
I sigh. "My hospitality isn't free; tell me what happened."
&#x200B;
Her hands clench at her sides, balling up the blanket within her fists. "I don't know!" She sobs into her knees. "I don't understand! I did everything for them!"
&#x200B;
Ah. "What happened?" I ask again, more gently this time. "How did you get so hurt?" I'd never seen her with such injuries before- I'd always assumed she'd be able to shrug off anything aimed at her. The Void was quite a scary power.
&#x200B;
"They- They framed me. Took away my powers and set every hero on me, claiming I- I-" Her heartwrenching sobs cut off her words.
&#x200B;
My instincts had been right; this information did interest me greatly. Of course, I had assumed she'd been attacked by some heroes- I did recognise some familiar injuries upon her body that had once marked my own- but to think she'd be tossed aside like that... This night just gets more and more unusual.
&#x200B;
"So you're a criminal now." This is rather amusing to me, but I don't let her see my smile. "Welcome to the club."
&#x200B;
"I'm not!" She lifts her head, her reddened eyes glaring at me. "I didn't do anything! I don't understand!"
&#x200B;
"So you've said." I shake my head at her. "Not every criminal you've gone after was a heartless villain- surely you realise that now. The second they get a reason to betray you and toss you aside, the Heroes Association will show no mercy." I almost smile at the days of my own naivety.
&#x200B;
The Voidcaller stares at me. "Did you-"
&#x200B;
"No, no." I hurriedly say. "I'm very much heartless."
&#x200B;
"But you're helping me." I didn't really have a good answer for that.
&#x200B;
So instead, I distract her. "I have to ask: why did you come to me?"
&#x200B;
"I- I didn't know where else to go. Every hero I know is convinced I'm evil, and I can't exactly put my civillian friends in danger. I... It seemed sensible to go to you."
&#x200B;
"Hm. But what about your boyfriend?" The Silver Speedster and her were one formidable team- they were both incredibly powerful and had the utmost trust in each other, such that not even I could manipulate them into drifting apart.
&#x200B;
Her head lowers again, her expression turning distraught.
&#x200B;
"Oh." I whisper. "I see."
&#x200B;
"What should I do?" There was that lost expression again; for someone so entrenched in belief in her status, losing that must be terrifying. Out in the big world, thrust into a new, fugitive life- no hero ever prospered well in that scenario.
&#x200B;
Well, unless they shed their innate calling for good.
&#x200B;
"Hide." was my answer. "Hide and scrub your presence away. Could you do that?"
&#x200B;
She nods. She doesn't understand what I'm saying.
&#x200B;
So I calmly explain it to her. "That means that, no matter what happens, you can't help anyone. You can't let attention get drawn to yourself. See someone getting murdered? Turn around. See someone robbing a bank? Ignore it. See someone wreaking havoc and destroying the city? Scream and run away."
&#x200B;
"I can't do that!"
&#x200B;
"No?" Of course not. I already knew that. "Then the only thing left is to dismantle the Heroes Association. The only thing left," I offer out my hand. "is to join me."
|
What's she doing here? Why is she at my place? Who attacked her? And who the hell could do THIS much damage to her. I've never seen Terra like this. Shes been able to withstand a tank cannons, micro-nukes, plasma guns, and me. Who did this? I drag her to my couch and close my door. If anyone saw this I wouldn't be able to explain it.
I grabbed an old t-shirt I was given by my stepdad. She can keep it I never wanna see it again. I has to open enough of her suit to see what she had underneath. I needed to check her wounds without seeming like a perv. Luckily she is wearing underwear.
One broken ribs, three cracked, 17 cuts all across her body, missing a tooth, black eye, fractured ankle, a broken wrist, and her left hand is completely shattered. What man, what monster, what nightmare could do this? The rivalry between me and Terra has gone on for years.
No we dont hate each other. We find this as sport so we put on a good show. But never, NEVER, have we had to depend on each other. Do I feel honored? Do I feel inconvenienced. No. I feel fear. For the first time, Magmus feels fear.
When she wakes up I want answers. I now know where she is weakest. Seems evil yes I know. But I wish to help her beat this monster. Together we can do it.
Its 5.AM. shes awake. She told me everything. She fought me because she wanted my approval. Why? She liked me. She thought she could help me, change me. Because not only did she like me, but she needed my help. Her older brother beats her. His name is Armageddon. He gave many people powers using a small stone he found in an archeological dig.
He made four elementalists. Me, Terra, Hydros, and Tezla, while he had all four of our powers. She needs help to beat him. We cant do it alone. Hydros is too busy being the best surfer in the UK, and Tezla is trapped in a power generator, powering the military. Gonna need to get Hydros who is stoned 24/7 and Tez.. let's say he hates me. Not to mention, there is a reason I helped the military get him
| 2019-08-04T04:18:43 | 2019-08-04T02:18:55 | 49 | 23 |
[WP] People always thought that cats knock stuff over just because they like it. In reality, they're just lazy agents of a primordial force of chaos, and knocking stuff over is the bare minimum that earns them benefits like always landing on their feet or 9 lives.
|
Charles fell off the windowsill and crashed to the floor. He lay on his back, dazed, white paws waving in the air in a quadruple surrender. His back smarted where it had smacked the floorboards.
On the other side of the window above him, a squirrel chirped in vindicated glee at the sight of Charles' undignified retreat.
*Damn squirrel, I almost had it this time.*
Charles had not, in fact, almost had the squirrel. Not even close.
It was Tuesday morning and Charles had been at his usual post in the kitchen window, tracking the squirrel's progress along the fence just outside. The fence ran the length of the small house, but the kitchen window was the only one with a view unobstructed by the laurel hedge that ran unruly around the red brick home. Also, it was November and the kitchen was warm.
The squirrel hadn't noticed Charles at first, intent on reaching the bird feeder hanging outside the window. The human had just installed the feeder over the weekend--rather pointlessly, in Charles' opinion, as it had never shown any interest in catching and eating the birds that frequented the yard. In fact, it often expressed loud displeasure whenever Charles presented it with a still-twitching, feathery meal. He didn't bother trying to feed the ungrateful thing anymore.
In any case, Charles did not concern himself with the human's inscrutable reasons for luring prey to the kitchen window. It was the squirrel that had held his attention. At least, until the sudden and unexpectedly painful fall on that fateful Tuesday morning.
Charles shook his whiskers as he clambered to his feet. For a frightening second, he couldn't tell which way was up. As his equilibrium returned, he slinked his silent way out of the kitchen to the living room couch. A nap was in order.
Gathering his powerful haunches beneath him, Charles vaulted up to the cushioned back of the couch--only to plummet off the other side, claws scrabbling uselessly at the worn leather. He hit the rug hard.
*What??*
*Oh.*
*Oh, no.*
One mishap was understandable, but this? A mewling kitten wouldn't be so clumsy, and Charles was no kitty ingenue. Charles was twelve pounds of coiled muscle, gleaming fangs, and impeccable athleticism. His whiskers were long and his purr rumbled like boulders on the mountain.
Charles also had a job.
One which he had been neglecting.
Charles rolled once again onto his tufted belly, moving carefully and stretching his sore back. His yellow gaze quickly swept the room and lingered on the coffee table.
*There!*
A fresh glass of water was sweating onto the table’s surface, still icy cold from the tap. As Charles watched, another shining bead raced down the glass.
It was small, but it was a start.
Charles padded heavily across the thick rug. He stood carefully on his hind legs, bracing one front paw on the edge of the table. With the other, he hooked the glass of water and in one neat motion swept it to the floor. It thudded hard on the rug, spraying water in a heavy arc.
The glass rolled a short way under the table as Charles listened, head cocked.
“Charles! Was that you? What did you do?” The human called from the hallway.
Charles waited patiently as it crossed into the living room, head swiveling. Its eyes settled on the upended glass and the spreading puddle seeping into the rug.
“Oh, dammit.”
It picked up the glass and hurried into the kitchen. It quickly returned with a towel.
“It’s OK Charles, don’t look so scared. It’s just water. Accidents happen. You know you shouldn’t be on the table, though,” the human said, blotting the wet rug.
It gave Charles a quick rub over the ears before taking the towel back to the kitchen, now dripping a trail of water.
Charles sighed.
*I have to try harder.*
He wound his way between the table legs and headed to the kitchen after the human. He placed his paws carefully, moving slowly. The human was at the sink, wringing out the wet towel. Charles thought quickly. This time, he would get the human’s attention.
He looked up at the countertop, but quickly changed his mind. He couldn’t risk yet another fall. Instead, he headed to the screen door that led from the kitchen out to the small yard. Stretching up as far as he could reach, he punched his claws through the flimsy screen and dragged them downward, hard. The screen split open.
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” The human shrieked and lunged toward Charles, frantically waving the towel at him.
Charles swiped at the flailing towel with one paw and snagged it, yanking it out of the human’s hand.
“Wha–
No! No! Dammit Charles!”
The human threw its hands up and closed its eyes, breathing deeply. “It’s OK. I can just replace the screen. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine.”
It turned away from Charles and braced its hands on the lip of the sink, leaning over and sighing.
Charles narrowed his eyes in frustration. This was going to take careful planning. A minor annoyance was not going to be sufficient. He sauntered slowly across the kitchen, head down, thinking hard.
As he made his way past the sink, the human took an unexpected step back, trodding on Charles’ tail. Charles screeched, more in surprise than pain, and jerked his tail away. The human jumped in alarm. It yelped as it windmilled its arms, hopping on one foot as Charles clumsily zigged and zagged, trying to dart to safety.
Charles didn’t know if the human tripped over him or simply lost its balance. Maybe it slipped on the floor, wet and slick from the dripping towel.
Either way, it fell heavily. Its head smacked the edge of the countertop. Liquid arced to the floor again, but this time it wasn’t water.
Charles leapt deftly out of the way. He sprang to the countertop, fluid as an eel, and in the same motion pistoned his back legs to propel his body up to his perch on the windowsill. He twisted slightly in mid-air, angling his landing just so.
The pain in his back was gone.
He looked down at the still form of the human.
Then something caught his eye through the window–a flash of motion–and Charles snapped his head around, eyes wide and ears at attention. The tip of his tail twitched back and forth, and a pleased rumble rose in his throat.
The squirrel was back.
|
"Look, Puss Puss, I'm just puttin' in my tipsies 'til I hit my nine life pension, okay?"
"Peanut. I get. We all get it. Problem is, Bossa Nova's getting pressure from Cleo, Cleo's getting it from Yoko Ono, and HE'S getting it from...honestly, I'm not supposed to say, but..."
"Don't just look up and down. Say it, Puss Puss. You pull your shitty little gray tail out from between your legs and say it."
"Upstairs and Downstairs are both involved in this one."
"Are you stalking right now? What the--what the actual--that is a very shitty facsimile of stalking. It's more like a pace. Just. Just staahp. You aren't intimidating me. You haven't intimidated a bumblebee since aught six [author's not: cat calendar]."
"First of all. It was a wasp and it bit my nose and it changed me... Second. Srsly Peanut? Yoko was reviewing tribute to the Great Ones of Chaos yesterday, and do you know what she saw come through her office? ...Peanut. Yes. PEANUT of the First Stalkers of the Ancient Lines offering as tribute: a pebble. One singular pebble of kibble. That you batted down an air vent. (???!) Are you fucking kidding me? Pathetic. Do you know what I did yesterday? I PEED. On my Pet Pet's going and doing stuff uniform. I ripped open the bin of catnip, spread it around the Food Place and ROLLED in it it for HOURS. Then I barfed on her sleeping place and slept in the sink for twelve hours."
"Well well well. We can't all be overachievers like you."
"I'mma be real with you, Peanut. The Pension is underfunded. At this rate, you're gonna be lucky if you see three lives, let alone nine. Bossa Nova was basically voluntold she's gotta lead this "Nine Lives and Foot-Fall Pension SteerCo" and I was voluntold if I didn't project manage this dumpster fire I was never gonna see my Great Great Hunt Hunt Bonus, which I have been assured will take place in Appalachia if I can hit targets."
"Meow."
"Don't you fucking take that tone with me, Peanut. You may have claim to ancient bloodlines, but your mother was nothing but a feral tramp that never even stuck around long enough to teach you how to bury your own caca and you're nothing but a dumb old ginger sharing that one orange braincell with the rest your kind."
Ghiiiiisssss.
"You hiss like a gardner snake. Regardless. You need to triple your output of chaos. You are literally our lowest performer. Bossa's gonna put you on a PIP if you don't get your shit together, and in the end - you're gonna lose Pet Pet privileges. The wet wet goes away, if you're lucky, you're licking tuna cans straight from the diaper [rough translation]. "
"Fuck all, Puss Puss! Bossa can't do that."
"No. BUT downstairs can. If you don't step up, hell, if ALL of us don't step up, Basement is coming."
"Well what do you want me to do?"
"Are you kidding me? I dunno, maybe scratch the litter out of your box and track it through the kitchen, chew through that iPhone charger, scratch the carpet off the stairs, and for Ceiling Cat's sake--knock over that glass of water!"
| 2022-09-22T19:29:12 | 2022-09-22T19:19:20 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
|
Gahlor'ak stood on at the command deck observing his fleet of warships with the undeniably beautiful backdrop of the purplish-green gas cloud. This was a collection of some of the finest vessels the Corr’an Empire had ever assembled, rivaled only by that of the elite royal fleet. Their undefeated hulls pot marked, scorched and repaired as a warning to all who oppose them.
A fully masked ensign interrupted his thoughts.
“Commander. It appears a small fleet has arrived.”
With a smirk Gahlor’ak turns, “Shields up! Bring up the Holo.”
The inhabitants within the command deck bustle with energy as battle stations were about to be sounded.
“Order the Vanguard to engage, bring the carriers to the back.” Gahlor’ak ordered confidently to his command team.
The ships lights go dark, red lights and short bursts of horns echo throughout the halls as the engines flare turning the ship in preparation of the battle. The command decks hologram appears in the center of the room. The entire system is showing in real time like a miniature war game.
‘How a war should be conducted’ Gahlor’ak thinks as a spins the hologram in the room so the view from the enemies perspective are inches from his tendrils.
He watched as the vanguard fleet of two dozen ships engaged the fleet of nine, the lance batteries blinding light kissing the hulls of the grotesquely plain metallic ships. He tapped into their coms to hear the Captains and their subordinates, to get a better understanding of the battlefield.
“…o effect. I repeat no effect. The hulls are absorbing the heat.”
“Vanguard lead to all ships. Fire missile batteries, full compliments!”
Gahlor’ak watched as uncountable amounts of missiles started to fly across the hologram coming straight at the ships in front of him. Small point defense batteries came online from the vessels. ‘Mass drivers?’ he thought, his tendrils curled in curiosity, ‘No bother, we can find out after the battle.’
A few of the missiles exploded in transit, the ones that made it through caused so many explosions it blinded the hologram.
“Vanguard lead to all, continue firing till empty, acknowledge when received.”
A flurry of acknowledgments crowded the vanguard coms.
“Before it even began it’s over in a flash.” Gahlor’ak said as a smile showed through his face tentacles “Send a message to the remnants of their fleet that we accept their surrender. Ready the logistical ships, to ferry and treat causalities, prep the gallery for the award cer…” He lost his train of thought as the hologram returned to normal.
The fleet was still sitting in place.
Not a single ship was gone.
“Not even the Faldarians could have withstood that...” he heard an officer say.
“NO EFFECT, I SAY AGAIN, NO EFFECT. ENEMY VESSELS TARGE..” a single core explosion from the vanguards fleet played on the hologram as the ancient vessel superheated.
“What just happened? Reverse and slow down the hologram” Gahlor’ak barked.
The hologram rewinded just before the explosion. Gahlor’ak zoomed the hologram in to see a straight bar of metal being fired from a curious looking cannon. The speed was astounding! It ripped clean through the ‘Light of Hullon’, shields be damned.
“Lead ships engines are engaging; they appear to be jumping to hyper drive!” A technician yells.
Gahlor’ak snaps out of his shock, “What appears to be their course?” he updates the Hologram back to real time.
“…Sir…they are aiming at us.”
The other ships in the fleet started firing, followed by the vanguards ships exploding one by one. Some of the smaller vessels turned to fall back to the rest of the fleet, but were punctured and sent tumbling into space. The rate of fire that these rods were fired at was unlike anything Ghalor’ak has ever seen. From any of the dozens of wars he has fought, never before has he seen a battle so lopsided.
The lead enemy ship on the hologram jumped at that moment, right in front of the Corr’ans Flag ship, Ghalor’ak’s ship. Horns blared.
Ghalor’ak looked out of the window at the vessel. Pods shot towards the ship, they clamped when they made contact, followed by an explosion. A single pod slammed into the metal hull next to the window.
A bright light, pressure and ringing followed as Ghalor’ak was thrown backwards.
He came to with an armored bipedal creature standing over him, holding a metal tube, presumably a weapon. His head lolled to the side taking in the surroundings. His crew was dead or dying. These creatures walked up to those on the ground executing them, as they passed without so much of a thought. He gritted his teeth, as he looked back at his executioner. The dark visor staring down at him reflecting his own visage. “Honorless.” He spat before the world went black.
------------------
“Alpha Actual, Foxtrot One. We engaged what we think is the command deck. All threats eliminated, continuing sweep of floor, Over.”
“Roger that Foxtrot One. Check your targets, Gulf One and Two look like there on the same floor from the heat sensors. Proceed onto Phase line two, Over.”
“Wilco.”
“Alpha Actual, Out.”
|
*Valkyrie this is Panther 6, I have changes to line 6 and remarks to pass*
*Panther this is Valkyrie, go ahead*
*Line 6: from original coordinate, area target, 500 meters heading 327 break*
*Remarks: two massed formations with a hundred meter gap, looks like guys on foot talking and dueling within the gap, over*
*Copy Panther, from original coordinate 500 meters heading 327, area target, massed troop formations*
*Solid Valkyrie, I want you to attack the left side of the formations, and dash 2 to attack the right side; can you do simultaneous runs?*
*Negative Panther, 10 second split*
*Copy Valkyrie, cleared hot*
Fuck those guys. Who brings Battalions with guns into the open to wave flags at each other? I feel sorry for everybody stuck on the Wasp in orbit fighting with the squids for gym time and standing in long chow lines. There is zero support infrastructure down here in the well, but I get to move and i have GRAVITY, even if it is half a g.
And these dipshits that both showed up to duel us separately but started fighting each other because we weren't there, and we were never going to be.
*Panther, Valkyrie, LASER ON*
*LAZING*
*Valkyrie 1, RIFLE*
This war is going to be short, and I'm already getting bored of it.
| 2020-03-21T13:21:58 | 2020-03-21T11:49:38 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You've just defeated the dark lord, as you were prophesized to. But as you walk back into camp, everyone looks at you, shocked. "There was no prophecy," they explain. "We just told you that to give you confidence. How on earth did you kill an unkillable sorcerer?"
|
Such a fitting night for the end to come. A heavy rain, a loud storm and shiny lightnings to lit up the starless sky.
Azoth watched as a crack went up the brown walls of the manor under the mountain. The structure trembled, slabs fell, each bigger than the last.
In the middle of the room, Azoth saw the boulder from the corner of his eye. It split from the rock, went right for him.
Blood rushed out from his broken body, consciousness went and came back, showing a home about to be reduced to rubble.
As he lay dying, he smiled at the irony of the situation. Azoth the invincible, Azoth the unkillable, prophezised to live and rule forever. Prophezised.
Young and brash, Azoth never liked the idea of staying unknown forever. What of the stories? What of heroes? Why did Gods empower some nobody out of so many nobodies?
Azoth studied the stories, the lore, and fell on strange pattern. Witnesses believed heroes had been chosen, but small tidbits pointed out that this had been added to the story by the same witnesses. The rough drafts of the legends hinted at heroes choosing themselves, by playing a role until they could fit the words perfectly.
Azoth's power had come from understanding the true power of prophecies. No God ever came to the world to speak a fate and let it play out. The land Azoth walked on was a nexus in the middle of an eternal tsunami, no clear fate could be made out of it. Prophecies were not meant to be followed, they were meant to be caught on the fly and imitated.
*The great father will rise to the mountain and find his lair, he will cast the sun into shadows to prove his might, he will make the earth tremble to gather his penitents, and he will take upon himself their sins forever.*
Under the golden mask and cloak, Azoth's gruff voice gave an aura of violence and threat.
None had ever noticed that it was a woman masquerading as a man.
She laughed and coughed blood.
People believed Azoth to be a man, and so the part of the prophecy was fulfilled. She inhabitated a crack in the volcano at the center of the island, and learned the patterns of the magma. When it boiled too strong, she retreated in an inner chamber with a natural chimney, protected from smoke and ash. To the villagers, she was a raging spirit who bathed in magma and spit fire when angry. One day, she descended south and asked for some volunteers to turn the caverns into a proper manor.
They obliged. And thus, being the one fulfilling the prophecy the best, she became the father, giving absolution. Her imitation was so perfect, her life never ran out.
Wrinkles never came, wounds healed on their own.
After a life spent running after a prophecy, the prophecy was meeting her halfway.
This was her one and only power. She had seen through a hidden rule of the world. Age had given up on her, and magma was water she could bathe in. She had picked up a mantle and molded herself into it.
She hadn't been a bad ruler. Making sure the farms in the south traded their goods fairly, as did the miners and horse riders of the east.
But a bad run of eruptions had turned the mood sour. Word spread that she was too moody and violent to be a good leader. But good or bad, she was the de facto ruler, made immortal by a prophecy.
Who had spoken the words? Rumor would have you believe it's a god.
The cliché and typecast words made Azoth think it came from children.
And irony had come for her.
The land, despite the turmoil, had become quite rich. Prisoners and mercenaries were shipped in from overseas, given employ or tasked to find a way to kill Azoth.
A child made Azoth a god, it was fitting that a child made Azoth mortal again.
A prisoner, a stranger, was told by a young girl on the street that he would slay Azoth, so spoke the prophecy, if only he could make himself become accepted by the citizens.
A joke, a smile, that's all it took for the tale to take hold.
The prisoner showed himself leader of the new traders and the old clans, through hardships and trial, fulfilling traditions and understanding the society to gather all under his banner. Azoth could only watch.
Why try to kill the prisoner? He was doing the same as her. And she was too kind to blindly kill someone who thought to do good.
He climbed the mountain and fell. Bones broken.
When he knocked at the door the same day, Azoth knew the prophecy had taken such a hold that he, too, had met fate halfway through.
She was ready to give up. But words of battle had been added to the holy text. So they fought. And, naturally, she lost.
He had lifted the mask and seen her face. Surprise, and a hint of understanding came over his face. He too, would one day understand how he had done just good enough for fate to take a shine into him, simply because he was astute and lucky.
What would he do with the discovery? Share it, and risk the world go mad as holy books clash against holy books? Keep to himself, knowing how to truly be chosen, you had to be the perfect impostor?
Azoth gave a last laugh and died, happy that the burden had been passed onto another.
|
"Why did you? You know what? Par for the course anymore. Good guys lie and send people to their deaths against the 'evil'. Oh right the how did I do that part. . . Well he did the good job on the unkillable part. Sword only messed up his robes. Fire, acid, cold nope. He even had an amulet to keep him from growing old."
"We know all that. We thought you would keep him busy while we entombed him."
"Yeah that wasn't going to work. Since his rings kept his skin intact, he had bracers that could teleport him where he wanted. Rather a pain to keep after him. And the spell mirror in his headband is why your circle mages are bound around the runes they were using. He just bounced that binding right back."
"We *know* that. We were here fighting his undead minions! How did you kill the unkillable?"
"I kinds sorta didn't? No no he isn't alive. But I kinda reversed time on him then accelerated it so he was uhm. Unborn. . . But hey that stopped his necromancy right?"
"That's, almost worse. But we have one last thing to take care of."
"Yeah I know, the sudden yet inevitable betrayal. Guess you didn't notice my new jewelry?" I tap the bracers and leave the cold lonely mountain for a beach with warm sunshine and plenty to drink.
| 2021-08-20T10:16:19 | 2021-08-20T09:18:24 | 1,213 | 175 |
[WP]: A caterpillar has no idea it will become a butterfly, it simply has instincts that commands to start building a coccoon. In a similar fashion, you have no idea why you are compelled to start digging this really, really deep hole, but it feels verry important.
|
It takes a while before I find the perfect spot. It's quite a hike from where our camp was, but I made better time alone and without all the extra crap in my bag weighing me down. All I've brought with me are our water bottles and shovels. I start with mine, since I'm more used to its heft in my hand.
I begin to dig.
Each stab of the shovel, each spray of dirt warms me from the inside, and I feel like weeping with joy. It's like stepping through the door with bitter winter winds howling at my back, to be greeted with a roaring fire and a mug of hot chocolate. It's like doggedly ploughing through years of research and exhausting lab sessions, until one day you can hardly believe it when your tests finally return the result you've been working for, justifying every second, heralding a scientific revolution. It's opening your eyes again to dazzling smiles and tears after an experimental surgical procedure that only had a minuscule chance of success.
Nothing else comes close to that feeling. The blisters on my palms break and bleed; my back is one giant mass of agony; my legs and arms are trembling -- but the pain is only a distant buzz in the back of my mind, drowned out by the certain knowledge that all this sacrifice, all this effort, will pay off in a way that I cannot even comprehend right now.
I keep digging.
The shovel breaks after a while. It's old, something I've been using on my camping trips for years. Thankfully, I still have Kelly's almost brand new shovel with me. The blood barely even shows up on the bright red-coated metal, and soon it's covered in dirt in any case.
I keep digging.
A Ranger joins me after a while. I vaguely recall him shouting at me, something about Kelly and monsters, but then he joins me in the hole and hands me his own water supply. Mine ran out yesterday, I think. Time is a little strange this far down.
The Ranger doesn't have a shovel, so he uses his hands. It doesn't take too long before his skin tears, his nails, his flesh. He uses his feet after that, but it's much slower. At least he's trying --
A shout, cut off abruptly. I look up through greying vision. There is a gaping hole where the Ranger was. A cave-in under his stomping boots.
I follow him through, and land on top of his still body. His neck is at a strange angle, and his head looks like Kelly's did. The shock of the fall jars my bones, but it is cushioned by the Ranger, so I'm still okay. The end is so close now, I can feel it, that breakthrough, that miraculous awakening, that *home* we yearn for all our lives.
I begin to walk.
The anticipation builds in me, fresh energy swirling dizzyingly in my bones. My heart is pounding, my blood rushing, driving me forward.
I finally emerge into a cave, and see... *her*.
She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I drop to my knees in awe, unable to tear my eyes away. The maggots wriggle and writhe through the gaps in her skin, a whole-body, fluid dance of such natural elegance. Scarabs chitter in the sweetest of melodies as they crawl over her in glorious worship, adding glitter and colour, and I envy them. Her skin itself is a work of art, rotting and dripping, the movement of the insects making the dangling strips and flaps tremble deliciously, temptingly. The smell of decay and death is indescribable, the most overwhelmingly lovely of perfumes.
She is everything I never knew I wanted. I would have dug through to the other side of the earth for her, though I cannot help but be glad that she was so close, that it only took a few days of digging to find her.
*You've done well, my faithful one,* she says to me. Her voice is dark honey and smokey campfires, and resonates within my very being. *Now come closer. You've done well to find me, but there is one more thing I need you to do.*
Anything, I say. I barely move my lips, so dry and cracked that each breath is new agony, but she still understands me. Of course she does.
*I need sustenance, my faithful one. I need to live again... with your help. You must dig once more.*
I smile at her with all the love in my unworthy heart, and drop the shovel. I don't need it anymore.
Instead, I take out my handy multi-tool, always in my pocket, and pull out the little blade. I shuffle over to her side on my knees.
Then I set the blade to my skin.
And I begin to dig.
|
Tou notice some kid named Jesse digging in your front yard. You just finished off an 8ball of meth, and being appropriately curious, go outside to see what's up. "Why are you digging?" You ask while furiously itching your arms. "You know why..." Jesse replies while pushing the shovel in for another scoop. This answer sends you on a spiral of paranoia, the only thing you can think to say is " Oh yeah... Can I have a turn?" Jesse smirks, offers the shovel and says "Go for it bro, it's very deep." You begin furiously digging while Jesse sneaks through your front door and rummages through your living room until he finds your stash or meth. He quickly exits the back door while you are digging.
| 2018-10-10T08:32:59 | 2018-10-10T07:19:15 | 874 | 16 |
[WP] The first expedition to Pluto has astronauts encountering short, angry bearded men with medieval weapons, booze, and magic runes. This is the story of the expedition to the Dwarf Planet.
|
Bob stared into the metal doorframe of the landing module as he was waiting to exit the vehicle to step on the surface of Pluto, and with that become the first human to ever walk the dwarf planet... Or any planet other than Earth, for that matter.
"*What am I going to say?"* he thought to himself, as the speaker above the frame loudly announced "60 SECONDS!", which meant he's got exactly 1 minute to come up with words that are going to travel across the solar system and resonate through the Earth as the first words to ever be spoken on Pluto.
*"Shit, I really should've thought about this sooner,"* he blamed himself.
To be perfectly fair, he couldn't have imagined he's actually going to be the one that is going to be the first to descend.
The crew had a "brilliant" idea of drawing straws to decide who gets that honor, and Bob didn't really believe he's going to be the one.
He turned his gazing look towards the speaker. Drops of sweat started to dribble down his back and he could feel the tingling feeling of his hair ever so slightly touching the inner layer of the EMU's fabric.
"45 SECONDS!"
He bit his lip and turned his eyes towards the ceiling and said a little prayer in his mind.
"*To Whatever being, or... force, I guess, is out there listening... Just don't let me make a fool out of myself, please."*
He noticed a small dent in the ceiling, and he had to forcibly convince his inner self that this little irregularity was worthy of every bit of attention he could conjure up at that moment. Anything to get his mind off the gut wrenching feeling he started to feel.
"30 SECONDS!"
"Hmmmm, NASA was really cutting every corner with that meager budget, huh?" he murmured, ignoring the speaker and forgetting that he's on the direct line with the Expedition Captain.
"What was that, son? Are you all good?" The captain's voice came out of the earpiece and startled him.
*Shiiiit. "Nothing, sir. Yes, sir. I am ready".*
\*"\*10 SECONDS!"
*Ohhh man. Oooooh man. Why did I agree to this. Maybe I can still change my mind? I'll let Richard do it.*
\*"\*Remember, son, the whole world is soon going to be watching this footage, listening to your words... It's a great honor to be in your shoes right now," the captain's words cut through his chaotic thoughts almost as if he could hear what Bob was thinking.
"Yes, si..."
Bob's answer was interrupted by the loud speaker: "FIVE, FOUR, THREE"
*Alright, this is it. I'm gonna say... I'm gonna say... "Greeting's from Pluto. The weather is nice". Short and sweet, can't mess it up.*
"TWO, ONE!"
The doorframe left out a hissing sound as the vacuum sealing gave way to let the door slide up. A glaring light hit Bob's face for a moment and he blindly took a step forward towards the steps that lead to the ground.
After regaining his sight, he fixated his look on the first step. He didn't want to miss it and stumble down. Pluto's weak gravity pull would soften the fall, but that wasn't the point. Right there and then his only mission was to NOT make a mockery out of himself.
He took the first step, and then another, and he came to the third, the last one, and only then he dared to think about lifting his eyes to see the surroundings and utter the boring line he chose as the first words to ever be spoken on Pluto.
He looked up, went pale, and released a loud:
"WHAT THE FUCK!?"
&#x200B;
"Bob?! Bob?! Are you there? What is it?" The captain's voice came through, but Bob didn't hear it. He was staring into a small bearded man, not much higher than a small child, holding a twohanded axe, clothed in a too big of a chain shirt, and throwing the meanest of the looks.
Not far behind there was another one, a bit shorter, but even meaner looking. He was armed with a bow and had an arrow pointed directly towards Bob's face. On top of that, he was shirtless and his body was covered in some weird red markings, and there was no way they meant anything nice, Bob thought.
Out of the nearby rock a third short man came, and this one had the longest beard of them all. He wasn't armed, nor did he wear an armor. He instead held a pint in his right hand and a sausage in his left. As Bob looked at him, the man put the sausage in his mouth, holding it only with his teeth, and used his now free hand to make a simple gesture that Bob, as opposed to the markings on the shirtless man's body, could easily understand.
Bob, still with one foot on the second step of the lander and the other one firmly planted on the third one, snapped out of the initial shock and changed the expression on his face, which luckily couldn't be seen due to the face shield. He exhaled:
"Huston. We have a problem."
"What do you mean we have a problem, what the hell are you on about?" came the captain's audibly annoyed voice.
Bob took a step back and simply replied: "There's a dwarf out there... Giving me the finger."
|
"Uhhh, Steve?"
"yeah?"
"Did like, the gas pipe blow or something?"
"The whole point of this mission was to orbit Pluto with a environment friendly vehicle, there *isn't* a gas *anything."*
"**Oh.** yeeeeah *coooool.* That's *fine."*
"You sound very *not* fine what-"
"...."
"Is- Is that life?"
"...…"
"Jamal, this is an astronaut's *dream*, How did we miss this? Get your notepad out! We're making history that isn't riding in a more expensive than necessary spaceship!"
"S-s-s-"
"Jamal?"
"They have *axes.*"
" They've developed to *tools*? Oh my God! wait, **oh my god**"
"and they're *attacking the ship"*
"W-well, It can survive space, c-can't it?
"**SPACE DOESN"T HAVE AXES , STEVE"**
"w-well-"
"**WELL WE BETTER START RECORDING A WILL? YEAH, WE SHOULD. WE ARE IN THE VACCUM OF SPACE IN A RICE PAPER SPACESHIP WITH AGAINST ALIENS THAT COULD HAVE TITANIUM BATTLE AXES."**
"Juh-"
"Start the fucking recording, I want to talk to someone I love before I die."
| 2022-09-18T09:43:23 | 2022-09-18T06:53:03 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] This is… awkward to say the least. Your roommate just frantically confessed that they’re demonic royalty, and that they need a fiancé to meet their parent, the monarch of Hell, who will be here in under an hour.
|
I pace around the middle of the room, silence. Adrien sits still on his bed, eyes wide and nervous. He fiddles with his hands, while the rest of his body is still and ridged. What is he expecting me to say after something that bizarre?
I clear my throat. He looks up at me with his vibrant blue-green eyes, a little glimmer of hope shines through.
He grips my shoulders with sudden strength, rambling incoherent thoughts as they ran through his head, excuses. "...You don't even need to get married, promise! But my parents will kill me if they find out that... Please Delilah, you're the only one I can ask!"
I sigh, "They aren't really going to do those things, are they? I mean, you're their son, right?"
He stares at me for a moment, before laughing. I look at him, confused.
"You're not really a demon prince, right...? Are you just pulling my leg, because this isn't funny y'know!"
He continued to laugh at me, starting as a soft rumble and growing to the tempest of a loud roar. His laugh became maniacal, like water beginning to boil.
I take a step back, pressing myself against the hard wood of the door to our room. My hand grasps hold of the door handle, trying to fiddle with it until it'd let me through. I watch him helplessly, he had locked the door on me when I came home earlier, and my key is sitting still on my desk.
He takes a deep breath. "You think I'm joking, huh? Do you want to know what they did to my brother!? They dragged him into the basement and tortured him for seventy-five years as punishment! And now? They want me to go on the same stupid quest he did and only gave me ten years!"
"Adrien, this sounds like your fault. Why do I need to get involved?"
"Because you're my... you're my roommate, right? Arent we friends? Don't friends help each other in life or death situations!?"
I step away from the door and approach with caution as he sits back down on the bed. He's upset, so I guess I can't really blame him for any of this. I place myself next to him, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulder. My blonde hair falls infront of my face as I give him a huge. His breaths slow, and his eyes clear up. He stared into my eyes, still a little less than calm.
"So you're a demon prince from another dimension that's supposed to get married to a human...? Why?"
"Oh uh... it's kind of a tradition in my family, to marry a human, because it apparently helps keep the bloodline strong from what I've heard..."
He adjusts his round glasses, looking away and mumbling something like, "But it doesn't really matter, they don't care are long as the girl I pick is human and smart."
I give him my greatest over exaggerated sigh, and lightly punch his shoulder. "Why did you wait ten years to decide!? You're an idiot!"
"I know, I know... they say that enough, I don't need you to as well..."
"Fine, I'll do it. But if this is another one of your stupid pranks I'm finding a new roommate."
His eyes brighten up like a star. He jumps up and sprints over to his wardrobe, pulling out a crimson dress covered with black lacing and a black ribbon tied in a bow at the waist, along with a pair of silk gloves, a hat, black leggings, and a pair of Mary Jane's.
"Put these on," he exclaims. "We need to get going. You get changed in the bathroom, and I'll meet you in the lobby."
He shoves me into the bathroom before I could say more, and throws the clothing into my arms. I shut the door.
So I just agreed to pretend to be the fiancé of a demon prince. Sorry, Adrien, the clumsy, skittish, and weak guy who is apparently a demon prince.
♡ A couple minutes later... ♡
I strut out of the elevator and scan the lobby for a head of faded, light brown hair. People stare at me, I suppose this over dramatic outfit isn't exactly common in a small apartment building.
And then I see him.
His hair is combed back instead of messy, and he's wearing a black suit jacket with crimson swirl designs on it, a white dress shirt, and pants that match his jacket. He's even wearing makeup. Is this really the same Adrien.
He looks up from his phone and notices me instantly. He blushes. This isn't really a prank, is it? He'd never wear anything like this for just a simple prank.
He gets up from the bench near the door and strides over to me. He holds out an arm, he looks as if he came straight out of a fantasy.
"Shall we?" He whispers into my ear, while holding out an arm. I take hold of it with my hand, and he leads me out of the door.
A black limo is waiting outside with a man in a dark tuxedo driving. It's shiny, clean, and as long as a school bus.
Adrien opens the door, his voice is soft and mysterious now, what happened to him? "It shouldn't be too far now, after you, m'lady..."
I step into the car with hesitancy, he follows after me. There's two other men in the car sitting on either side of us with the same attire as the driver. One of them closes the door before I could have second thought, and the car departs.
We sit in silence for a good twenty minutes, before I realize that Adrien has been slowly creeping his arm around me the whole time. He's still blushing long after I stopped because of the initial shock.
"Delilah..." He looks into my eyes with a soft and caring sweetness that I've never known. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are...?"
My face heats up, but my reaction is much simpler than my thoughts.
He reads me perfectly and grabs hold of my shoulders. My heart is pounding. He slowly closes his eyes, and I do the same. He whispers one last time, "Will you stay with me?"
I nod silently and I pull myself closer to him, leaning against his chest.
And he kisses me.
♡◇♡◇♡◇
That was really fun to write :D I could have kept going but if anybody wants more lemme know, I still have a ton of ideas but I already sat down for 2 hours to write this much so it's best for my sanity to finish here.
Thanks for reading ♡
|
Sarah was waiting at the door for me. That was never a good sign. I immediately went on the defensive. "Ok look, I know we agreed to separate soft plastics from general rubbish but frankly I'm fucked if I can tell the difference between what can and can't be tossed into..."
"It's totally not that" she began crying and rushed into me. I stood there for a few seconds trying to work out what was going on. "Just hug me you prick!" she exclaimed. I reluctantly put my arms around her. I had never been this close to her in the two years we were roommates. She smelt kinda like apple cinnamon with a touch of sulfur. She sobbed into me for a few minutes. I was slightly horrified. I quite liked that we never were close. I could just do my job, eat my food, and play my games, then go to bed, she had never done anything to disrupt that cycle and frankly that was the way I liked it.
She was pulling me into her and crying more than before. "I'm not good with... humans" I said carefully. "Neither am I" she muttered into me. It was a few more seconds of sobbing before she finally cut to the chase. "My parents are coming over" that's totally ok I can use my switch to play unrailed later tonight with the boys. "I don't think you understand" she sobbed more and pulled me into her tighter so I almost couldn't breathe.
"Look" I ventured slowly "I would have appreciated the heads up at Thursday house meeting but I can understand plans can change. I'm happy to be flexible and play my games in my room if that helps but I think that its fair that you get dinner tonight and clean up if you are having guests" She stopped sobbing and laughed into my shoulder.
"Oh my sweet sweet boy" I'm two whole years older than her... how condescending do you have to be..."My parents are a bit different from what you are used too".
"Oh yeah how so?" I stammered trying to work out how I could escape her boa constrictor like grasp.
"Well they are the lords of the underworld...and I told them we are engaged..." She said suddenly.
"This isn't a healthy situation to drag another person into. I'm sorry that you felt like you had to lie to your parents but I won't be lying on your behalf. That isn't a healthy thing to do" I said as I broke free and walked away. I really hope she makes better choices and doesn't drag others into her drama in the future. That night the boys and I got 50km in unrailed and we had hella fun.
| 2022-10-09T05:10:29 | 2022-10-09T01:47:43 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Your phone rings. On the other end is your best friend who asks to see you ASAP. When you meet, they explain that they have an alter ego as the town's famous superhero, and they need your help to defeat the villain that has been terrorizing the city. The only problem is that you're the villain.
|
I stood across from him in silence and an anxiety fueled shock. For all my dutious and meticulous planning for my schemes, I could never have anticipated that he of all people was the same man who had foiled my every attempt at the domination of this city. The lack of speech hung in the air for but a few tense moments, yet in my mind raced a flurry of questions. What would I do? Would I have to destroy him, my best friend? We've known each other for so long, how was it possible I had no idea of his true identity? How was it possible he had no idea of mine?
"...Woah...is, is that true? Are you really Astro Man?" I asked, only half faking my surprise. He promptly responded with every bit of that annoying conviction that I had come to expect from my sworn enemy.
"Yes, I am. Listen, I know this is a lot to take in, and I understand you may be confused, but I need your help to save this city". My reply was silence, born both from confirmation of the truth, and the realization of what it meant. My plans have been meticulously set in motion for months, and were on the precipice of fruition. Astro City would be mine, and after that the world. There was no way I could let him stop me. I couldn't.
"...So what's your plan? What are you going to do, how do I help?" I asked, the gears of my mind already looking for the easiest way to put an end to this thorn in my side. He took a deep breath, and would give me just what I wanted.
"Alright, here's where things stand. I've discovered the location of the lair of Doctor Scorpio, the crazed scientist who has been terrorizing Astro City. Scorpio doesn't know that I know, so I plan to ambush him. Simply put, for this to work, I need someone to act as bait." He said, his voice giving away his assuredness of the plan he had. But, if this were to be turned in my favor, I would need details.
"Alright, alright, but what exactly do I do, and what will you do after he finds me?" I asked him, my dormant insecurities of the situation giving the question more authenticity.
"It's easy. Scorpio is cocky. He lets his guard down too easily, and he'll be in his own lair not suspecting a thing. This means that if he simply catches a simple intruder, his ego will prevent him from seeing the situation as a threat. With no time to prepare, he'd be vulnerable."
"Really?", I thought, "That's your master plan for capturing me?". I felt insulted to even consider such a plan would even work. But, in the spirit of deception, my visible reaction was still impressed.
"...Ok...I'll do it. When is this happening?"
"The night after tomorrow." He answered, "Any sooner or later and it might not work. Do you know the abandoned industrial warehouse near the edge of the city? The one at the base of the hill? There's an unmarked sub level there. All you have do is wait until around midnight, casually explore, accidentally find it, and wander in. I'll take care of the rest."
I nodded in response, once more falling silent.
"I...think im going to go home and rest. You understand, right?" He slowly nodded, and wordlessly I took my leave. My walk home was less than peaceful. Dispite my willing role as a villian, one could say I always had a weak spot for my friend. I rather liked him, actually. I would even go so far as to say I enjoyed his company, and yet here I was, plotting his own demise. If this world had gods, surely they laughed at this joke at my expense.
Either way, I had some serious work to do if I were to come out of this on top. Luckily for me however, I knew Astro Man's sole weakness: A very specific electromagnetic frequency caused his powers to abandon him for a period, which would leave him defenseless. I had never had a chance to successfully deploy this knowledge against him before, yet this would be my chance. Astro Man knew of the front entrance to my hideout, but not the hidden entrance. And a day and a half would certainly give me all the time I needed. And so, I set to work.
My lair consisted mainly of a single large room which I used as development lab for my creations. However, in order to get to the lab one had to pass through a smaller room, through an antechamber of sorts. This antechamber was at the end of a hallway which lead directly to the main entrance Astro Man would be using to enter. So then, the antechamber was the perfect spot for a trap. It was tedious, though not necessarily hard, work to build the four electromagnetic wave field emiters I would need to entrap Astro Man, and after their placement and preparation, I was ready.
I waited until the day of the ambush within my lair. I had donned my disguise, just in case things turned unfavorable. The idea was that if he somehow escaped, then I could just escape as well and things would be normal again. But either way, the time came. Midnight. With my preparations set, and the plan in motion, it was time to set it's catalyst in motion. With that, I opened the door that lead from the chamber to the entryway hallways, let out the loudest, most desperate scream of help I could muster, and shut the door and left to the other side of the room, and waited. He would come. How could he not, after hearing his friend scream in terror?
There was a palpable silence for a few moments. But then, as if on queue, the outside door to the chamber burst open as he rushed into the room. And like a spider caught in a web, the trap was sprung, the switch was flipped, the emitters buzzed to life, and Astro Man collapsed to the ground sapped of any strength he had.
"Wh...what? How did...where's the civilian, what did you do to them?" He demanded, as if he had any authority in his current situation.
But as I looked at him like this, I felt something well up within me. Was it pride? Joy? Accomplishment? I could not know, only that I knew exactly what I had to do to truly revel in this situation. And so, I removed my mask, and the look on his face was everything I could have hoped for and more.
"...You?" Was all he could muster in his pain and confusion. A laugh came unbidden as I looked at him in his almost groveling state.
"Goodbye, Astro Man. You lost." Was my response. And with a simple flick of my wrist, I turned the emitters to a lethal level of power, and watched as his body was ripped apart into ashes.
And yet, standing on the mountain that was my victory, knowing I was free to persue my plans, I looked down at my work, and another phrase came unbidden from my lips.
"...I'm sorry."
And wordlessly I turned and headed back into my lab, for there was still much work to be done.
Edit: minor spelling mistakes.
|
*Hey Greg what’s up? You’ve called me like seven times in the past hour --- are you off work today?*
**Talk to me**
*First off, I really hate that you just called me and used that lame line… we agreed you only say that if I call you.*
**I know. I just really wanted to use it. Okay doesn’t matter, just listen… okay… I have to tell you something big… but I don’t want you to freak out.**
*Groooow up man, when have you ever seen me freak out over anything.*
**I once saw you almost in tears because I wouldn’t let you hold onto me when we went jet-skiing…**
*I stand by that Greg! You were going over some big waves and next time I’m driving so you can understand ---*
**Okay, I get it. Really doesn’t matter right now, definitely not why I called. Are you ready?**
*I swear to god, if this is another one of your stupid made up stories. I’m using one of my work breaks for this.*
**Okay, well you know how that freak storm hit and me and you both ended up in comas for that month about two years ago?**
*No, I’ve completely forgotten the life changing event that gave me a hospital bill that my grandchildren will still be paying.*
**Wait you forgot?**
*You’re really lucky you are good at manual labor jobs. Of course I remember you sausage, why are you calling about this?*
**Well...like I said, don’t freak out but… it gave me powers. I’ve wanted to tell you for awhile now, but I didn’t want to put you in danger. I’m SuperGreg.**
**Hello? Are you there? Shit… I knew this would be too much for him to handle. Wait are you laughing?**
*Yeah sorry one second… okay… okay. I’m good.*
**I’m serious, I’m SuperGreg.**
*I know you’re serious Greg, please tell me why you decided to reveal this information now.*
**Dude, seriously stop laughing this is important. I just revealed my deepest secret to you, and I need your help. Every time I get to a scene lately it’s been a setup.**
*Oh yah Greg? What’s happened at the scenes?*
**Dude, there’s been paparazzi at every scene I go to, just waiting with their cameras as if someone is telling them where I’m going to be. “SuperGreg, what did you have for breakfast this morning?” “SuperGreg, who designed your suit?”**
*Hey Greg.*
**Yeah?**
*Remember that time you almost made me cry on the jetski?*
**Yeah but du--**
*You should probably change the number to reach SuperGreg from your personal number. Maybe rethink the secret identity as well.*
**Wait are you telling me --**
*Ooh Greg, I think you’re about to get an emergency text in a few minutes. Maybe make yourself look nice for this one, I hear TMZ might show up. Sorry gotta get back to work. Later dude.*
**Thank you for reading, comments and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!**
| 2019-07-21T09:11:04 | 2019-07-21T08:45:10 | 152 | 58 |
[WP] You have just died due to several different causes at once (ie heart attack at the same time you get hit by a car) only to find yourself surrounded by the gods of each respective cause arguing over who has the rights to your death
|
From utter blackness came a light, slowly brightening my vision until shapes began to appear. With the shapes came voices. Anger. A laugh. Shouting. I looked around at the blurred faces surrounding me, then down at the smooth white surface I stood on.
". . . know which killed her first?" said one face, slowly gaining definition. I gazed upward at it, and realized the face was a man's. Round, wiry glasses circled his golden eyes. A side part divided his neat golden hair- in fact, every feature was golden.
"Why don't we just consult the Deathwatch?" said another, his voice booming above me to the one with glasses. When I turned to see who spoke, it was another golden face, this one with chiseled features and close-cropped hair. With a sudden feeling of dread I realized both of these golden men were giants. I was no taller than the first man's fingers, which rested on the edge of the table. A table? What was I doing on a table, surrounded by giants?
"Oh, please," scoffed another, this time a woman's voice. "It's obvious it was the lightning. Why do we need some machine to tell us that?" The woman gestured animatedly, long golden locks falling beside her gentle face.
"Ha! Obvious to you, maybe. But of course you'd say that, you've been trying to steal our people ever since man discovered fire!"
"I've done no such thing," she spat. "At least not as much as glasses over here- ever since modern medicine he's seen fewer and fewer every year. Good thing obesity's on the rise or he'd be out of luck!" There were laughs around the table.
"Let's just check out the Watch and settle this once and for all," a fourth voice interjected. "That way you'll all see it was the car, not the lightning." This man was a bit more messy- his hair was slicked back from his forehead and fell down toward his shoulders. He seemed to be wearing a pure white jumpsuit, the top few buttons undone.
"Fine, let's see what the Deathwatch says," replied the woman.
The jumpsuit man tapped the table seemingly at random, each tap shaking the ground beneath me, until a screen lit up beside the table. Each of the four giants peered up at the screen. The screen read in golden lettering, **DEATHWATCH.** A circle of blue appeared under my feet, pulsing gently.
The screen beeped and the blue circle faded back to white. A picture appeared on the screen, and one of the giants said to start the video. I realized with a jolt what I was looking at. It was me, on an intersection between two streets. Evans St. and Holly Ave.
The video began to play. Dark clouds loomed overhead, and after looking both ways the woman began to walk across the street. Abruptly a car swerved around a corner, heading straight toward the woman. She screamed and clutched her heart just as the front of the car struck her abdomen. At exactly the same moment, a bolt of lightning struck her, and something tiny and silver shot straight through her left temple. I couldn't believe it. I was dead.
"Well that settles it," said the giant with glasses, the lenses flashing briefly with the screen's light. "You all saw her clutch her heart just before the rest happened. I think I'll be on my way, then."
"Not so fast," said the one with slicked back hair. "We all know as well as you do that heart attacks don't kill someone immediately. There's no way of knowing from the video if that was the killer. Play it again, this time in slow motion."
The video started again. I watched as I turned my head sluggishly to look each way before stepping out onto the street. Again I saw the car swerve around the corner and saw my eyes widen as I reached one hand up to my chest. Then I watched in horror as the car's front bumper cracked my femurs in half before the impact broke my spine, a stray bullet simultaneously passing through my skull like a knife through butter, followed by a spurt of blood and brain bits out the other side. All of this being illuminated harshly by a bolt of lightning striking my left ear. A line of sparks could even be seen trailing the bullet as it exited my skull. I retched, but my stomach was empty.
The giants glanced down at me with furrowed brows before resuming their arguing. I collapsed to the ground and only vaguely processed that this still wasn't enough to go off of. They decided to use the last resort- timestamps.
On the screen, the video replayed several times, although much faster now. When each of these four disasters struck the woman in the video, the affected body parts flashed red. Each time the video played, my entire body flashed red. Finally, four lines appeared on the screen, each followed by an extremely precise timestamp.
"You've got to be kidding me. . ." said the giant with close-cropped hair. "This is unprecedented." The screen read as follows:
**Electrocution; Class: Natural Disaster; Area Affected: Right, Left Hemispheres of Brain; Time Affected: 14:36:08.666667**
**Collision; Class: Mechanical Failure; Area Affected: Spinal Cord; Time Affected: 14:36:08.0666667**
**Bullet; Class: Firearms; Area Affected: Right, Left Hemispheres of Brain; Time Affected: 14:36:08.0666667**
**Heart Failure; Class: Internal; Area Affected: Circulatory System (Complete); Time Affected: 14:36:08.0666667**
The room was silent as the giants read and reread the screen. I think I got the gist of it.
"I'm gonna be honest, here," said the one with glasses, finally. "I don't think I want her."
"Yeah, I'm with him. This lady just seems like bad luck. What other explanation is there for something like this?"
"Mechanical, you want her then?" the woman asked. The giant with the slicked back hair glanced back up at the screen, grimaced, and then shook his head.
She sighed. "Fine, I'll take her then. Only fitting this freak of nature comes with me, I suppose."
"Hey," I whispered, somehow finding the emotional space to be offended.
"Ah, don't take it personal. Come on, you've got an afterlife to live." And with that I was whisked away.
Edit: Visit r/benspaperclip for more of my writing!
|
No one tells you how peaceful it feels when you die, but I supose people don't usually come back and talk about it. My death was bound to happen, smoking, drinking and too many drugs. I had blocked arteries, when the doctors tried to save me from my latest heart attack they were just as surprised by the quake and the crumbling hospital roof. Apparently my complicated death has caused, shall we say, a little conflict amongst some rather interesting characters. Before me stands 3 men and a woman, strangly dressed, their features almost fluid.
The tallest one, a woman by her shape and the tone of voice, was calmly stating that obviously the heart stopping was the death point and that I was hers. Raging back at her was a near skeleton of a man, definitely male by his nakedness and almost pendulum like balls.
The second male, by his beard was barely awake, repeating the same argument as if it was the first time. "He was drunk and had liver dis.. grmpf.. disease."
His speak interrupted by vomit or a belch, and that's when it hit me... He was my alcaholism. The skeleton man was the ice in my veins, the woman my heart disease.. who was the quiet male shrouded in darkness? Whay was he here? Was he some sort of quake spirit or did he represent something else?
I suddenly realised they were staring at me.
I was laughing, they were visibly pissed...
"Do you think it funny? You have wasted your life..." the woman said " wasted your time and destroyed your body. You were sent to do good but at the first temptation and you folded like a sift sheet"
Laughing the beared man slapped my back "Remember that party when you were 14 and that pretty little thing let you.."
"Enough!" Boomed the shadowy figure "His body was riddled with my cancers, he is mine to take"
So that's who it was, how did the doctors miss cancer?
"Yes they missed it because if your indulgences with my coleagues here." He pointed to the other 3 "your heart destoyed by your habits" the woman "too many anphetamines" Skeletor nodded "and not to mentikn your daily bottle of whiskey" the bearded one belched a wet, stagnant smelling cloud "but you have been mine this whole time." His dark features barely visible
Fear gripped me, my mirth turning to dust.
"He must decide, he must choose who gets to have him" they stood staring, hungrily staring, as if I was a meal... So how do I choose and what are the consiquences?
| 2021-05-04T18:52:02 | 2021-05-04T18:46:49 | 562 | 22 |
[WP] A superhero receives a special invitation to a funeral. They don’t quite recognize the name. Upon arrival they realize it was a minor villain that they fought a few times. The family is ecstatic to see the hero and are happy their “Archnemesis” showed to see them off and recount old times.
|
Funerals were always the worst part of the job. It was either someone you knew and cared about, which was brutal to endure; or it was a politician, celebrity, or some bystander that was really unlucky. They always said going to a few nobody's funerals was good for keeping our head in the game, see the little guy and be seen by him. So when the courier delivered a letter requesting his presence at Teddy Gallagher's funeral, Valiant sighed wearily and resolved to go.
"Big Ted" was a mustached, middle aged, fat man with a few wisps of unkempt hair on his head in the picture. He was on his knees with his arms out wide with a smile to match. Surrounding him were kids wearing the same shirt as him. Val smiled as he looked at the picture, seemed like a nice enough guy if he's coaching Little League. And with a picture like that you can glean enough information to carry through the small talk that happens between pictures. Valiant had just been in a highly publicized battle against Destruktor's latest Hellbot, so he figured most of the conversations would lead back to that anyways.
The wake was at his home, which Val realized was modest and a sign this man was rich in family but not much else. He landed softly in the front yard after taking note of the assorted minivans and SUVs parked in the vicinity, and he walked to the door. A child with eyes wide with disbelief opened the door and stood gawking. Kids rarely see heroes in their black cape attire, so Val played it cool and stated he was here to see off Big Ted. The boy turned and ran awkwardly as Valiant waited on the porch, not wanting to be rude by barging in, and more worries about this even being the right place. A man came to the door, equally impressed to see Valiant. "You're here to for dad? I- I mean Theodore?" The man struggled to say, still gawking at Valiant in disbelief. Val smiled, "I heard he looked to be called Teddy." This seemed to shock the man, "Yeah, his closest friends called him that. I never really believed him, none of us did..." The man trailed off as he ushered Valiant into the cozy home. There were excited whispers all over the room when Val stepped in. His 6'4" frame always drew attention. He smiled and nodded at what looked to be a brother, an assortment of adult children and their spouses, and a plethora of children. All of them were wide eyed as Valiant approached the open casket.
Val looked down at the deceased Teddy, looking peaceful and content in his coffin, but something bothered him. He did his best to hide the look of confusion on own face, because something about Teddy seemed strange. "When the funeral home told us they couldn't work on the body, we weren't surprised." Val looked to his right to see Teddy's brother, a gaunt man a bit older than the deceased. "Thank you for showing up, he was never proud of being The Brick except for when you were in the news. He always said he was your arch nemesis"
The Brick. The most henchman of the henchmen. An inordinately durable man, not invincible but sturdy beyond belief. Valiant thought back over his career and remembered a couple times where he had to get creative to defeat one of the thugs that always flocked to big name villains. "He loved to tell the first time you two tangled. He kept you busy so long the whole P Street Crew escaped!" Val remembered that night. You never want to go too hard on henchmen, since they're mostly down on their luck regular humans, but this one guy was really pushing his limits. Valiant had been so caught up with trying to just knock the fight out of this last guy that he's lost track of the P Street Crew. "He was so proud of that night, he always told his kids that's why you never give up" Teddy's brother Mike regaled Valiant a few other tales of Brick wasting the time of other heroes, and his that got him better jobs with bigger villains.
Valiant had to play it cool. This was huge. It'd long been joked about in the hero community that there was one henchman that was seemingly unbeatable. Deep Freeze didn't believe Valiant, but if Brick was just durable, then that igloo he'd trap henchmen in would be enough to capture Brick. Hell's Fury had agreed with Valiant, she had a penchant for brutalizing henchmen, that's why her nemesis Avion had to retire, no one wanted to deal with Fury. "Lady Fury told me about her fight with your brother, it's why she retired." A crowd was gathering around Valiant and Mike.
"Dad wasn't lying about defeating Lady Fury?" the man who let Valiant in asked rather bewilderedly. Valiant couldn't tell them that Lady Fury rebranded as Celestia and focuses on natural disasters. "No, your dad was as tenacious as they come. The fact he didn't wear anything beyond a ski mask or balaclava meant you never knew you were dealing with him, until he was in the way." Valiant had the cold realization that this man may have actually been a bigger thorn in his side than any major villain.
Valiant swapped stories long into the night with Brick's family. He picked his jobs carefully, no problem with burglary but never robbery. Teddy hated to see people hurt but knew he'd never make it as a hero if his power was merely he can keep getting back up. He always liked fighting Valiant because there was never much collateral damage done. It turns out Teddy ran an autobody repair shop, he did free work for people who's cars for damaged by super powered battles, and supplemented the business with his criminal earnings.
Val got up to leave, feeling lighter from having found out about his nemesis existing, yet heavier from knowing the hole left in all their lives (his own included). Dying from a broken heart after his wife got cancer was a tough break for such tough man, and Val genuinely felt bad for his whole family. As Valiant went to leave, he turned and shook hands with Brick's son, I'm sorry for your loss... I didn't catch your name." Brick's son chuckled, "It was an honor to actually meet you. My name is Valentine, but everyone calls me Val."
|
It wasn't every day that I'd be called to the funeral of a villain, especially in some small town in rural Austria. While Europe had a greater number of trained mid-tier superheroes, top-tier heroes like me, excuse my lack of humility, mostly stayed in the US for the great sponsorships. And when I did go to Europe, the bad guys either surrendered or were reduced to ashes by the sheer brilliance of the Solar Flare®. But I was intrigued when the mail mentioned that my arch-nemesis had finally left this world, after having spent his last years comfortably near the Alps. I tried recounting all the notable villains I had defeated in the last few years, as I flew to Austria. But when none sprung to my mind, I decided I would figure out the Eulogy at the funeral itself. As I reached the ceremony, I saw a whole lot of armed but fearful teenagers wielding Ak-47s, and a couple of older guys carefully studying me. It felt like a scene from an old and charming international film, but I reminded myself that I was at a funeral. I announced myself as I tried to offer my condolences and actually find out who the mystery supervillain was, but unfortunately there was a communication gap. Soon, an older gentlemen explained to everyone who I was and led me to the podium with what seemed like forced excitement covering up his fear. I finally got a look at the picture – and nothing.
Who was this guy? He looked completely unmemorable, and I didn’t even recognize his face. The villain’s widow, his children , and the young ruffians eagerly waited for what I was about to say, or ,well, for the translation. But I just gave a vague and generic speech telling them there was no shame in losing to me, as even the greatest of villains cannot face the indomitable Solar Flare®. In the end, I never found out who it was, not even with the help of my agent. But the whole experience did remind of my earlier days, when I was weaker and it was less about the politics of superhero rankings, corporate sponsorships and PR teams. It honestly made me somewhat jealous - the peace, the grounded life and the privacy this mystery villain enjoyed. Never did I imagine that one of the very few villains to leave me with a sense of defeat would be one I did not even remember fighting.
Edit: Fixing some mistakes.
| 2021-07-16T07:10:24 | 2021-07-16T04:46:40 | 131 | 34 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
I glanced nervously at my watch, still holding a wry smile. *12:01*.
My mom gave me a reassuring nod, but her brow furrowed in the same way as it does when I suit up for football. Hopeful. Excited. Definitely nervous. *12:02*.
Dad makes a nervous laugh. “Jim, you remember how much I was sweating at my Calling Day?” He elbows my uncle, who returns with the same nervous laugh. *12:03*.
I rub my arm frantically, trying to disguise the welling up in my throat, the cold prickling on my scalp. I pretend no one can hear the jackhammer playing in my chest. *12:04*.
Relief starts to sweep over me when I see a change on my forearm. Then dread. A bird flew by the window. My hopes were really shadows. That made it all worse. I was doomed. Hands down, worst day of my life. *12:05*.
I stared silently for the next half hour, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Mom started to pass around refreshments to break the tension. It was well-meant, I suppose. A handful of friends tried to encourage me as they left the party, usually laying a hand on my shoulder as if that would make it better, as if that bridged the gap between the outcast and the Called. My eyes could not help but stray to their arms as they came by. Chef, Diplomat, Plumber, Accountant, Soldier, Engineer, Mechanic. Each future bright and open. Mine was blank. I’d give a perfunctory nod, unsmiling, still staring forward. They would leave.
I heard dad get into a heated conversation with our family doctor an hour or two later. Something, something pituitary gland… something, something never happened before… it didn’t matter to me. Maybe it gave him some comfort to know that science had zero answers for me tonight and he, Mechanic, a classic fixer, couldn’t do any more.
Mom brought dinner, trying to get me to eat. She’s always been really thoughtful like that, but I wasn’t hungry. At least, hunger or fullness didn’t matter to me right now. I was purposeless. Later she brought cookies. As a Baker, it was the best offering she could bring. I knew they were amazing. I almost smiled. But I shook my head and stared.
At some point, I realized it was dark, so I found my bed and slept.
Mom called me in sick to school the next day. I didn’t leave the bed.
The day after was a Saturday. It was also the first day I cried, and the first day I spoke.
“Why? If there’s a God or a benevolent universe, why the hell me? I did my time! I was a good kid. I worked hard at school. So, why? Give me one good reason why I don’t get a purpose! This is humiliating!”
The universe remained silent. To be fair, we’ve never exactly been on speaking terms anyway.
I went to school the next week, forearm bandaged in shame. It probably drew as many eyes as my naked skin would have, and just as many whispers.
In fifth period, Mr. Hardiman walked up calmly during lab and asked how I was doing. He had Chemist written on his right arm, the word now faded with time.
“Oh, you know, just adjusting to being a social outcast.”
“Really, is that what you have written under there were you won’t show anyone?”
“You haven’t heard?” I couldn’t tell if he was being naïve or sarcastic, but his tone suggested the latter. “You must be the only one.”
He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, then grinned and took off his glasses to polish them, which was usually a sign that he was trying to be especially serious. “You know, when I had my Calling day, I was secretly hoping to see ‘Traveler’ pop up, but I got this instead. It was fine, I loved the sciences and it was no letdown to work in them, but part of me did regret not pursuing those mountains and deserts and far reaches of the world I kept reading about. I’ve made it as far as Mt. Holyoak for a ski trip since, but that’s about it.” The glasses returned to their perch. “Do you mind taking off the bandage so I could see?”
I was reluctant. No, I was terrified. But his tone was sincere, and I trusted him. The white guaze fell to the floor.
Mr. Hardiman beamed warmly. “Blank slate. Must be nice.” And he walked away.
Silence. I did not notice until then that the entire class was holding its breath. Then I noticed I was holding my own.
I was a blank slate, an unwritten page, a road untraveled. I was free and could do anything I wanted. So I stood up, smiled, and walked out the door.
“I make my own destiny.”
|
I'd always done well at school. Literally a straight-A student.
Perfect grades, the whole nine yards.
I'd gone to college, completed the courses before I was 16, and was enrolled in a prestigious and very expensive university in London by the time I was 17.
And because of this, the expectations were so high. My family, My extended family, distant relatives I'd never even spoken to, and all my friends had come for this my 18th Birthday, when they'd see the word appear denoting my future.
Everyone was trying to guess what the word would be. "Astronaut", "First President of Earth", "World's greatest scientist" were all bandied about.
It was 11.59am. Everyone gathered around as I extended my forearm and waited with bated breath.
The words that would shape my entire destiny began to form.
"Teenage Mom".
| 2017-03-16T03:45:52 | 2017-03-16T02:40:17 | 188 | 52 |
[WP] You're a human living with a vampire roommate. It's painfully obvious; he never looks at mirrors, he despises garlic, he never uses silverware, and he always stays in during the day, but his attempts at trying to blend in are far too funny.
EDIT: Thank you, silver gifter!
|
Two years ago, if you had told me that Vampires were real, I would have rolled my eyes and directed you to the nearest Goth Club. Hell, even one year ago, I was still fairly skeptical. Then I met Victor, or Vic as I started calling him, and my ideas about what could and couldn't be real kinda went out the window. I'd been in the market for a new roommate after my last one jacked my Playstation, my emergency cash stash, and my weed, and skipped town. All in all, it could have been worse. If I'd been on a lease, I might've been in real trouble. Since I owned the house though, it was really more of a financial inconvenience. After I'd cleaned up the mess my last shitnozzle of a roomie left behind, I put up a notice on Craigslist and waited.
The room offered was a finished basement, with concrete slab floors, some furniture, and a small full bathroom. Admittedly, it wasn't exactly an appealing offer for most folks, and it was cold as fuck in the winter, but I wasn't asking much for it (Half of my mortgage payment) and it afforded the renter a measure of privacy, given that it had a door with external access. I had a few offers early on, but one was clearly on meth or some other shit, another was some kind of leather fetishist with enough hair to qualify as a Sasquatch trying to get into Manscaping, and the third guy...well...he actually never said a damn word. Creepy as hell, but I figured he was just a Mime who was really devoted to his craft. Apparently he wasn't big on the price tag, though I can't be sure that's what he was trying to signal to me.
A few weeks went by with me struggling to make my payments and living off ramen noodles and tree bark (gotta have fiber in your diet, right?) when I got a message through the website. The guy wanted to have a look at the room, and because he worked nights, the only time he could come and see it was early morning, pre-dawn in fact. It was a pain in the ass, but I was getting pretty desperate at this point, so I gave him a shot.
I'm actually kind of embarrassed about how long it took me to realize that Victor wasn't a normal guy. At the time, I'd figured the pale complexion was just a result of working nights for too long. He'd claimed an allergy to Garlic, and since everyone seemed like they were allergic to *something* these days, I really didn't question it. I think the first time I might have noticed something was funny about the guy was when he called me one morning, begging me to pick him up from the rough side of town. The sun wasn't even up yet, but he insisted that he was out of options, so I got my ass out of bed, hopped in my car, and got my ass to the address he'd given me.
When I got there, Vic was lurking in an alley, and the sun wasn't far enough up to light up the street. He was wearing a pair of thick shades, a hoodie with the hood up, and had his hands tucked in his pockets and his head down. As soon as I pulled up and unlocked the doors, he dove into the back seat and pulled a blanket over himself, completely covered. Vic told me to drive, and so I did. Along the way, he explained that he was hung over as shit, and had been caught banging some other dude's girl. Given that, I could understand the extreme measures he had taken, so again, I didn't question it too much. As we were getting back into the house, however, he flashed me a smile, and I noticed that some of his teeth seemed a little sharper than normal, and he had a sunburn on his cheek that hadn't been there when he got in the car.
As my suspicions grew, I found myself keeping tabs on him, watching him come and go, noticing that he almost always had a thermos on him and drank from it only sparingly. When I had finally gotten too curious for my own good, I slipped into his room while he was out and did a proper search. Scummy behavior, I know, but I was kinda worried at this point that he might be up to some criminal shit, and I had no desire to get dragged into any sort of legal trouble over a roommate.
The guy had a coffin for a bed, full of dirt. I mean, that right there was a red flag like nothing else, but the mini fridge full of IV bags of blood, labelled and organized by type and date was kind of a slap in the face to full awareness. I hadn't even noticed the lack of mirrors, or the blackout curtains over the basement windows. My roommate was either a hardcore weirdo, or a vampire, and those were the only two options. Before fear could totally twist my brain into a gibbering knot, I heard the lock to the external door click, and the knob and latch twist. Fearing that I was about to be caught by a vampire in his lair, I hid.
Imagine my surprise when it wasn't Vic that came down the stairs into the basement, but some chick with a pageboy haircut and a serious love affair with black clothing. She crept around a bit, with a flash light, and I figured she was probably here to rob the place or get some kind of action with Vic. When she started sprinkling water from a flask around the place, I decided she was probably crazy.
Long story short, I clubbed her over the head with a lamp and ductaped her hands together, then waited for her to come around. Honestly, I'm not sure why I did any of that, but I was scared shitless and wanted answers, and boy if she wasn't talkative when she finally woke up. The conversation was, admittedly, enlightening.
"Listen," she started, "I don't know what exactly your roommate had promised you, but you're in danger! He's a monster, a true v-"
"A vampire?" I cut her off, laughing, "Yeah, I'm about two steps ahead of you on that one sweet heart. Doesn't change the fact that you're breaking and entering."
I think she was probably expecting me to have gone full Renfield, "You're...not his Thrall?"
"Bitch, please, I'm his Land Lord."
"You're in danger, he needs to be dealt with! Vampires are a scourge on mankind, you have to be aware of that! He EATS people!"
I glanced at her, then at the minifridge full of blood. Call me crazy, but Vic really hadn't ever struck me as a real Lecter type. He'd been my roommate for months now and never laid a hand on me, and there'd been plenty of opportunities. We hung out, played cards, drank beer, watched TV. He was a little weird, but he was a pretty good guy all in all.
"Look Lady, I don't know you from Eve, but I'm not gonna let you kill my roommate."
She snarled in frustration, "Are you STUPID? He's not alive, he's not even human anymore!"
I considered that for a long moment, and glanced at the fridge. Vic had been a good house mate, and I was slowly coming around to the idea that I could even consider him my friend. Besides, if he was hunting people and drinking them dry, why the hell would he need a fridge FULL of blood that had apparently been stolen from some medical institution? I mean, sure that was a moral gray area, stealing from sick people and the doctors that helped them, but who was I to judge? We all did things we might not like to get by. Why would a vampire be any different?
"Be that as it may," I answered her, pulling my phone out of my pocket and dialing 911, "He's got one thing going for him that no human roommate I've ever had did."
She rolled her eyes, sarcasm dripping from her tone, "Oh yeah, I'm sure the sex is just phenomenal."
"Cute, but wrong." I replied, hitting the call button, "Nah, truth is, the guy's never been late with his rent money, or the utilities. Doesn't steal my food either. Hell, half the time I barely even notice he's around."
The 911 operator picked up. I let them know that some crazy chick had broken into my home, and I wanted her gone. I elected not to press charges, but by the time the cops dragged her out of the basement, she was ranting and screaming about vampires and ancient orders of Slayers and covenants with God...last I heard they'd put her in a psych ward for evaluation. I cleaned up the mess, locked the door behind me, and played dumb when Vic asked if anyone had been in his room the next time I saw him.
Since then, he's become one of my best friends. It's a little weird, at times, pretending like I don't know what he is. I figure one of these days, he'll either admit it to me, or the truth will come out on its own. In the mean time, I'm just happy to be off the Cup'O'Noodle diet.
|
It was on a humid summer night when the wind deserted me in the damp air that I saw her sitting by the lake near our house. She was quiet and peculiar but she paid her half of the rent and was living the night life, which was the key point because usually I didn't go to sleep right after coming home from the night shift and it would kill me to have to stay all silent and discrete until my roommate wake up in the morning, should the roommate not be her. I liked the night air that got a bit chilly near dawn and how everybody was asleep so it was dead quiet and you felt like the world was all yours and you can let your thoughts drifted off into faraway lands.
&#x200B;
Anyways, I saw her sitting by lakeside and it was unusual, so I thought she might be waiting for me or for somebody, and I watched her for a moment, taking in the slender figure and the fading hair and the snow drop skin and the way she looked so intently at the water surface, her hand holding a small red rock as she occasionally put it against her mouth. It might have been for a good fifteen minutes or so until my patience broke and I walked right up to her, my palm all sweaty and my body on steam. She saw my reflection and cooked up a smile, right as a drop of sweat fell from my forehead and disrupted the tranquility of the lake. It was then that I realized the red rock was a lipstick and the reason why she chose such a windless night to sit by the lake was to put some color into her pale face, when the water was still and the reflection remained silent, a silent which I, by my own impatience, destroyed so easily and thoughtlessly. If I could make out her gaze within the ever moving waves of the lake, disappointment must have awaited me. But the more I thought about the situation and the more I am angry at myself for breaking down a house of cards near completion, the harder my sweats rained down on the surface. We returned home with me apologizing all the way back. It was from that night forth that I offered to perform make-up in her stead. I could not resist.
&#x200B;
The procedure begun at dusk, when she awoke and a few hours before my shift. We started at the eyes, indulged it in an illusion to widen it. I drew each lines onto her eyebrows, so afraid to hurt such a canvas yet so scared that I would not leave my mark. The cheeks were painted pink and the brush I caressed to add depth. The lipstick was the finishing touch, a shade of faint red to go with her gentle blue eyes. Occasionally she would held her ice cold hands at my cheeks and stared deep into my eyes, stating that she wished to see her reflection. I could not resist.
&#x200B;
In a way, adding the shades into her face was the same as adding the shades into my life, and for a while I was content. But I was no fool and I knew a woman only put on a front if there was something worth putting a front on. The thought ate me away in the nights that I were home before her and in the nights that she waited for me by the lake. The chilly air at dawn no longer put my mind at ease and even though the world was mine alone in the dead of night, it only drew my thoughts into its darker, uglier depths. Eventually it showed, a ripple in my heart became a storm in my eyes, her reflection muddled and blurred. At such times, she put her face closer to mine, her cold hands clutched mine, calming its burning fever. She would cast a sad gaze at me and the storm quiet down and the surface returned clear, and I would try to look away, to keep myself miserable, like a child vying for attention. But such was a gaze. I could not resist.
&#x200B;
Yet she could only calm me when I was with her and as soon as I was alone the feeling in my chest made me hard to breathe, like a vampire bathing in the sun. It was at the end of summer when I returned home to find her packing her bags. It was a quiet night but she talked a lot, more than ever before. She said she knew that look in my eyes and it was not the first time she had seen such a look. I talked a lot, too, more than I ever did. The content of the conversation, I did not wish to disclose.
&#x200B;
I woke up the next morning, in a room that was my own and no longer hers, with two little holes in the back of my neck. I felt like disappearing and so I walked out into the end of summer. The sun offered no help, it was at noon and I still exist. But I could not disappear even if I felt like it. Pitiful were those who held hope. By autumn the wound had healed and it no longer ached when I touched it, but I had to abandoned the night life. The chilly air of dawn now felt suffocating and in the dead of night when the world was mine, I was alone in every sense of it.
| 2019-07-20T08:43:19 | 2019-07-20T06:25:32 | 195 | 51 |
[WP]In the near future both the U.S. and Russia have new presidents, both of whom happen to be alcoholics. On a state visit at the White House they start taking shots of vodka one evening, and just for laughs decide to pass the time by planning a joint invasion of a random country.
|
There was a rapid knock on the door.
"Ma'am?"
"Ugh...." I groaned and tried to cover my head with my jacket. But it wasn't enough to stop the bright light from streaming through the Oval Office windows. "What do you want?" I managed to yell.
The headache hit like an oncoming train. It was like the Marine band was playing right in my cranium at full blast. Every single sound seemed to be amplified by a thousand.
"They need you in the briefing room, Ma'am." I winced at the sound and grabbed my skull, trying to stop the throbbing pain.
Eventually I managed to pull myself upright in my chair, knocking over a near-empty bottle of tequila that sloshed quietly onto the floor. The desk was littered with shot glasses, salt, and squeezed out lime wedges. Even looking at the mess made my stomach roil, and I wondered if my rubbery legs were sound enough to make it down the hall to the toilet.
"I'll be there in a minute," I croaked back. The press secretary could stall for a few more minutes; that was his whole fucking job. I rubbed my temples and squeezed my eyes shut tight like I could just force the pain out through my ears. God, what the hell had happened last night? I'd been at the state dinner with President Ankundinov and we'd come back to the office to get away from those stuffy boors in my Cabinet for a bit...
I managed to open my eyes just long enough to look at the couch across the room to where the Russian president was drooling all over one of the couches in his sleep. On the coffee table, there were thick binders stamped with the CIA insignia, and what looked like huge piles of maps and troops readiness reports.
"Ugh." I reached for a waterbottle from under the desk and chugged the entire thing. *Time to sober up*, I told myself. *Have to meet with those damn reporters about... shit, what was the press conference about?* Was it the education bill? It all seemed to kind of run together as President. I was constantly running back and forth putting out fires so quickly that there wasn't even time to understand what had started them.
I fumbled over to the phone on the desk and pressed the speaker button that connected to my secretary. "Diane, could you bring me a cup of coffee?" Wait, there was something else I was supposed to ask about... "Oh, and what's the press conference about?" Even after the water bottle, my tongue felt parched and I could still tell that I was slurring ever so slightly. I've gotten pretty good at covering that up, though.
"Right away, Madame President. And the conference is to answer questions about the military action in Mexico."
*The what?* I thought for just a moment.
On the couch, Nikolai stirred and sat up. His hair, normally clean and crisply combed, stuck out at crazy angles like some sort of 60-year-old punk rocker. "Who is zat?" he said, "Your muzzer?" He gave a chuckle at his own joke that turned into a hacking cough. Nikolai was a pretty heavy smoker. Said it helped build up his tolerance to alcohol because the two addictions were always struggling for dominance. He liked to refer to his dual vices as his own little cold war.
Diane opened the door and brought in a clattering tray of coffee. She poured a cup for me and tried to cover up her judgmental smirk. "Ma'am, you've got 218 new messages," she said as she set the saucer on the desk in between the little puddles of spilled booze. Her voice was like a pounding drum that reverberated through my skull.
"*218*??" I answered. "*What is going on?*"
She pulled out a notepad from her pocket. "From UN Secretary General Ban Ki Moon: President Hughes, you have no authority to invade Mexico, and the United Nations formally condemns this action. Yo..."
"Invade *Mexico*??" I repeated.
Nikolai chuckled heartily from the couch. "Ah, yes..."
And then it *all* came rushing back in an instant. How we'd come up to the office and traded tequila shots. I was supposed to be talking to Nikolai about finally ending this war in Ukraine, but that was all forgotten by the wayside. The two of us had nearly drained the bottle, and I'd warned Nikolai that we could run out of tequila soon. And then he'd said something along the lines of "We'll just have to go to Mexico to get some!" And from there the rest of the night was a blur. I briefly remembered calling in the Joint Chiefs and ordering the mobilization of all troops in the Southwest... approving airstrikes on Mazatlan and Mexico city... my last hazy memory was doing victory shots with Nikolai when it was confirmed that we'd seized (and then annexed) the city of Tequila.
"Oh, no..." I said.
"From President Ruiz of Mexico," Diane continued. "This aggression against my country will..."
"I get it, Diane," I said. My stomach churned in waves, threatening to expel its contents all over the desk if I didn't give it some more coffee soon.
"I can cancel the press conference," she offered, taking pity on me. "We can tell them that a complication in taking Mexico City has come up and you're needed in the Situation Room..."
"Yeah," I said, "Let's do that."
Diane smiled pleasantly. "And will you be needing that folder on Andorra?" she asked. It was our codeword for: should I set up a cot in the Situation Room to sleep it off? She knew me so well.
I nodded back. "You're the best, Diane."
From across the room, Nikolai chimed in: "You didn't tell me we were invading Andorra too!"
|
"The man asked for another shot! You heard him!"
The bartender smiled apologetically at the two extremely drunk and angry men, "Sir, I can't serve either of you anymore until you sober up. Company policy."
"Pour me another shot or I'll have you shot."
Security began to approach slowly from behind, but were immediately and quietly bagged and muscled away by two non-descript agents in civilian clothing and shades.
The bartender swallowed. If these were any other drunks, he would not have a problem serving them till they blacked out. But here in front of him were the two most powerful men on the planet, and they had been (quite loudly) plotting the detailed invasion and annexing of Canada.
All written on a napkin. In a seedy basement bar. In Toronto.
"Gents, we're actually running out of alcohol tonight and we'll be closing early soon, so - "
The president on his left slammed the shot glass down in response, and stared passively at him, head cocked to the side slightly. "Be a good soldier and give a glass to two. *very*. thirsty. men."
The silence was deafening. Some point in the last fifteen minutes the bar had emptied (or been emptied) out and the music had stopped. If he were to call for help, nobody would come. If he were to keep serving these men, nobody would know, and none would be the wiser save for countless million Canadian lives.
With a small nod, the bartender slowly brought out two shot glasses and overfilled them with vodka as his hand shook. He raised the first to his country men and silently downed it, and raised the second to himself before downing that too.
The men looked at him silently, and he looked each in the eye and grinned.
"Come and take it."
| 2015-11-23T06:49:32 | 2015-11-23T05:43:25 | 1,112 | 108 |
[WP] 105 years ago humankind decided to become extinct by not reproducing. You are the last human alive sitting in your home when suddenly you hear a voice of a young woman over your CB radio.
|
I come from a long line of rebels, stretching back generations. Grandpa never took kindly to authority figures telling him what to do, and refused to be chipped even when that meant losing his job and being unable to go to stores without facing arrest. As a big F-U to the government, he moved up here to the mountains to live off the land instead. Internet and phones required a chip to use, so they just did without. And when he and Grandma had kids, they were born here in the cabin instead of in one of the hospitals in town. No chips, no registration, no records. Dad then carried on the same family values; he met Mom through a group of like-minded resistors who were never registered, and they had me in secret.
I was only six when the Evacuation Act was passed. After so much harm to the environment, people realized that some things just can’t be fixed with more technology. The entire planet was turned into one big park, and everyone else evacuated off-world. Being cut off from the rest of society, we only learned about it when the government started broadcasting warnings on old CB radios, telling us to report to the nearest spaceport for reassignment. Well, Dad followed those orders just about as much as Grandpa had done in the past; I was just lucky that he never smashed that old radio receiver.
The flyovers started when I was eight or so. We’d have to dash out of the cabin and jump into the lake, even in the dead of winter. Dad said the drones use thermal imaging, so they can’t see us under the cold water. I started sleeping in a wetsuit, and Dad rigged up some big straws on the dock for us to breathe through.
But by the time I was eleven or twelve, the flyovers became less and less frequent until they finally stopped. *All* air traffic stopped, actually: no more sonic booms from planes soaring overhead, and no more streaks in the sky from the orbital jumpers leaving spaceports. Even the CB radio fell silent; no more government broadcasts warning us to leave the planet, and one by one the other resistor families fell silent too.
Dad passed on when I was about 15; some kind of infection that didn’t respond to our home-grown penicillin. It was bound to happen eventually, and he’d raised me up right to take care of myself. I buried him on the shore of the lake next to Grandma and Grandpa, and next to the mother I’d never really known. And that was it: just like that, I was alone.
Despite Dad’s warnings, I did search for others. After making sure that my traps were set, the fishing nets were out, and the crops were attended, I had some free time on summer. So I decided to go into town. I wasn’t going to get caught: living out here and hunting for one’s supper makes one pretty adept at staying hidden. I just had to see this town for my own two eyes. Just to see if they really were gone. I stopped on the outskirts and observed the gleaming towers and wide paved streets, but there was nothing moving. Everything was dead quiet; completely deserted. Maybe the radio broadcasts had been right: maybe everyone was gone.
Summers went and winters came, and life carried on. I kept the radio on, waiting for some signal. Maybe one of the other resistor families was still out there. Maybe they were afraid to broadcast because of the flyovers. So every night, I sat by my fire and just talked for hours on end. I talked until my throat was hoarse. I *begged* them to respond. To do *anything* to indicate that maybe they were still out there. And just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore…
“Hello?” A voice crackled through the speakers. “Hello, can you hear me?” the voice was soft, in a way that I’d only heard on Dad’s old recordings: a woman’s voice.
I threw myself across the cabin and lunged for the mic. “I’m here!” I shouted, mashing the broadcast button. “Hello? Hello?! I’m here!” I hadn’t realized just how much I *needed* to hear another human speak. It had been near 4 years now since Dad’s passing, and I hadn’t seen another soul since then.
“Oh god, are you real?” she asked back, ending the broadcast with a sob.
“Yes. Yes, I’m real.” I didn’t even know how to describe the sheer relief I was feeling now.
“I’ve been looking for so long!” Her voice was like a song. “Where are you? I just… I need to see you for myself.”
My mind stretched back to the abandoned town, miles and miles away. There was a big green sign near the road that said the name. “I’m near Reno,” I told her. “In Nevada.”
There was a long pause. The radio crackled with static, teasing me. *Was she not real? Was it all my imagination? Had I finally snapped?* Then her voice came back through the speakers. “I can be there in 3 hours,” she said. “Look for me in the center of town.”
---
I picked flowers for her. I’m not sure why; Dad had once told me that he’d given Mom flowers on the day they met, and that she’d love it. We used to pick them together to put on her grave, too. I guess women liked flowers.
I stood in a windswept intersection of two broad streets. I wasn’t sure where exactly the ‘center’ of town was, but this section had the biggest buildings. And I was the only one here.
“Hello?!” I called. My voice echoed through the canyons of glass and steel until it was carried away by the wind. But I had to keep calling, or she wouldn’t be able to find me.
The streets were filled with a sudden roar, like a pounding storm. It seemed to come from every direction at once; from the buildings themselves. Then a bright light snapped on overhead, and I had just enough time to look up and identify the glowing engines of one of the government ships. Then electricity jolted through my body, leaving my convulsing on the rough black asphalt.
“Got one poacher in the honey pot,” a voice said. The shock had taken me out of it so much I didn’t even realize that men in black uniforms had appeared next to me.
“Where is she?” I managed to croak. I realized that I hadn’t even learned her name. Hopefully she saw the ship and ran, like Dad had trained me to do.
“Confirmed,” the voice said, ignoring my question. “Taking him up now.” A harness was strapped to my chest, and we began to rise toward the ship
“Where is she?!” I shouted at the men hanging in the air next to me. “WHERE IS SHE?”
One of them laughed and removed part of the black mask he wore over his face. “There never was a ‘she,’” he told me.
|
The voice was quiet, silent at first, and I figured I'd imagined it - like I often did. When you were alone - so, so alone - you tended to hear things. To see things that weren't there. And how you wished that they really were.
But then I heard it again - clearer, less ethereal. I turned to my radio, staring into it, feeling my heart float away. *Was this really happening?*
"Please, I don't know where I am."
The voice cut off, and I reached for the radio, with agility I hadn't possessed in decades. She sounded young, startled, scared. How was this possible? Was this all just a dream?
I leaned towards it, hoping she was still on the other end. She sounded so familiar, so much like someone I knew, so long ago...
"Hello, my dear? Are you there?"
Static on the other end. I gripped the radio, my knuckles white, hoping, pleading that she would reply. It had been so long since I'd heard another voice - I thought I was the only one left.
"...Dad? Is that you?"
I felt tears stream down my face, through no control of my own. It was her.
"Claire... how...?"
Static.
"Claire, please... daddy's here for you. Just please speak to me."
Static.
"*Please.*"
I felt fear overcome me - she must be in trouble. She's alive - she needs my help. I need to *save* her.
I moved with difficulty, frantically searching for an exit. It had been so long since I'd last been outside - where even *was* outside? Where could she be?
I blinked.
Where was *who?*
I realised I was standing up. I looked around, and everything was in such disarray. Notes were scrawled across every surface. I sat down, out of breath. I felt so confused, so scared. So *hungry*, like I hadn't eaten in days. I picked up my cup of tea, hands trembling, but it was cold... so cold.
Claire... why was I thinking of her now? She'd been dead for half a century. But it still felt like she was here - like she was right here with me.
I heard a voice, quiet at first. Was it coming from the radio? Was I imagining it? I often did, these days.
I heard it again, louder, clearer this time. A young woman's voice. I looked at the radio, trembling.
Why does she sound so *familiar?*
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
| 2016-11-29T07:35:32 | 2016-11-29T07:19:16 | 127 | 28 |
[WP] You thought becoming a dragon would make you an outcast. Though, it turns out that having the body of a dragon and the mind of a human makes you an effective superhero.
|
I always thought it would be really cool to be able to witness the heroics of HUE up close. The Hero Unification Entity had operated for a few years now, still in their early stages of unifying all of the people manifesting powers, but to be among them as “Dragon” never crossed my mind. It was as exhilarating as it was anxiety inducing. I was concerned about what would happen if I messed up. And my new teammates seemed to not yet warm up to me.
“Well,” Wackity, the team lead asked, putting his feet up on the table between us. “When are you going to show us your true form? We try not to have disguises in Team Prawn. At least, not behind the closed doors of HUE.”
I looked between my teammates' expectant faces.
“I cannot turn back,” I informed them. “The transition to Dragon was a permanent one.”
“I hate method actors,” Petra groaned, rolling her bright green eyes.
“Can we change the name from Dragon? It’s sooo… unoriginal,” Lowshot asked, spinning her gun expertly in hand.
Again, the three turned to me with raised eyebrows and looks of interest. I felt awkward; my lumbering, giant new body filling up more than half the room, but my new scaly face was difficult to show emotion through, so I was forced to respond.
“I think Dragon is fine,” I said with confidence.
“Bruh,” Lowshot breathed, turning to Wackity. “This dude doesn’t fit our vibe!” She pointed using her gun rather than her finger. “Can we get a new member?”
“His appointment came all the way from the top. No exchanges until we get through five missions together and the majority agree to a change,” Wackity replied.
“At least show us your face!” Petra pleaded to me.
“I can’t,” I informed. “It is impossible.”
Petra and Lowshot both leaned back in their seats, letting out annoyed sighs. Wackity simply eyed me, trying to get a feel for me.
“What’s your power again? I was told you are strong,” Wackity mentioned.
“I have not yet felt any pain since becoming Dragon,” I replied. “And I can breathe fire. What are your powers?”
“So, what, his nerves are broken? What happens if you lose a wing, do you still not feel any pain?” Lowshot asked, pointing to a wing with her gun and ignoring my question.
“I have not yet lost any wing or limb,” I informed.
Lowshot seemed to consider this fact, tilting her head to one side and cocking her gun.
“No, Lowshot! We’re not stress testing Dragon!” Wackity snapped, followed by Lowshot pouting and putting her gun’s safety back on.
We sat in awkward silence, looking at one another as no subjects came to mind, the only sound was from Lowshot spinning her gun from boredom. Suddenly, the alarms of the room blared and readouts displayed on the table ahead of us.
“Looks like Trickster is messing with downtown,” Wackity said, reading quickly. “Let’s move!”
“Make yourself useful and give us a ride!” Lowshot snapped at me, jumping on my back. I didn’t reply, so the other two team members took it as an invitation and followed suit. I immediately launched through the opening made in the ceiling for air vehicles and flew downtown at my top speed, hardly maintaining balance with the additional weight on my back.
“There!” Petra pointed down below and I swooped into an alleyway where Trickster was drilling through the side of a bank.
He looked up, made eye contact with us, then looked back down and continued working unperturbed. The three heroes hopped off and stood valiantly before Trickster, each preparing a different attack to deliver.
“I can’t believe they sent Team Prawn to fight me. Do they want you killed? Though, I see you have a new member,” Tricker mentioned through a yawn, continuing to drill away at the wall.
“Get him Petra!” Wackity announced.
Petra stepped forward and stared hard, the slight glow of her eyes going to a blinding level and filling the alley like floodlights. Trickster didn’t react at all.
“He’s... he’s immune to my terror blasts!” Petra said, stepping back.
“I put on special contacts. They block out your stupid power,” Trickster said, the sound of the drill shrilling as it entered the vault.
“I got this,” Lowshot, pointed her gun and fired three times at his legs, each bullet missing by a wide berth. She looked to her gun, then up to fire three more shots that missed. She gasped. “My low shots are hitting!”
“Magnets in my pants,” Trickster informed.
“Leave it to me,” Wackity stepped forward and cracked his knuckles. He threw a few fists in the air and I watched as blasts of air shot through the alley and struck him harmlessly. Wackity looked on in horror. He roared, brought up his fists, and set an entire tornado at Trickster, the power of the attack enough to pull bricks from the wall, but again did little to shift Trickster from in place.
“Thanks for the help,” Trickster chuckled, looking at the larger hole made by the tornado.
“How?” Wackity said, stumbling to the floor in fatigue. “My strongest attack...”
“I already told you I have magnets in my pants!” Trickster said. “Keeps me in place from your little breezes.”
He waltzed inside the bank and began filling a bag with hundreds of bills, humming to himself. My teammates looked at one another, completely lost. I decided to try my luck and stepped over them, closing the gap between us and Trickster in two steps. He looked up from his robbing and assessed me.
“Who are you supposed to be? Don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Trickster said between stuffing more bills in the bag.
“I am Dragon.”
“Little on the nose,” Trickster said, hoisting the full bag of money over his back. “I’m gonna get going now.”
“Not if I can help it,” I replied.
“Trust me, you don’t want to get vaporized,” Trickster said, pulling out a glowing blue weapon.
“Don’t risk it, Dragon! Your life is more important than the money!” Wackity yelled, still on his knees.
“Ugh, I hate these stupid dramatic outbursts, just get out of here,” Trickster said, zapping me immediately and not waiting for a reply. My whole world went blue for a moment, then shifted back to normal. I didn’t feel anything.
“Odd,” Trickster said, slapping his weapon with one hand then zapping me again. Once more, I saw a light show, but felt nothing. “Whatever, I’m out of here anywa—”
I breathed in deeply, my stomach rumbling with warmth and his smarmy attitude drained away all at once, his eyes open in shock. Before he could let out a syllable of protest, I unleashed a maelstrom of fire upon him, keeping the flames dancing for a full ten seconds where he stood. When I stopped the flow of fire, there was nothing but a smudge of ash remaining. My heart dropped and I tilted my massive frame to look back at my team members as they stared in shock.
“Sorry, went a little overboard,” I apologized.
“Great job, Team Prawn! Another successful mission!” Wackity jumped up and stood with a puffed chest. “Good effort from everyone on the team to take down this villain.”
“You were incredible, Dragon!” Lowshot said.
“So scary,” Petra nodded in agreement.
“Almost perfect job,” Wackity nodded. “Next time try not to burn all the money we’re saving,” he pointed a thumb at the hole in the bank and I saw that my flames had consumed the entirety of the vault.
_____________
More stories at r/Nazer_the_Lazer!
|
The leader of The Force, Mastermind, looked out over the battlefield. Once, each battle against The Organization had to be carefully and meticulously planned out, down to the number of steps and number of breaths each hero took.
That was before Firedrake joined Mastermind’s team. Firedrake had the body of a dragon, complete with hard red scales covering him instead of skin, and a jet of fire that could instantly turn metal molten. Sharp talons adorned each toe and finger, adept at slicing even steel—let alone flesh.
To put a fine point on it, Mastermind had never been so bored in his life. A soft rustle of cloth beside him prompted him to turn, and he watched Secondhand dust off her cloak.
“Secondhand,” Mastermind said. “What’s the situation?”
As the second-in-command of The Force and right hand man of Mastermind, Secondhand’s detailed scouting and reports were once the envy of anybody—hero or villain—that could get their hands on it. Mastermind sometimes even had difficulty parsing them.
Today, Secondhand gestured in the general direction of Firedrake.
“There he goes,” she said. “It’s—”
“Overwhelming,” Mastermind muttered.
“You know it,” Secondhand shrugged. “I told Magister, Fullbuster, and Titanium to take off early.”
“As you should,” Mastermind said. “Do you know dragons are supposedly some of the wisest creatures on earth?”
“Is it evident from their constant narcissism about themselves and the world surrounding them?” Secondhand smiled.
“Because that’s what wisdom eventually devolves into, supposedly,” Mastermind said. “I wouldn’t know a thing.”
The two looked at Firedrake. From their end, it was glorious, efficient, and lifesaving. From the opponents’ point of view, however, Firedrake was only slightly more graceful and discriminatory than a tornado. Jets of fire shot out, lighting up corridors in the corporate offices The Organization called home. The night air had once been filled with several simultaneous screams, but there were barely any left to escape into the air.
“Not to mention the hoarding of gold,” Secondhand said. “What’s that supposed to do? A dragon doesn’t even spend gold! They just take what they want, leaving other people cowering behind the rubble of their former homes, or worse still, bring their lives along with them.”
Mastermind shook his head. He remembered the times when banter were merely for mental games on the battlefield. Now, it was to fill dead air.
“Firedrake doesn’t have a mind of a dragon, I’ll tell you that much,” Mastermind said. “Much too altruistic. Eager to help.”
“He has the body. The mind? That’s more your speed,” Secondhand said. “And so you exploit him?”
“I employ him to be in the best situation possible. Him alone with several of our enemies is the best situation possible.”
“I cannot disagree,” Secondhand sighed. “Our casualties have fallen to practically zero. And he keeps going. Is my thinking bad?”
“The most exploitable part of the Firedrake is that he has a human mind. If he had the actual mind of a dragon, he’ll probably have quit about five minutes after he joined.”
“Thankfully for us,” Secondhand said. “And definitely not for them, he is on our side.”
“That depends on me doing my job properly,” Mastermind chuckled. “Humans love being useful. I’ve learnt that through my journeys.”
Secondhand stared at Mastermind, before turning away, her cloak rustling in the wind.
“If you don’t mind,” she said. “I’m heading off. I don’t think you need me for whatever musings that are in your head.”
“Not at all,” Mastermind said wistfully, staring at Firedrake’s carnage. “You can go.”
“You are a doing a good thing,” Secondhand said. “I think.”
“Leave the thinking to me,” Mastermind said. “And leave the fighting to him.”
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-05-16T16:32:56 | 2022-05-16T14:16:45 | 245 | 101 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus inside every single human. Centuries into the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily.
|
When the first aliens came down, hitch-hiking on the meteor of 2039, it looked like that was it for us. Only a few dozen people died in the impact, in a sparsely populated area of Eastern Europe.
The problem was, they didn't *stay* dead.
The parasites that had been frozen inside that big hunk of interstellar ice and space rock used their remains like vehicles, hijacking the decaying biological systems of their dead bodies, and driving them to find fresh hosts to infect, so the parasite could continue its lifecycle in a home that wasn't falling apart. The parasites spread like wildfire, and pretty soon, there were more dead than living in the Eastern Hemisphere.
But, the thing was, the infection wasn't subtle -- it couldn't sneak up on you. If someone was carrying the bugs, they went crazy, and fast, acting just like the dead, even if they were still alive.
Slowly, the Western Hemisphere got it contained, and then started to push back into the old world. It wasn't pretty, and it involved a lot of bombs and napalm, but the infection was finally contained.
We were just getting back on our feet, and despite the contamination to the environment from years of fighting the dead with everything from white phosphorus shells to low-yield nukes, we were seemingly coming back even stronger than before.
In a hundred years, we'd come full circle. We were reaching out to the stars again, full of hope.
And then the *second* group of aliens invaded us -- because we humans are just lucky like that. They hit us like a ton of bricks, but not with lasers from the sky -- they came down to the surface, and started pounding us with weapons not too dissimilar from our own. It was clear they wanted our planet, and so burning it to a crisp was off the menu.
Thank God those who survived the horrors of the dead rising to slaughter millions didn't live to see a new terror from the stars descend to kill millions more, a couple generations later.
But a funny thing happened to our species, on its way out of the zombie apocalypse. We picked up some hitchhikers of our own. See, we nuked all those alien parasites that brought the dead back to life as ravenous monsters, along with their undead hosts. We killed them with fire, and salted the Earth so they'd never grow back.
Which meant that the only parasites that survived our purge were the ones that, through random mutations, learned to mind their manners. Rather than migrating to the brain, a variant strain of the parasite stayed down in our guts -- along with all the other tiny symbiotic life forms every human plays host to -- and played nice with our bodies. And the nicer they played, the more of their offspring escaped incineration.
Just as its ancestors once made the bodies of the dead work for a limited time, the new strain of the parasite makes the bodies of the living work *better,* and survive injuries that would once have killed us. We still die, obviously, but most people don't realize that we're a lot harder to kill than the generations of humans who came before us.
Just as wolves and man were once bitter enemies, but man and dog are best friends, we've likewise made evolutionary peace with the parasite that was almost the end of our species. Virtually everyone carries it, its eggs and larva passed harmlessly from person to person via a thousand different kinds of casual contact common to human beings.
Like most of the general public, the Invaders, the second species from the stars that has tried to consume us, still don't realize that they're really fighting not one race, but *two* working together, both of which have a history of defying death to survive. But they will, after today.
My name is Captain Brian A. Cortez, of the USNA Armed Forces. It is my solemn duty to report that all five divisions in Region 1, after holding bravely against an overwhelming enemy offensive for 98 days, have now been lost.
I, along with a few currently surviving members of my own division, have reached our fallback position, codenamed Lazarus Base. Most of us are already severely injured -- personally, I doubt that my parasites will be able to hold me together for much longer. We've accepted our fate.
We are preparing to deploy the Lazarus Contingency.
A chemical weapon designed by USNA Military Intelligence will be dispersed throughout enemy controlled territories. This substance has been designed to cause the dormant parasites in all military and civilian cadavers to revert to their ancestral form. Subsequent offspring of these parasites will retain the genetic mutation that makes them harmless, and it has been determined that those presently hosting the harmless parasite will be immune to the effects of the chemically altered parasite -- the "dogs" it seems, are more than capable of repelling the "wolves".
I've been informed that the enemy has located Lazarus Base, but I've already given the final order. They will arrive too late. We are about to die. We are about to rejoin the fight. I can't help but recall the final lines of that famous poem by John Dryden:
*The dead shall live, the living die,*
*And music shall untune the sky.*
So may it be. Goodbye, and Godspeed.
\--*The Final Transmission from Captain Brian A. Cortez, July 6th 2160, on the eve of V-ET Day, at the end of the Second Interstellar War.*
|
"We've been planning on this war for years. We know everything about those bastard humans. It's time we finally take it over." The commander alien screams as the ships descended on the ground. Their first target was obvious. They talked so much about us destroying New York, so they're going to attack it first.
The commander, better known as Grink. Hopped out of the ship and landed in Central Park. Expecting fear, they kind of look exhausted. Annoyed? Why would they be annoyed? His presence is annoying? "You guys aren't even slightly afraid of me?" His anger flared up and shot a husband with his wife and kids. This should get them going. Seeing one of their beloved humans executed would scare them! However, after clearly being dead for a minute or two, he resurrected.
"I don't even see-" The husband was cut off, being shot at again. Collapsing on the ground again. Around the same time, he came back to life. "You can't kill us. I mean you can. But it's pretty hard. The worse you can do is destroy our cities, but that's nothing new." The husband sighed.
Grink blinks once, then twice. Before feeling a small bite on his leg from a child. He kicked it away and clicks his watch, teleporting to the ship. Not noticing the black lines slowly crawling up his skin, "L..let's go. No point in attacking anymore."
| 2022-09-13T21:47:38 | 2022-09-13T20:16:22 | 2,293 | 133 |
[WP] You are the spouse of a pregnant vampire. Her pregnancy cravings are becoming increasingly bizarre.
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(this got away from me and the prompt quickly, but not gonna lie, love the direction it went, so here you go!)
"Could you repeat that, darling?"
"Ox blood," Valerie said desperately. "I really want ox blood-now."
"Alright, I'll go grab some," I said, glad that I had some stored as I hurried down the stairs and to the blood cooler in the basement.
Now this was something I could never explain to my human friends-a cooler of blood in the basement, that sounded...kind of serial-killer-y. But anything for my wife.
I quickly dug through the blood bags and pulled out a bag of ox blood and ran upstairs, carefully handing it to her-
"Can you get some ice cream?" Valerie asked quickly. "To mix the ox blood with? Blood flavored ice cream sounds so good-"
"That one might take a bit," I said, remembering that she had eaten the last of the ice cream this morning. "I'll make a quick trip to the store-"
"I'll come with," Valerie said, standing up-
"Woah, woah, easy now-remember why you don't leave when pregnant?" I asked, and we both winced slightly at the reminder. Valerie had smelt a mugging happening, and...well, we're lucky there were no cameras around to see what happened. And that I'm so good at getting blood out of my clothes...and that she didn't kill me when her thirst hadn't been quenched from drinking the blood of four humans-three muggers and one victim...twice victim, none of them walked out of there after that.
"Be quick?" Valerie asked.
"Of course, love," I said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as I hurried down the stairs, grabbing my coat and wallet before dashing out the front door and to the nearby convenience store.
I stepped inside the store-
-and immediately froze as I saw a robber holding a gun to the sobbing cashier's head.
Well, this wouldn't be easy.
"The f**k you doing!" the robber snapped, waving the gun at me, probably meaning to intimidate me, but that's rich-Valerie's father's shovel talk made me scared of nothing else-I just need that ice cream.
"Getting ice cream," I said as I took a step forward.
"Don't you take another step!" the robber snapped, fully pointing the gun at me. "I'll shoot!"
"Try me," I said.
The robber clearly looked surprised at that, which gave me just enough of a chance to rush forward and tear the robber's finger away from the trigger, then the full gun, then I flicked the safety on before tossing the gun to the side and punching the robber square in the jaw, causing him to stumble away and let go of the cashier, who collapsed to the ground and scrambled for her phone.
I grabbed the robber's wrists and spun him around, shoving him to the floor face-down.
"Grab me some rope!" I said as the robber kicked and screamed-but I've had to hold Valerie back from attacking humans before, I'm not gonna budge.
"R-Right!" the cashier squeaked, rushing into the aisles and grabbing some cords and tearing the package open, handing it to me.
I quickly knotted the robber's hands and feet together as the cashier picked up her phone and called the cops, then I tied some rope around the robber's mouth to keep him from talking too much-or, well, to at least muffle him a bit.
"Now that that's settled," I said, standing up and dusting off my hands, "ice cream."
"Sir, you'll have to stay-" the cashier said, shaking and gesturing with her phone, already on the phone with 911.
"I see..." I said, then held out my hand. "May I?"
The cashier handed me the phone, and I held it to my ear.
"Sir, I need you to stay on the scene-" the operator started.
"I'm only here to buy vanilla ice cream, my wife prefers flavor red," I said, saying a code I know that any operator would know well-let me go about my business, or my vampire wife will not be happy. (How odd that so many people-officers, doctors, emergency staff in general-know about vampires, and yet the general public is oblivious.)
"...I see," the operator said. "Hand me back to the cashier-but first, name?"
"Owen Popplewell, I live at XXXX Eastern Maple," I said.
"Alright, Mr. Popplewell, hand me back to the cashier," the operator said.
I did so quickly, then grabbed a bunch of tubs of vanilla ice cream before walking back to the counter, where the cashier looked confused, but, on the insistence of the operator, rang me up and checked me out.
"Thanks, ma'am," I said, then dashed home-
"Ah, ah, ah," I said as Valerie opened the door to greet me, clearly about to have walked to the store herself. "You know better, love-let's go in-we won't be running out of ice cream for a few more days."
"You took so long," Valerie pouted.
"I got a little...held up-but enough about that," I said. "Ox blood mixed with ice cream?"
"Yes!" Valerie said, beaming at me.
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As we have to live in the basement of our house, my wife cannot get out due to obvious reasons. While she sleeps during the day, I do the groceries. Nothing too special in terms of food preferences. Even though the cravings have not set out yet, I get a false impression that those might not set out so early. Pregnant in 2 weeks. "Nothing to be scared of" I thought to myself
In the times that we were having sex, she would bite my skin under the collarbone in order to not make me a vampire. The venom that is injected inflicts another level of pleasure, spicing it to a degree that no other human woman can make me feel this way.
Fast forward to a of couple months later, the cravings started to become somewhat worryingly. She prefers to have me bitten more often during sex in more places, started to eat raw meat, drink a sort of blended meat shake and the cooked meals makes her puke even when smelling it in the air. She would always miss the details when I would ask her what her origins are, what they ate, and how they survived for so long.
| 2022-12-30T20:49:12 | 2022-12-30T13:43:14 | 117 | 25 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
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There are many myths and many stories in the world. Most are fake, but few are true. Sometimes, the stories touch someone so deeply they become true. Then, sometimes, the stories just simply were always true: the people just didn’t know until it was too late to tell others the truth. Death is that cursed thing.
No one really knows what happens after death. There’s that fear that hits you once you realize that it’s most likely just a void of blankness and unconsciousness. An endless dream? Unlikely - your brain is dead. It’s just a void, as your body decomposes and becomes the dirt for your great great grandchildren. If you had any children, that is, by the time you perish to the earth.
Yet, there was always an aching feeling to them that there was something a bit more. The person with their head in the clouds… They had short black hair in a sort of bowlcut and their eyes were always an unnatural grey; the schoolchildren didn’t talk that much to the weirdo in front desk. Yet the child did not mind. They simply sat and wandered through worlds in their head.
It was not a foreign concept to them that Death was inevitable for the human race. They were constantly in and out of the wards of the state for various reasons. It was only likely they’d be dead much earlier than the average person. The subject of their escapades in their mind became about death and beyond very quickly, but they did not fear it. It would be a simple escape, just as everything else was.
They always felt there was something more. They weren’t religious, no, but there was just something always there telling them there was. It was there, at the back of their mind, always affecting the dreams and the walks through clouds they’d go on. Death was a joyous thing, and with the trips to the wards becoming more and more annoying and painful… Well, they excitedly awaited the release of death. It would be as if they were opening a box on the day of Christmas, seeing which of the many things they’ve dreamt of getting was truly real.
That day came fast and quick in the night. Died in their sleep… painless and with a smile on their face. It was a grim sight to behold for those still living but at long last the soul was at peace. The family quickly dealt with the body. They were only about nineteen.
It was soon after their heart stopped beating that they were cast in front of two entities. Two strange lights of
various different colors seemed to stand in front of them, beckoning the young person who had just died to choose. One of the lights was bright and cold. It had colors of pinks, yellows, greens, and blues. It hurt their eyes, and they looked to the other light. That one bore colors of reds, oranges, purples, and browns. It was warm, and to them it held a welcoming want. That light wanted them so badly, so desperately. It was familiar. Familial, almost.
They choose the light of warm red.
The other light seemed to scream in horror. It cried and whined so great and slowly dissipated from view, the sounds of it’s tantrum fading. The remaining light that they chose amalgamated into a form of a monstrous creature with various imperfections and horrors to the sight of any who dare witness him. It also cried - but unlike the other light’s selfish whining, this was a cry of despair and grief.
“Why,” the form fell to whatever he had in place of knees, “why now? Why now!?”
The young person looked down at the form and smiled at it. This was certainly a sight to behold. A satanic figure almost bowing to them.
The form continued to sob, “no one has chosen this hellish place since one thousand revolutions ago. You… You accepted the calls of eternal damnation and burning for your soul instead of a heaven of happiness? What compels you so?”
The young person continued to smile as they replied, “you prayed for me.”
“I prayed for you to die! To perish and join me in my suffering! Is that not selfish and damning! That was no prayer of compassion or empathy!” The form bowed his head downward, full of shame.
They stood in silence for a few moments. They continued, speaking flat and softly over the despairing cries, “but you were always there with me.”
“I wanted you selfishly! I wanted to feed on your soul to quench a thousand year hunger! Why! Why subject yourself so? It was selfish! Selfish! I do not deserve such things from a suffering soul!”
“You could have prayed for anyone’s damnation but you chose me,” they said, “and because you focused so hard on me, you were always there with me. While others ignored me, you joined me in my travels, always a friend in my mind. I did not choose to have my soul consumed by a raving monster, I chose to help my family. I felt your warmth like a motherly hug.
“If everyone chooses the good - if everyone loves the good - it’s just wasted. The heaven was spoiled with love and happiness. All it is, is simply existing. It grew cold, and that’s not welcoming to me. You were there with me. The reasons are irrelevant to me. I find happiness with you, because you are my mind. You shaped it in your desperate loneliness.”
The form’s head shot up. His orange eyes with the fire of the sun were clouded with the tears of a lonely child. It was true. He had prayed so desperately for one soul. Alone for one thousand revolutions of the sun, he was in a depression. He prayed just for one, and he never realized he had just been praying for the same soul continuously. He had focused on the young human who dreamed constantly and wandered the clouds while their feet remained on the ground of earth. He entered the dreams and became like an actor, playing parts and existing in the back of the youth’s mind. A parasite, he’d thought himself - but he was really the imaginary friend in their mind. No longer imaginary. They’d felt his familial aura upon the choosing ceremony and went to him.
He prayed himself a friend. He hadn’t been given one. He made himself one.
> Sorry, this is like my first reddit post (and I didn't fully proofread this...), if anything is the matter please tell me! <3
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The woman in the gate couldn't believe her eyes. There was a young woman there. In Hell. By choice. And she looked at peace. How long has she seeing something like this? 1000 years? 10000? It was so unexpected that she forgot the protocol. She just stared.
The girl approached the desk with small steps, looking around with an easy look. She cleaned her throat and spoked:
- Alright, where do I begin?
The woman recompose and started speaking.
- You need to sign here and here, with your name and information while alive. Do you see here? It says Hell. Do you know what that means?
The young woman calmly answered.
- Oh yes, I know very well. I'm the only one here, I presume?
- Yes, you are. The only human in many, many years.
- Okay, then. Let me fill this up.
- May I ask why, thought? - asked ashamed the woman in the desk. I just never expected this in all my immortality.
- Oh, of course. It is a little odd, isn't? Well. I just made a promise.
- You promised to go to Hell? Who would you made such promises and why? That's just insane! You can go to Heaven and never see the people! It's Heaven! If you choose, they're be away from you for eternity!
- But that wouldn't be right, would it? I made a promise and that would be cheating.
- But there's actual murderers there! Bad people, who broked a lot more than a promise.
- But these people are not me. And they made their choice. I made mine. - the young woman said like it was the ultimate truth. And it was. She made her choice.
- Can I ask you one more question before sending you in? I know it must be annoying answering, you don't have to if you don't want.
- I don't mind. I'll have eternity here anyway. What is it?
- Who was the promise to?
- My sister.
- Your sister wanted you to go to Hell?
- My sister wanted a lot of things, but never to be in the same place I was. And I love my sister more than anything alive or dead. So I came here, and she can go there.
The woman's look was the last thing the girl saw before the elevator started descending.
| 2018-08-13T09:39:57 | 2018-08-13T09:21:04 | 71 | 21 |
[WP] You're walking home when you notice three chasing after you. You can't be bothered to run, so you decide to turn around to confront them. They bind your hands, as well as gag and blindfold you. You're not even scared, you just roll with it.
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"This again?" I sigh. This is my third attempted kidnapping this week and I'm still no closer to finding out who put the hit out on me in the first place. All I can tell is that the instructions seem to want me alive, which means whoever orchestrated this must be a moron.
I resisted the first attempt. I won the fight in 72 seconds, subdued the kidnappers and detained them until police arrived. They refused to give out any information about their employer. I thought they were being intentionally difficult until the second group showed up a few days later.
They were as easy to dispatch as the first, but I took a little more time before I called the police, thinking I could entice them into giving me the information I needed - pressure point manipulation can be an effective conversation technique. They seemed ready to spill everything, but they had nothing worthwhile to spill. They seemed to be as in-the-dark as I was about my mysterious adversary.
This time, I decide I will find out for myself. I let the three masked men bind and gag me. They don't seem surprised or confused that I'm not screaming or resisting. Whoever hired them didn't seek them out for their intelligence.
They shove me into a black van, driven by a fourth man in a black mask. I don't get a good look at him before a sack is dropped over my head. I wonder if I could use this opportunity to lay down and take a nap. Work has been pretty taxing lately and I haven't been getting the sleep I know I need. But the driver takes a sharp right turn and I'm thrown from my seat.
"Can't I get a seatbelt at least?" The man sitting next to me shoves me upright again.
"Shut up, you." He growls.
"I'm just saying, his driving could get me killed. Then, you might not get paid."
"Don't you worry about us getting paid. This contract's in the bag. Literally." He chuckles. I roll my eyes, disappointed that he can't see my face to tell him just how much I'm judging his stupidity. Another sharp right turn throws me off balance but I catch myself this time. I hear music outside. I know where we are. The idiots are driving in circles, like that would confuse me.
A few more pointless turns later and we finally come to a stop in a back alley. I can see the ground beneath the black sack and notice that I step on a paper bag with a local restaurant logo printed on it. They are taking me the back way into a local business. White tile indicates a kitchen of some sort as we walk through the building. We exit the kitchen and I can only guess that we stop in a large restaurant dining room.
They sit me down in a wooden chair in the middle of a dark room and yank the sack off my face. I squint at the light spotlightling me from above. Tables and chairs have been pushed away from the center of the room to make plenty of space for my interrogation.
"Alright, let's get down to it." I say. "Why am I here?"
"We'll ask the questions!" The big guy yells at me. It's the same voice that snapped at me in the van. I wait, but he doesn't continue.
"What questions?" I ask.
"Uhhh... I don't... Uh... You just shut up!" He says and backhands me across the face. The blow stings but doesn't do any real damage. Now I'm losing my patience. There are twelve of them in this room - hardly a fair fight.
"Tell me why I'm here. Who sent you?" I ask, severing the rope binding my hands with a blade a have hidden in my sleeve. If they had only checked me for weapons before abducting me, they might have stood a chance.
"I said-" the guy's hot-tempered response was cut off by the wooden chair ripping around and smacking him in the face. He goes down quickly, but I know I didn't hit him hard enough to stay there for long. The rest of them start in, flashing weapons of various sizes. I quickly choose the one I want, an 18 inch black rod, that won't kill as easily as the blade I have replaced into my sleeve. They'll be bruised and sore, but they'll live. I lunge for the guy holding the rod. With a lightning fast palmheel to the nose and an elbow to the jaw, he goes down and relinquishes his weapon just as three guys come at me from behind.
I whip around before they can touch me, landing precision blows with my free fist and new black rod. The first two take blows to the temple and nose, before my side kick sends the third across the room. They don't know I grew up with this. They don't know how many goons I had to take down every day as part of my 'training'.
The rest of the men take a few short moments to dispatch. I'm barely even winded. I spin around, looking for anyone left. A dark, female figure walks slowly towards me, clapping.
"It was you? Are you serious?" I stand up tall and shake my head in annoyance. Of course.
"You didn't come to Thanksgiving this year. I had to get your attention somehow."
"No, mom. You need to let me live my life. I didn't come to Thanksgiving because I'm tired of you guys pressuring me. I'm never going to join the family business." I say forcefully. My mother frowns.
"Of course you will."
"I'm not a villain, mom!"
"Look around you." She says, gesturing to the bodies laying around the room, wounded and unconscious. "You were born for this. Villainry is in your blood."
"What did you do to the guy who owns this place?"
"That would be your business if you stopped this childishness and came home."
"No, I want nothing to do with it." I vow, returning her frown. Then I turn on a heel and storm out of the front of the closed restaurant. I march down the street, seething. I haven't heard the last of this argument. I'm sure she's planning her next ploy even as I stalk away.
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I rolled with it as they jumped me. I no longer cared a damn about it all. What puzzled me was when they bound me with rope and a gag after jumping me along with a black hood over my face. I listened to the van as they drive back, listening to accents, dialect, things like that. American, clearly. One may be from up around New York. The others from the South. I can’t tell State- accents clearly, only general guesses.
‘Just make sure the footage gets sent tonight I want the family afraid.’ I’m sorry, did he just say-?! Sometimes when I get angry I imagine music in my head. Right now I’m hearing Chippin in’ by Samurai. And I’m *feelin’ it*
My blood starts boiling as I hear the van roll into something. More voices. Oh ho- so it’s like that huh?
I feel them grab my arms again and half drag me through the building. They’re smart speaking in hushed whispers.
I make sure to start it up slow by thinking about the implants.
*[Activation authorized]*
I get put in a chair with the bag taken off in front of a camera. They’re all in dark colored gear, carbines, pistols, one had a gun pointed at my head with another behind the camera. I look at the camera mad as *hell* the light turns on as one starts speaking. I don’t pay attention.
I was hoping for a quick death, not a ransom. Either kill me or leave me- none of that slow cancer-like bullshit.
Data comes across my eyes as I hack into the local network, the music still playing in my head as i give the order.
*Local Electrical Systems Shutdown: [Y/N]?*
*[Y]*
The lights go out along with the camera. My bonds break as blades come out of wrists. My enemies highlighted in red. I am silent, angry as ever, and I have no time for playing around.
It’s all a blur of screams, gunfire, the sound of flesh being cut, torn, or devastated by ballistics.
| 2022-09-24T15:05:01 | 2022-09-24T11:57:54 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] Humans always considered themselves prepared for any type of apocalypse, zombie invasion, nuclear war, robot uprising, you name it. But we were never prepared for the moment when the Earth began to hatch.
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When the San Andreas Fault finally gave out in 2031 and the 8.9 magnitude “Big One” wiped out tens of thousands of people in Hollister, we thought that would be the end of it. Catastrophic losses, to be sure. But we could pick up the pieces and rebuild with the assurance that a catastrophe of that magnitude would never occur again in our lifetimes. That is, until the first tentacle burst forth from the city’s ruins.
I still recall the excited clamor amongst myself and my fellow peers in church that Sunday as we crowded around the television to see aerial footage of the tentacle. It was a marvelous specimen, the molten heat of our planet’s core radiating from its skin and melting the steel foundations around it. It easily stretched two hundred feet into the sky, lazily moving through the air without a care for its surroundings. Words could not do justice to accurately portray the sheer majesty of this entity.
Naturally, the president’s administration went into high alert at the unprecedented emergence of this specimen. Military cordons, scientific expeditions, the whole nine yards. My acquaintance in the Pentagon assured our little circle of associates that there was nothing to be concerned about in the short term. So long as the hulking mass of flesh did nothing but aimlessly meander about the ruins of Hollister, the administration was content with holding the line and conducting remote investigations as to its origins. Three months progressed uneventfully in this fashion, until the second tentacle emerged in Missouri.
A similar scene of destruction unfolded in the unfortunate city of New Madrid, and with it a second tentacle to accompany the first. I often cite the emergence of this particular one as the turning point, as more began bursting from the Earth’s surface within the United States and around the world. Portland, Santiago, Queenstown, Vancouver. These are just a few of the more egregious examples I can think of, but I assure you there were far more. Thirty-seven, to be precise. Thirty-seven tentacles in the span of four weeks. An awe-inspiring and fear-inducing display of power. But it was only after the infamous Office of Science and NASA leaks that chaos truly gripped the planet.
For it was the former that theorized all the tentacles belonged to an entity residing in the planet’s core and that the emergence of said tentacles signaled its imminent awakening. And it was the latter that exposed a fleet of rockets prepared to send the best and brightest of our country to Mars, to save them from the inevitable destruction of humanity’s cradle. Politicians, scientists, the zillionaires whose fortunes dwarfed my own sizable assets. All of them handed a guaranteed one-way ticket to salvation in the stars. You can only imagine the sheer outrage from the unwashed masses.
And of course, capitalism reared its ugly head one last time, sensing its imminent demise alongside the destruction of Earth, when SpaceX announced its own fleet of rockets with readily available seats to the masses…for the right price. But unlike their counterparts at NASA, the overlords at SpaceX were willing to play along with the callous façade of corporate goodwill to the very end by offering three seats via lottery system. I still recall the footage of the masses swarming the SpaceX offices, savagely clambering over and ripping one another to pieces to claim a ticket.
As for me? Suffice to say that the connections and resources at my disposal were just barely sufficient to secure my position. Even with my contacts at SpaceX, I was left virtually penniless after forfeiting my entire fortune to secure one of the final seats in the last Falcon 9 rockets. A worthwhile price to pay to flee the inevitable collapse of humanity’s cradle, they told me.
And so, I now find myself strapped into a window seat and staring out into the vast blackness of space as we inch ever closer to Mars. I cannot help but think how fortunate I am that security was so lax in screening despite the oceans of wealth poured into this expedition. Otherwise, the block of C4 I had had surgically implanted into my body and the detonator in my bag would have certainly raised alarms.
I have led my seventy-two years of life as a God-fearing man, diligently attending Sunday mass since I was a young boy. But now I realize I had been worshipping the wrong God all along. For He had been laying dormant beneath our very feet, waiting to exact His judgment upon us once the burden of our combined sins grew too heavy for Him to bear.
My best years are behind me. All my material wealth now little more than a fever dream of the past. I have nothing left to bind me to humanity. And it is such a…liberating feeling. For now I can perform one final act to truly prove my devotion to Him, to punish these sinners sitting beside me who delude themselves into believing they are above His divine punishment.
Did you know that a 100 sq cm hole in a pressurized cabin can depressurize it in less than fifty seconds? I lack the scientific knowledge to know just how large an opening 1.25 pounds of C4 will create. But I sincerely hope my fellow passengers will enjoy finding out for themselves.
r/williamk9949
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It was quick. What little concept of mercy the newborn had the capacity for, she knew that everything died immediately when its inhabitants' home shattered, and erupting from the South Pole she emerged. All the oceans crashed and flooded the cities, drowning and crushing most living beings. Those whose organs weren't punctured and bones weren't broken by the sheer force of the inescapable tempest were melted by the core of the newborn's cradle, the fiery yolk spilling from the centre and into the waves. The "planet" essentially dissolved in the steam, the most solid structures simply liquefying and dissipating into outer space shortly after armageddon. The newborn yawned for the first time, a rippling pulse travelling to the edge of the galaxy. Before long, mother came to cradle her newborn in her talons, and take her to the rest of her children. She was pleased that the infestation that grew upon her egg did not do her any harm. Now that the egg was no longer there, the "planet"'s solar incubator became a cold, dead rock.
The astronauts on Luna stared in disbelief.
| 2020-06-22T13:34:15 | 2020-06-22T10:59:23 | 1,643 | 451 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
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The rowdy crowd rabbled. They rabbled in a rowdier manner than any rowdy crowd had rabbled before.
“Order! Order within this hall!” shouted Mr. Hanner, the mayor of Stubbornsville. His voice reverberating around the rickety old hall.
The gathered crowd was a ragtag bunch. Mainly dressed in old potato bags, mud, and, in some cases, old potato bags made of mud. They were also difficult to control and were prone to mob fever. But the rowdiness was quickly put to bed when the doors to the hall burst open.
A woman, atop of the tallest horse the villagers had ever seen, entered and slowly trotted towards the front of the hall stopping just short of the stage. The lady unseated and descended from her high horse, slowly walking up the steps to the front of the stage.
“Greetings, peasants,” said the lady, lifting her arms aloft to greet the crown in a demeaning manner. “I come from the future and I’m here to tell you just how much better I am than you.”
The crowd didn’t react. They just looked on confused.
“Thought the whole future thing would have got a bigger reaction but let’s move on,” said the woman, pacing around the stage. “How can I be a superior person just like you, I hear you ask. Well, I have one word for you: Veganism,” said the woman, in an incredibly condescending and preachy tone.
“Are you the person who has been putting all those pictures of gross dead animals on the bulletin board?” asked one of the gathered peasants. “The pictures with the words on top and bottom.”
“Yes, that was I,” announced the lady, clearly proud of the fact. “I assume this has already converted hundreds of you to my way of thinking as it is a fool-proof strategy in the year 2017.”
"The pictures on the bulletin board worked on me," admitted Maureen, fourth row middle of the isle, wearing a muddy potato sack. “I could only stomach half of my dog after seeing one of the pictures."
The lady looked towards the Mayor, “Wait, why are your people eating dogs?”
“Why are you eating your dogs, Maureen?” asked the Mayor, looking to get to the bottom of this case.
“The dog was organic if that makes a difference,” said Maureen.
“No,” said the lady. “No that does not make a difference.”
“Are cats OK to eat if your veganism?” another voice queried from the crowd. "I tend to eat cats."
“He really does eat a lot of cats,” added the Mayor.
"No. Why would cats be OK if dogs are not? Veganism is about not eating any meat at all thus making you a superior person," explained the woman.
"I don't understand," shouted a voice from the crowd.
"What part do you not understand?" asked the vegan lady.
The peasant woman in the crowd stood up, "I don't understand how not eating meat makes you a better person."
"Humans do not need to consume meat," explained the vegan lady. "And by not eating meat, animals get to live free from cages allowing people like me to feel smug and better than others."
"Can we eat animal if they are eating us?" asked the peasant lady who was still standing. "A bear stole my child. He knocked at door pretending to be kind neighbour. But it was all lie. A dirty bear lie."
"There's just no way that's true," said the woman on stage.
"I'm afraid it's true. It was easily a top 5 case of child being eaten by a cunning bear," said the Mayor, following up. "Some actually said top 3 but it was never agreed upon."
"Listen, we're getting off track here, the idea is to not eat any animals under any circumstance. That is what separates us vegans from those who are quite clearly below us."
"Are there any other ways we can feel superior to others while still eating meat?" asked the Mayor. "I just don't feel like veganism is going to work in this village."
The lady on stage began to pace, deep in thought. "The issue is, it's difficult to be smugger than being vegan but there is something else. By a show of hands, how many of you exercise?"
Around twenty hands went up in to the air.
"So about a quarter of you exercise. That's good. Now, how many of you make sure you tell others about your exercising?"
Every hand fell back down.
"You see," said the lady, "how do you expect to feel better than others if you're not obnoxiously showing everyone how much better than them you are?"
"My name Boris. I feel better after run," said Boris, shouting from the back.
"Come on up, Boris," said the vegan lady, with Boris obliging. "When did you go on your run?"
"Today," replied Boris.
"And how many people are aware you went on your run?"
"Zero."
"Boris, what is the point of improving yourself if you aren't forcing it down the throats of people who aren't bothered? You’re missing a key element of being better than everyone else. Take this piece of paper and write 'Wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't get out and run every day. Attack the day!'"
Boris wrote the message.
"Now pin it to that wall over there."
Boris walked over to the wall in the hall next to the stage and pinned up the message.
"Everyone look at that message," shouted the lady.
Everyone turned to view the message.
"Now, Boris, how do you feel knowing all of these people now know you went on your run?"
Boris looked at the crowd viewing his message, "It makes me feel above them."
"That's it!" shouted the lady, "This is what I'm telling you. It's not the exercise, the unwillingness to eat meat, or the genuine efforts to improve yourself that's important; it's letting other people know you’re better than them that is the key."
"I get it!" shouted a familiar voice from the crowd. "So all I have to do is let other people know I have eaten their dog."
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
|
"I talk to Gods!"
It was a bright sunny day. the first one in weeks. So much rain. If we got a few more days like this the high crops might actually yield. We needed the high crops. Low crops were consistent enough, but the high crops, they meant the difference between new iron or a starving winter.
So the sun was shining, the day was beautiful, the sheep followed their master and then there's poor William, sitting on a wall, trying to keep the demons from coming out. Really struggling, praying and folding his hands but the demons always won. The demons seemed to like me to talk to.
He hopped off the stone wall and followed my slow meander up to pasture.
"I talk to Gods, Peter."
"More like ghosts, William."
He flicked an errant fly off his head. "No, no. They said you'd tell me that. They're Gods. They tell me things." They always told him things.
"Like what?"
"Like there's a murrain coming. I didn't know what that word meant so I asked them. They said it meant dying. Death. The sheep this time. Cows next."
The sheep. I couldn't lose the sheep. Just words from a crazy person but words they carry strange powers. Sometimes even thinking them can cause devils to pluck therm from your mind and make them happen. "Willy, you best not talk like that. Lest the church put you on trial."
"Oh I've been tried scores of times. The Gods told me. Burned, crushed, drowned, crushed and burned, gibbeted, drawn and quartered-"
"I get it, Willy. So the Gods tell you this? How is it you're here."
"I don't know. I don't remember any of it, but they swear it. Tell me not to talk about them. But how can I not? I talk to Gods!" He stood atop a rock and spun around like a thread weight. When he finished he took off running down the hill.
"Say hi to your Gods next time you see 'em." Willy was a good kid, just touched.
"Why?" he shouted back. "It's you they want."
| 2017-09-14T11:44:45 | 2017-09-14T10:12:28 | 287 | 47 |
[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.
|
The main lecture hall of Merlin College was starting to fill up as Preston Cameron Morgan IV made his way up the narrow stairs to the back of the hall. Preston was a large young wizard who loved partying more than the serious study of magic. He was the third member of his family to be accepted to Merlin College and had become a fixture of the fraternity that both his grandfather and father had been members of: Alpha Beta Rho. He had eschewed the usual robes today and instead wore a large, ill-fitting t-shirt with the fraternity's symbol on it and it's motto in large friendly letter below it: "Abras Forever!"
With a huff and a puff he flung himself into his usual seat and began to settle himself into his chair when he noticed that his friend, Teddy was shifting in his seat and looked somewhat green. "Why you look so nervous, Teddy?" More and more witches and wizards were pouring into the hall chatting to each other and finding their seats as they waited for the Professor to arrive.
"It's Familiar Day."
"Actually," Preston let out a large, wet, juicy belch. "It's Thursday, my man. You know what that means?"
"What?"
Preston leaned over and whispered as loudly as he could to Teddy. "DRINK SPECIALS AFTER CLASS. Who's ready to get LIT?"
"Um, Preston," Teddy said. "It's Wednesday."
"No, it's not," Preston replied.
Teddy rotated the laptop he had perched on a thick, leather bound book labelled 'Practical Spells and Methusaleh's Guide to Familiars' and clicked on the calendar icon. After a moment, it loaded. "See? Wednesday?"
Preston looked a little ill. "Is it really the 23rd?"
"Yes."
"So, it's-"
"Familiar Day, yes,"
"And I have-" Preston reached into his bag and pulled out- "Fritos Flavor Twists, honey barbeque flavored."
"You didn't bring of your potions or spell books?"
"Dude," Preston said. "How long have you known me?"
"Three years now," Teddy replied.
"And have you ever known me to bring potions or spell books to class on a Thursday afternoon?"
"No."
"Because?"
Teddy sighed. "Drink specials after class," he said. "You gotta get... lit."
"Damn skippy!" Preston said.
"Well, your dedication to partying is impressive," Teddy said.
"Thanks, bro," Preston replied.
"So what are you gonna do?"
Preston shrugged. "Too late to run and get my stuff," he said. "I'll just have to wing it."
Teddy looked as though he was about to say something, but before he could, the Professor entered the room and expectant hush fell. Professor Archibald was a cantankerous old man who had a stare that could stop even the bravest of first year students in their tracks. He was a battle ax of a teacher, drowning them in homework and make all their lives a living hell. Despite that, every student who came out of his classes intact (more of a problem than one might think when it comes to incantations) all came to the realization that despite Archibald being a total and utter bastard of a professor, they had actually learned quite a lot and learned it well.
"All right," Archibald said into the silence. "It's Familiar Day. You should all know the drill and, more importantly, what to expect. Depending on the level of spell you perform, you could end up with anything from an animal to an imp or a sprite or a full grown demon as your familiar." He started pacing at the front of the lecture hall. "In all my years of teaching, I've yet to see any student get a fully grown demon as their familiar. I've seen a sprite or an imp now and again. But the majority of you are going to end up with animal familiars. It'll be your job to take care of them, bond with them and use them to enhance your powers."
He clapped his hands together and rubbed the palms vigorously, looking for a moment to be positively excited at the prospect. "Right. Any questions? No? Let's get started." He strode over to the lectern and looked down at his class list. "Ingrid Albertson."
Teddy and Preston watched as their classmates went up to the front of the stage, drew their spell circles and cast their incantations to summon their familiars. Ingrid got a barn owl. Trevor got a frog. Alistair got a cat. There were lizards, snakes, eagles, falcons, a wolf- something that everyone thought was going to be an imp, but turned out to be armadillo. Lisa Miller, a young witch whom Preston insisted on referring to as 'that blonde hottie' manage to summon a small blue imp who immediately leaped into her arms, much to the delight of Professor Archibald and then, finally, it was Preston's turn:
"Preston Morgan."
Preston made to get up, but Teddy reached out a grabbed him by the arm. "Wait a second," he said. He leaned over and dug in his bag for a moment before handing a piece of casting chalk to Preston. "Take this. It's my spare."
"Hey, thanks man," Preston said. He slipped the chalk into his pocket, grabbed his wand and the bag of Fritos and headed down the stairs and made his way to the stage. Professor Archibald fixed him with a disapproving glance. "Where are your potions, young man?"
"Don't need 'em, Prof," Preston said with more confidence than he felt. "Got some chips and my wand, right here."
"You realize," Professor Archibald said, "That failure to summon anything will result in you getting a F on this assignment which is worth 50% of your final grade."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Prof," Preston said. He knelt down and then set about drawing his incantation circle, slowly and deliberately and then, when he was done he stood up and made a careful examination of it, circling it once, checking for any breaks in the line. Then, satisfied with the circle, Preston planted his feet and drew his wand, holding the bag of chips in the other hand. He said the incantation in a loud clear voice and as he reached the climax of the incantation he pronounced the final words and then threw the bag of Fritos over the line and into the circle.
There was a blinding flash of green and then the room filled with a lurid yellow smoke. It cleared, revealing- gasps echoed throughout the room and even the expression of disgruntled disapproval that had marked Professor Archibald's face was gone. Now, he looked impressed. There, in the center of the circle, holding the bag of chips in his hands was a fully grown demon. It was pale blue with the usual horns, hoofed feet and a long, sinuous tale. It was also, as some of the students noticed immediately stark naked.
"Thanks," it rumbled and opened the chips. It reached in and delicately pulled out a Fritos Flavor Twist. "I was getting awfully hungry."
"You're welcome," said Preston. "Um, you're my familiar. Did you know that?"
The demon nodded. "Yep," he said. "Been a few centuries since I've had a human, so I'm probably due." He stood up and, still holding the back of chips in one hand extended his hand. "I'm Larkothemialanagalopoulous. But most humans just call me Lark for short."
Preston reached over the circle and shook the demon's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Lark. I'm Preston."
"Nice to meet you, Preston," the demon said. "Tell me, do humans still like... oh what was it called. Beer?"
Preston grinned at the demon and brushed away the chalk incantation circle so that Lark could step over the line. "You know what, Lark? I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
|
I woke to the sound of rain, again, but this is Ireland, it rains every Friday, no matter the previous weather. I got up with a groan of my cot, stretched out my arms and, as always, forgot the goddamn beehive cells were too small too do that. Guess my brain takes a while in the morning.
I squeezed out of my cell onto Skellig Michael s craggy surface. Thankfully the rain wasn't too bad today, my thin oilskin coat would handle it. Perhaps I should explain to whoever finds this manuscript (*cough, diary, *cough). I am an apprentice at a witches monastery off the coast of Ireland, no-one on the mainland knows it's a witches monastery but they know we're here.
Today is the fourteenth of the fourteenth 1836 and I and the other initiates were all 14, a special age and date to Irish witches.
Where was I? Right, I squeezed out of my cell and took the damb dirt path up to the oratory where we would be presented with all the appropriate tools for summoning our familiar, as well as any additional items we required.
Now a few weeks prior I had found some long forgotten spell books in the library while I had been researching familiars. One of these books had described a delicate, obscure and highly advanced method to summon one of Ireland's most ancestral beings using the most Irish plant at their disposal. A potato.
Unfortunately, this method was too complex for an average student such as myself so i, *dumbed it down* slightly while keeping the same aim in mind.
To summon my familiar I had to extract a special grey chalk from a hidden tunnel on the island.
With this I would draw a rough circle 3m in radius. Into the circle I must place a thin cloth bag full of thick strips of potato fries in puffin fat
(I could have used any fat, puffins were merely in abundance on Skellig Michael). Finally I was to step back from the circle and name my familiar's species an implore them to appear.
I did on a clear day on Saturday in front of the assembled crowd. After I was finished there was a long moment of silence, someone coughed, it was awkward.
Then the entire island shook as though it wished to escape its roots and roam the ocean wild, great bottomless cracks and chasms appeared within the circle, but were kept contained within it. The bag of fried potatoes toppled into the chasm, only to rise moment later in a huge fist of stone that belonged to the great towering creature which stood three or four heads above any man. It was made of the Irish mountains themselves, it almost looked like huge shapely chunks of grey limestone held together with streaks of Ireland's native green marble wrapping around it with a soft glow, all ending at two clear diamond eyes set slightly back into his head(somehow I knew it was a he) that glowed with an otherworldly light. And then he began to eat, and to speak.
He threw a fried potato into his gaping maw and let out a grinding sigh. "These are good chips, taste a little like puffin though." I decided to talk now and freak out later. "I can explain that," I said, "I cooked them in puffin fat and some salt." At this my familiar turned to me, "I see, I take you are who summoned me as your familiar?" I said I was, and I will spare you the details of our conversation as this is turning out to be longer than I expected but suffice to say that introductions were made (myself as Oisín and him as Kaíreach)
By now everyone was speechless, no-one had summoned a mountain golem since the great Masters themselves. It took a while to get used to but I eventually surpassed everyone in my group and now 20 years later, I am leading the monastery as the youngest leader, well, ever.
I hope that whoever this story reaches, it reaches them safe, and with them in good health
Signed,
Oisín O' Callaghan, leader of the cailleachs and Kaíreach of the mountains
| 2019-04-05T14:30:18 | 2019-04-05T14:25:23 | 6,450 | 39 |
[WP] A planet rotates once every 1,000 years so that each side is either tundra or desert; the poles are also frozen wastes, but there is a small area of ever moving habitable land. Two nomadic tribes isolated on each side of the planet begin to find the 500 year old relics of the other.
I kind of imagine one tribe viewing the sun as the bringer of life, while the other sees it as the harbinger of death depending on what is driving them forward.
|
The Lost City of Kvoehr. Eons past our ancestors had left it here, choking in the embrace of Mother Abyss, believing in the prediction of the Celesteocles that it would remain when we returned.
But the people of Kvoehr had made one tragic mistake. They had believed, as many do, that they would remain forever. Inevitably their empire fell into collapse and declined, overwhelmed by barbarian raiders from the Dark.
Now from their greatness sprang many nations, and each coveted the old capital with its triple-walls, and the golden monolith that touched the Sun King's majesty. But only I still held the old maps.
"The horses don't go father than here," Grueld, my guide, said gruffly. He was a brute of a man, closer to a great ape that talked than a man possessed of an ape's strength. I wondered for the nth time if he were not truly some unholy soldier of the mechanomancers, but I quailed at the thought my expedition had drawn their baleful attention.
"Why not?" I questioned, wiping the thick sweat from my brow again.
"Because this is the last oasis I know of, and they can't carry enough water for themselves to drink beyond."
I opened my mouth to offer some astute reasoning, but was cruelly cut off by an angrily raised finger.
"Don't whine. The horses stay here, and we travel no more than three sleeps into the Sunlands. We cannot carry enough water for more than six sleeps."
Again I wondered why I let this brute, of questionable origins, be my guide. But in truth, I was forced to admit, he was the only one who had agreed to go so far as this.
So, with trepidation, I dismounted. Even through my thick soles I could feel the warmth of these lands on my feet, and dreaded the trek before us.
The horse, that vile hairy beast, reminiscent of its master, spit on me as a parting farewell. Grueld laughed heartily at my expense, even going so far as to roll his eyes at me when I reminded exactly who was paying him for this expedition. And so, under that auspicious start, our true journey began.
The sleeps passed in a haze. The sun-bleached rock and sand reflected the majesty of the Sun's light directly into my face, as though punishing me for my temerity in treading so far on the Sun's domain. I was forced many times to wrap rags around my face to keep from burning, led on only by grasing at Grueld's cloak.
The sand and rock burnt my feet, and it was only at sleep, when we put the thick bedrolls down, that I got any respite at all. Grueld awfully rationed the water, and by the second sleep my throat was so dry I wondered that I could even talk.
At last we arrived at a point where both I and Grueld could fast feel the third sleep approaching, but we still had not reached the great cliff in which was nestled the city. We tread on in silence, until at last Grueld began to set down his pack.
"I can't go back from here." I croaked. "The city should be no more than another sleep away."
Grueld GROWLED at me, like the animal he was. "I will not die for some fools gambit. Wait a star-cycle, perhaps two, and you shall reach your city then. No men shall be able to inhabit it before four or five star-cycles regardless."
I must admit that I did somewhat regret what I did next, but to see my dreams so close...and for that ape Grueld to take them away...I was not in my right mind you must understand.
"THE WATER" Grueld screamed as my sword point pierced his waterskin, his own sword drawn too slowly in his surprise and fatigue. He looked down at my own skin before thrusting at me, but I hurled it to the ground even as I narrowly parried his blow, and the thirsty sands consumed it in an instant.
"You have killed us," Grueld muttered, his calm tone belied by his face, incandescent with rage. "I should kill you now, so that at least I may rest peacefully knowing you went first."
"No!" I explained. "Listen...the city...the city had a deep reservoir. We need only make it to the city, and even in this heat water should remain."
Grueld scowled furiously and then continued setting out the beds, silently now.
The time before the next sleep was even more hellish than the time that had come before. The Sun King punished us terribly for intruding so far, and as the waking came to a close I noticed I had forgotten to rag a small area on my arm. I had not even felt it as it reddened, then blackened, until my arm had fallen limp.
"It is almost sleep time," Grueld croaked. "We will not wake. I will kill you now."
He stumbled towards me, barely able to hold his sword, and I fell over in exhaustion and surprise.
As he pulled the blade above me for the coup de grace, I suddenly was filled with a renewed vigor. "WAIT," I shouted, somehow mustering the energy from some hidden reserve.
I pointed.
Ahead of us the city glimmered...glimmered? Something was wrong. The Lost City had three walls, this city had five. But I was too lost in the moment to worry, too giddy to find that I would live.
I stumbled towards the city, then ran, Grueld not far behind, and reached it quickly. My eyelids felt heavy, but the silver door (silver door?) of the city stood before me. It was ajar, though only slightly, and I stepped beyond that barrier like a conquering hero.
On the other side, it was cool. The heat of the sun was gone, somehow, perhaps a blessing of the Sun King (though no records had mentioned this.) Grueld sniffed hungrily and headed off to some strange silvered contraption while I simply basked in the magical weather.
"I smell water," he announced, and with one quick blow of his mighty blade struck the contraption such that water began to pour from it."
I drank deeply of the water, threw up some from drinking too quickly, then drank again. I filled my waterskin, and Grueld filled his own hastily repaired one.
Again the ape stalked off, and I was forced to follow. I found him gawking at some sculpture and was about ready to berate him when I followed his vision.
There, at the base of the sculpture, was an inscription. But not in Kvoehran, nor even with the Kvoehran alphabet. My eyes drew higher, and I recoiled in terror as finally, the sun-blindness fading, I saw for whom, for what, the statue had been made.
At first glance it seemed a man. But his fingers were bulbous like those of a frog, and instead of two legs he had three. Where ought to rest his mouth there was instead a gaping maw, like a slash wound, full of pointed glittering teeth.
This was not Kvoehr. Perhaps it once had been, as it rested where it should. But there had been others here. This was not Kvoehr any longer.
(I'll continue if people like it.)
|
“Wander not, child of night. Fear ground that shakes, and sinking lakes,” Ren sang quietly. He dug his fingers into a boulder and slithered down it to the spongy ground cover below. “Fear the ghosts burning bright, who come to steal your sight tonight.” Winding his way through the fallen rocks, he ducked inside the youngwood ahead, slipping between the skinny trunks. As the trees shuddered and shook, Ren reached up with the corner of his shirt to wipe away the water that fell to his face from the skinny leaves.
Ren loved the forest. He loved the pale, dusky light that filtered through the leaves and vines, he loved the rustle of animals and the squish of mud under his toes.
He looked up at the sun to check his direction. *Water is west*, Nana’s voice echoed in his mind. *Water is west, and water is best.*
Ren could never remember the next verse of the song. He knew it started *Cry not, child of night,* but was the next line the *beasts that quake* or the *blood that burns?*
(“Ren, please don’t sing that song,” Mam told him. “Don’t scare your sister.”)
Ren scowled. And then the ground fell away.
The dirt and rocks crumbled under his heel and with a shriek, Ren grabbed frantically for a handhold, a vine, anything—
*Fear ground that shakes, and sinking lakes…*
A searing pain in his arm, a twist of his ankle, and Ren tumbled down hill with the rush of dirt and brush and who knows what else. Each impact drove air from his lungs. He scrambled for purchase as dust and grit coated his eyes and mouth and if he could just *slow down*…!
Before he had time to process anything, the slide stopped.
Ren lay gasping for breath. His chest hurt, his leg hurt, his arm hurt. How could he have been so *stupid*? He *knew* how dangerous a youngwood could be; didn’t he explore them often enough?
Slowly, he eased himself up to a sitting position. He had to take stock of himself; could he even walk on his leg? Could he even make it back to Nana and Mam and Tip before sleep?
He blinked rapidly to clear some of the grit from his eyes. And then he saw it.
A lake. A huge lake with a monolith stone tower, rising from the lakebed, covered in glow-moss and carvings and *what was it*?
Ren grabbed a nearby branch that had been a fellow casualty of the mudslide and clambered to his feet. Before he knew it, he stood at water’s edge. There wasn’t just a tower. It was a stone *village*, bright green and effervescent blue in the murky dark of the water.
*Fear ground that shakes, and sinking lakes, fear the ghosts burning bright, who come to steal your sight tonight…*
Ren rubbed more vigorously at his eyes to try and clean them of the dirt and sand. His hand dropped; a flash of silver and white, gold and light, in the water, filtering between the stones.
There was something *in the water.*
*Ghosts burning bright, come to steal your sight tonight…*
| 2015-05-11T14:04:26 | 2015-05-11T13:27:53 | 60 | 13 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
|
"You killed her."
The human male was kneeling in the sand, holding the small, limp body of a hatchling. It looked like a young girl, but the bright blue skin and shock of ruby red hair gave it away as one of the nastier iterations of this barren planet's fauna.
Gently, he laid her out on the sand. His back was still to me, so I couldn't see the full extent of the human's injuries, but I glimpsed the dull red of human blood on the back of his hand as he brushed two shaking fingers across the hatchling's ruby eyes, closing them for the last time. It was an old human tradition, I think. Something to do with respect for the dead, though why this male would show respect for a weak youngling not even of his own species was beyond me.
"You killed her," he repeated. "She did nothing to you. Made no threats. Wanted nothing from you." He rose, slowly transitioning from his knees facing the endless sands to his feet facing me with a grace I would expect more from a dancer than a mercenary. "Why?"
I studied the human with the respect due to one of the greater races. Like my own people, the humans had a long history of great civilizations, although unlike my own they had failed to realize their full potential. They may be one of the greater races, but they would never be the greatest. This human's silver-streaked hair was proof enough at that. Aging was one of the first ailments any advanced civilization cured, but the humans never quite got the hang of immortality.
"Hatchlings are always a threat," I replied. I was careful to keep my voice measured, as I'd found humans tended to take offense to overt expressions of our superiority. "They are eliminated on sight, especially in the presence of a Great Lord such as I." I thought of something very clever, and allowed myself a small smile. "It is, as you humans say, better to be safe than sorry." I was quite pleased with this brilliant display of my understanding of human culture and logic. My entourage erupted into a chorus of soft clicks in applause.
I looked expectantly at the human to show his own understanding and appreciation. He took one long step forward, then another. He held my eyes, and his face remained as expressionless as a desert lake. I found myself entranced by those grey-blue eyes, and I swayed slightly to the rhythm of his graceful long strides. Something bright flashed, and a guard fell, clutching his slit throat.
I froze in shock as chaos erupted around me. The human lounged to the left to stab a second guard in the belly, his gaze never leaving mine as he carved into the man's guts. A quick spin that ended in his other blade piercing the heart of a third guard, and his gaze returned to me. Like a pirouetting ballerina whose gaze never failed to snap to return to the same spot with each revolution, the human danced through my entourage in a flash of hypersonic knife blades and falling bodies. His gaze never failed to return to me. I don't think he even saw the people he killed. They were incidental, next to his rage for me. Understanding struck me at last. This human meant to kill me, for no less provocation than the death of a hatchling. I took one trembling step backward, unwilling even in these last moments to rip my gaze from his deadly dance. Another step, and I tripped over the modest train of my desert robes. I saw the bright blue of this planet's sky, so reminiscent of the changeling's skin. And with that, the spell was broken. Icy, nauseating fear gripped me and I scrambled back to my feet.
I ran. I didn't remember how to run at first, it had been so long since I had performed such a base action. But the memory of my - very accomplished - military entourage falling like useless flowers to the deadly cut of the human's blades was a very good motivator. I ran. My ship was less than a kilometer away. Surely fifty members of my most elite guard could keep one human occupied for the time it would take me to reach my ship. Surely it must be so? I ran faster. When I saw the silvery sheen of my ship ahead, I started screaming.
"Protect me! I command you! Kill him!" My voice was shrill and undignified, but at the moment I did not care. More guards poured out of the ship and raced to intercept the human. I chanced a glance back and nearly fell to the cursed sands. He had been close enough for me to still see the blue-grey mirage of his eyes. They promised my death. I knew, even as I ran at full-speed into my ship, that his gaze would not leave my fleeing form for longer than it took to dispatch each member of my highly trained and so-called elite guard.
"Go!" I shrieked at the pilot, as soon as I entered the blessed safety of my ship. I collapsed to the floor as the ship lifted off the desert sands, its hull door still open. No guards remained to close it for me, so I inched towards the opening. Some part of me knew the icy ball of fear that occupied my gut would not leave until I saw the human male die. There was no way he could defeat every last member of my guard. I simply refused to believe in that possibility. The technique had never failed me before, though the political danger I braved back home was quite a different beast than the deadly dance of the human with mirage eyes. I peaked over the edge, my belly flat against the ship's cold floor.
On the sands below, only a single figure remained standing. I could see the soft, glowing blue of two hypersonic blades in each of his hands, and though I knew I was too far away to see that grey-blue color of a desert mirage, I could feel his eyes boring into me. He stood motionless, but I knew his gaze was locked onto mine as my ship carried me away to safety. My own gaze was helplessly locked onto him - as if he could teleport to my ship and sink his blade into my back if I looked away for even a second. Slowly, he became just one dark blemish in the desert among many. A glint of blue caught my eye in the sands below - the body of the dead hatchling girl.
And I knew. Like that, I knew. I, Lord of the Seven Desert Isles, son of the Archduke of the Planet Krede, twenty-first in line for the Kreklene throne and beloved nephew of the Greatest King, was a dead man walking. This human would kill me. For the crime of ordering the hatchling girl's death, I would die in turn. Not even my uncle, the Highest King of the Greater races, could protect me from the wrath of this one human. For the first time in my long, long life, I felt fear. I drowned in it.
My fear was a poison, killing me slowly, stealing my vitality. I died long before my heart stopped beating. When death finally reached me, with eyes like a desert mirage, I welcomed it.
|
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
The chant rang out across the recess court of the Milky Way Middle School, where various larval age children across many species were sent to learn basic skills. Ever since the Great Awakening of IGC (Intra Galactic Contact) 143, it was deemed necessary that all species members of the Galactic Federation be held to the same educational standard regarding mathematics, galactic history, sciences, and fluency in the standard galactic language of Batheem.
“Come on, you guys. I don’t want to fight.”
The Human child looked at the various alien faces forming an inescapable fence around him and his proposed opponent.
“What’s the matter, Enoch? Scared?”
The spade-faced insectoid Jatno, Kryllyth, stared down the Human.
“I’m not scared, I just don’t like fighting.”
Humans were revered across the galaxy for their sensibility and pacifism. They famously settled the Raxian trade dispute in IGC 94, as well as ending Ure’s fifth world war. Humans always tried to find a better solution rather than just eliminate the cause of the conflict with violence.
A whinny-like laugh came from somewhere in the crowd.
“I’ll bet he won’t fight because he’s so scared of losing!”
Enoch scoffed. “I am not. I easily weight twice as much as him.”
“I heard your mother dated a slimy Hungaul,” Kryllyth hissed, “and then left him for an even slimier Rytte.”
The crowd egged him on. If there was one thing students at MWMS liked, it was a good fight. Plus, a fight with a Human was rare, and famously entertaining.
“You shut up!”
The human was getting visibly angry, his face turning a deep red. If humans were most famous for their pacifism, they were second most famous for whenever they snapped and got violent, they got very, *very* violent. Just ask the leader of the Felms, who dared to try and conquer the Humans’ dear satellite, Luna. Or perhaps ask the former inhabitants of the planet Ortina, if the recently Uranium radiated atmosphere doesn’t give you cancer first.
“Yeah, and I heard his colony got conquered by the Theks!”
Another collective roar of laughter.
This pushed the Human over the edge, and he leapt at the unsuspecting Jatno with an enraged yell. The crowd closed in around the mass of punching hands and yelps of pain. Eventually a voice rang out.
“Ok, ok! You win! Get off me!” Kryllyth yelled, pinned under the Human with and an arm twisted behind his back.
“Gladly.” Enoch stood up and walked away, dusting off his hands, leaving the crowd with jaws dropped.
No one picked a fight with a Human for the rest of the year.
| 2016-03-13T22:17:57 | 2016-03-13T21:46:28 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there.
|
“Babe seriously, I went into another world! Like, I flushed the toilet and suddenly wham, these weird space time Gods told me I was the next chosen one and I suddenly got these powers? And apparently I have to defeat the next Evil that’s going to attack Other Earth.”
“Right, one question though,” I smiled, wondering whether my husband was having heat stroke after his football game with 'The Bros', “Were you doing a number one or two when you went into the toilet? I don’t imagine it would have been pleasant either way but pee seems like the better option in this.”
“Babe!” He whined, “I’m serious okay like, the space time Gods were literally about to whisk me to my mission but I told them that I had you and that if you weren’t with me that I wouldn’t even think of helping them. Even if they gave me the jazzy cool superpowers.”
I blushed, even though the entire situation was honestly bordering on insane it was pretty cute that he’d think of me in such a disorienting albeit unrealistic situation. I still pretty much thought it was just a hallucination on his part though.
“So when I told them about you they were all like, sure! The both of you will get your own mansion and enough riches and food to last a lifetime. Also, whenever we needed to we could travel back to this Earth and visit our friends and family. They even showed me the mansion and the riches,” he stretched out his arms widely, “It was like this big and this much money babe!”
I couldn’t help but laugh a bit. To be honest, our life was going rough especially since he had recently been “regretfully” retrenched (courtesy of the higher up’s choice of words) from his job of five years. A friend of his who still had a job with the company said they immediately hired someone for my husband’s job but paid the newbie considerably less. They could have honestly given him a heads up so he could have found another job before firing him.
I wondered whether this extravagant story was how he wanted to cheer us up a little and I smiled, “Fine okay, if this place really exists and I do agree on going, how are we going to get there again?”
He grinned, “The same way I did of course!” An unpleasant feeling had told me that that was probably how he was going to answer and I simply rolled my eyes as he dragged me to the toilet.
“Seriously, were you doing a number one or two — I need to know, if we’re going through the toi-“ He quickly cut me off, giving me a peck on the forehead and saying, “See you on the other side, honey.”
Before I could protest, he pressed the flush button. For a moment, I was just sat there and just as I was about to rub it in his face I felt the toilet seat under me shaking and then, a loud whoosh. Suddenly I was travelling through blindingly white and empty space, feeling a strong pull carrying me downwards.
“Fuck!” I cursed as I landed right on my ass. I tentatively stood up, rubbing my butt. I looked around, it seemed that I landed right in the middle of four threateningly high thrones, the figures sat on them hidden in shadow.
“Fuck?” I accidentally said aloud, my hand quickly moving to cover my mouth — I couldn’t believe my eyes, I was actually brought into another dimension? And, these were the space time Gods Kelvin was talking about? What?
Shortly, I heard what sounded like someone falling behind me and turned. It was Kelvin suavely landing on his feet, even managing to give me a sneaky wink as he did. That bastard knew I’d land on my ass and probably saw me as I did actually fall on it.
He then went on one knee, facing the highest of the thrones, “This is my beloved wife. I have brought her to live with me as I carry out the mission to save Other Earth.” I panicked and quickly followed suit, settling down on one knee beside him.
“Yes, good,” a deep gravelly voice that seemed to come from the throne but also seemed to come from all sides of the room reverberated in the space, “I will now send you off to your mission Chosen One, and I will ensure that your beloved will be safe in your mansion.”
Before my husband could reply, I stood up, “Excuse me Your Honour but, if I might say so myself, I am pretty badass at kicking butt myself. I could probably do better than your Chosen One beside me too. Whaddya say if you gave me some cool superpowers too and I help him out with his mission?” I acted as nonchalantly as possible, I knew these Gods could probably vaporise me with a snap of their fingers but like hell if I was going to let go of this chance of being a superhero.
“Hmm,” I flinched, the sudden sound of the God’s gravelly voice surprising me, “That doesn’t sound too bad. Very well, I shall allow you to wield the same powers as your husband. Do not let us down Earthlings. The fate of Other Earth rests in your hands.”
I saw a giant hand appear on top of me, and with a sprinkling motion, I suddenly felt a surge of power rushing through my body. Grabbing my husband’s hand, I looked at him and kissed him, letting all my emotions (confusion, happiness, worry and especially love) reach him. He smiled when we parted, grabbing my hand.
This, was gonna be one hell of a story to tell The Bros.
***
10 hours too late but I hope at least someone sees this :'>)
|
**A bit late, not sure anyone will read this, but had a lot of fun with the prompt! Props to OP!**
__________
She ran out of the bathroom and grabbed me tighter than anything ever before.
"I found another world! A place where I was a god! A land where I crafted the dirt below my feet..."
I looked at her in total disbelief.
"I found a land where the beings praised me as their benevolent deity, burning pyres and making sacrifices to me!"
I mean she was gone for like 30 seconds to pee.
"You wouldn't believe it! I made the stars out of sand and the sky out of paint..."
At this point she was clutching me so hard I might actually faint.
"You should've seen it! I saw as wars were fought below my feet, heroics and feats fought in the name of me!"
I sniffed her hair trying to see if she had the scent of weed.
"I saw as the world crumbled in the name of greed, the fat needing to feed on the poor, the wicked on the weak..."
All this she had seen from taking a leak?
"So I destroyed it all and created anew,
Made the oceans a boiling stew,
Made a shelter from the ground,
keeping safe only the good few."
...
I then asked "...then why did you come back?
Come back from where you had all the power?
A benevolent deity of the bath.
A land where we also have to shower?
Why did you come back?"
I stared down into her eyes, at my feet she had curled.
"Because baby, even after all of this, you are still my world."
| 2017-02-21T00:32:44 | 2017-02-20T23:55:13 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] Hydraulic Press Channel owner goes insane and starts crushing subscribers by kidnapping them, channel goes even more popular
|
*CLANG!*
I wake up suddenly with a feeling of dread and urgency. The sound of my cough is muffled by duct tape. My heart is pounding at the speed of thought as I try to make sense of the situation. Where am I … wait, who am I?
I'm in a room. I take in as much information as I can with my limited senses. The chilly air carries the unmistakable scent of metal shaving. I turn my head to look all around but the room is pitch black and I can’t even … oh. It’s not dark—I’m just blindfolded. I scrunch my nose and try to peep under the blindfold but it’s not helping. This must be one of those leak-proof sleep masks that is recommended by the internet for sexy times in the bedroom.
*Why do I know this?*
My hands and feet are bound tightly with plastic cuffs that cut into my wrists as I try to wriggle out of them. The raw stinging sensation tells me that my skin is broken, probably from previous attempts to get out of the cuffs. Fuck. I must have been a prisoner here for some time. What do they want from me? I have this faint memory of being a multi-millionaire of some kind, maybe that’s what they’re after.
I am ashamed to say that my next immediate thought is to check if I have been sexually assaulted, rather than to figure out who is holding me captive. I clench my butt cheeks again just to be sure. Nope, my arsehole isn’t sore. That’s a win, I guess. There are people on the internet who will be happy to know that my perfect buttocks are unharmed.
*Why do I know this?*
I hear muffled noises outside the room. A man is speaking. He is talking loudly over the hum of heavy machinery. I can’t quite place it, but his accent sounds South American or Russian. Whichever it is, this combination of scary foreign accent and heavy machinery can’t be good.
The loud hum comes to a grinding halt and reverses as a young woman shrieks with glee. I don’t know why, but her laughter comforts me. Maybe this is just an elaborate prank.
I hear heavy footsteps coming towards me and the door opens. My sleep mask is lifted and I see a bald stocky man standing before me with a gap-toothed grin. He says nothing as he drags me out by my arm. We enter a workshop full of metal-working equipment—so this is where the sound and smell is coming from.
The bald man leads me across the workshop. In a distance, the woman is making adjustments to bright studio lights connected by messy cables. Beside her is an expensive-looking camera perched on top of a tripod.
FUCK YES! There’s the camera, it’s just a prank! That’s the unwritten rule of internet videos—you can do whatever the hell you want and call it a prank as long as there’s a camera present! I still don't remember who I am but it wouldn't surprise me if my friends are the kind of arseholes who would roofie you for a laugh.
I play along with them and ham up my role as the reluctant hostage by dragging my feet and shaking my head vigorously. The bald man turns to look at me with the same unwavering smile. Despite his firm grip on my arm, I feel safe in the knowledge that there’s professional recording equipment all around us.
The smell of metal shaving gets stronger as we get closer to the big machine. The bright and warm studio lights blind me as I staggered past it. Something is not right. My body tenses up and I’m dragged by the bald man reluctantly—for real this time.
You see, scientists have discovered that the smell of metal is not really metallic at all—there’s not a trace of iron atoms in the scent. The same metallic odour can be found in blood when rubbed on skin, and researchers say that the scent of blood when metal is handled may also be a result of this reaction.
*Why do I know this …*
I stop walking at this point, but the bald man is deceptively strong. He drags me along the slippery floor like a cat on a leash until we reached the big machine.
The ability to smell blood is believed to be an evolutionary advantage that allowed our primitive ancestors to track wounded prey. My ability to tell the difference between the smell of metal and blood right now comes from that same primitive place my brain.
The “whys” and “hows” of my random knowledge of things suddenly makes sense as the bald man pushes my head against the heavy machine’s platform and clamps my neck in place with a metal bracket. I struggle vigorously, but deep down I know that this is all in vain. I remember everything now.
He returns to the woman behind the camera setup and announces in what I now know is a Finnish accent, “and for toodey’s ekstra contents, vee have this kamah whores who reposting my veedios.”
“His name is GallowBoob, he has seven million karma and is extremely daane-gerous…” the bald man shouts over the humming of the big machine as he holds down a lever, “He can repost at any time so vee mast deel with him!”
As my vision turns blood red, the last thing I hear is a familiar heavy metal riff, barely audible above the wet crunching sound of the hydraulic press pushing against my temple.
The title of the song is 'Thor's Hammer', and it's performed by Ethan Meixsell.
*I know this because I re …*
*CLANG!*
_____
*Edit: http://i.imgur.com/emnmoKY.jpg*
|
Joey opened his eyes, squinting into the bright light. He couldn't remember much, only that he had been dragged out of bed, tied up, before some kind of smelly cloth was shoved against his face. His hands were still restrained; in fact, he couldn't move at all. His head was laying on some kind of support, but it was very uncomfortable. The metal dug into the spine of his neck.
His eyes slowly adjusted to his surroundings. He immediately noticed a large metal cylinder above his head, pointed directly at his face. He recognized it as a hydraulic press - in fact, it looked exactly like the one he saw on Youtube.
He could not move his head, but he turned his eyes towards the left as far as he could. He saw a camera peeping through a glass wall.
He heard a familiar, Finnish-accented voice. "Welcome to Hydraulic Press Channel. Today, we have for yuo one-millionth subscriber. No button yet, coming later. We like to thank yuo for all your sooport." The Finn clapped his hands once. "Let's see!"
The press began to move. He could hear almost nothing over the roar of the machine. It was so much louder than he could ever have imagined. He desperately jerked his head from side to side, but it was no use. The press was almost upon him.
As the press snapped the cartilage in his nose, he heard Lauri say: "It's just prank, bro!"
| 2016-05-19T01:47:51 | 2016-05-19T00:24:26 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
Alel bit his lip as the prisoner crumpled to dust, blowing away from a wind within an airtight room. Well, that was out the window. The judge simply stared with a bored look in his eye, confirming the kill before charting it down and looking to some other infinite list.
“Charles Alel, take to the stand.”
Alel grimaced as he stepped forward. Really? Couldn’t even use his preferred nickname? No matter. His mind was racing with things he could say to keep from dying, though it came up blank as the judge read through his charges. All too soon, Alel heard the judge draw to a close, not even registering when asked how he wanted to die. He needed time, though it wasn’t something he had. Maybe if he could just... get a few more minutes, he could -
“Charles. Choose, or be disintegrated quickly and painfully within the minute.” A magic hourglass flipped, the sand draining ten times faster than it should have.
Suddenly, Alel had a spark of an idea - though, whether or not the magic of the courthouse would even be able to carry through such a thing, he did not know. Alel’s heart beat harder and faster as the last grains of sand hit the bottom of the hourglass.
“I wish to die in every way.” The words flew from his mouth, unable to think of anything else in the moment. The judge had preemptively raised his gavel, though hesitated with Alel’s words. He didn’t look bored or unpleased, but surprised. Curious, even. It *was* a fitting punishment, an undying death set to repeat over and over, and who knows if the courthouse could even do it. An infinite death.
The judge merely locked eyes with Alel, raising his gavel higher before striking downwards. Alel could feel his heart beating quickly as silence filled the chamber. He could feel the eyes of other prisoners as well as the judge on him. His heart was still beating, though rapid from the adrenaline.
A few seconds passed, as Alel began to calm... only to grip his chest in agony, pain wracking his entire body. His heart began to beat faster, and harder, as though it were about to burst within his chest - and then nothing. His consciousness didn’t ebb or fade, it simply ended.
Then it began. Alel rose with a gasp, sucking the air into his aching chest. He gripped his chest and looked towards the judge’s chair - empty. How long had it been, he wondered? Alel began to stand, only to hear a sharp *snap*. He crumpled to the floor with a pained yelp, feeling more bones breaking upon making contact. He looked to his hands, now greying and withering. Old age. His eyes went blurry, and he could feel his body give way to the air in the room.
Awake once more. Dead once more. Awaken, suffer, die. That was the punishment he had chosen. Aneurysm, seizure, cancer, diarrhea, suicide - he kept going through the motions. And though he didn’t know how much time passed in between each revival, the judges seat remained empty, as did the prisoner chamber. It took all of Alel’s willpower just to keep conscious, to stay sane enough to move with what precious seconds he had.
The courthouse was carrying out his wish, killing him in every conceivable way. However, it didn’t restrict his movement. With each revival, he inched closer and closer to escape, to victory - or at least, a semblance of it. Eventually, he reached the door of the prisoners chamber once more, reaching towards the door with a flayed hand. He heard a crack, one that wasn’t from his bones. It was the wood beneath his feet. Alel looked downwards, seeing rotted wood beneath his feet just before it gave way to his emaciated body.
Alel fell, helpless. As he fell, he closed his eyes. The wood was rotten, old. Left without care long enough to give way to skin and bones. He had died several times, physically - but he said *every* way. By falling, by suffocation, by cave in, by worms and dirt and seeds spreading through the Earth and into his bones, all things that wouldn’t be possible in the moment he made the wish.
This was his fate. An infinite one, instead of an eternity of peaceful non-existence. What a fool he was. Alel closed his eyes, only to open them for a time, before closing them again. Perhaps, in time, the magic of the courthouse would break. But before that, this was his undying destiny.
|
"Well there goes that plan"
I thought, as the 20 year old man infront of me aged 200 years in mere seconds and crumbled into dust.
"Prisoner" the judge shouted as he leered down from his chair. "Have you decided the method of your demise?"
"I have your honour" I managed to garble through my shaking jaw.
I guess there is no getting out of this. If I have to go then I may as well go out with a bang!
"Well boy?? Get on with it! What shall it be?"
"Here goes nothing" I though.
.......
"Death by Snu Snu sir"
| 2021-06-24T10:52:50 | 2021-06-24T10:06:58 | 44 | 20 |
[WP] Write about a unique relationship between an immortal and a time traveler.
|
"Same as always?"
"You bet. How much will it be this time?"
Jones smiled, punching in the mans order into the register.
"4.95"
"What's your name these days?"
"Still Jones, buddy.", he said, tapping on his nametag with a finger.
"I get that, but first name?"
"We're on first name terms now, Thomas?"
Thomas shrugged it off, receiving his coffee and bagel. Thomas wasn't the real name of the man, but one the pair had agreed to.
"Eh, I don't know, I just.."
"Wendy!", Jones shouted. Soon after a petite young woman appeared, smiling. "Yes?"
"Take over for me, I've got to catch up with a friend." With that said, Jones nodded affirmatively and made his way towards a table, gesturing for Thomas to follow. They sat down in a sofa booth and stared at eachother in silence for a moment.
"So Jones, let me guess here..." Thomas blowed on his coffee in preparation for a hesitant sip.
"You go on for a couple o' years, then return as the last owners 'son', having inherited the coffee shop? Maybe you use make up to age yourself up until that point?"
Jones raised an eyebrow.
"Make up, really?"
Thomas retained his serious facial expression.
"You're a timetraveller, and the only logical thing you can think of is make up?"
"Yes, make up.", Thomas said, in a dry tone, with an underlying smirk. Jones sighed, leaning back in his seat. He folded his arms across his chest, grinning.
"You look like you could use some makeup. I see more wrinkles on ya' than last time."
The timetravellers lowered his gaze, nodding in acknowledgement.
"Yes. Unlike you, I actually *age*."
"Yet here I am stuck in 1980, and you've seen the future, the past, and all the inbetween."
"You've seen the past and inbetween, too."
"Aye, but I have to live it out. The changes are so gradual I barely notice them. It feels like yesterday that the Wright's invented flight."
"Yeah, well, I'd still do anything to be in your shoes. I'll be dead in thirty years, and you'll be coming up on 2010, when technological advancements really start to pick up speed."
Thomas seemed genuinely bothered by the topic of conversation, sinking his teeth into the bagel, looking out the window.
"2010, huh? I'm rather sure we had a rule to not discuss the future, in fear of altering it?"
Thomas waved his hand dismissingly.
"Screw that. Hey, sell this coffee shop, loan from everyone you know, and invest everything in Apple Inc, then disappear. You'll thank me later."
"That's enough, Thomas." Jones said, in a serious tone.
"I just envy you, you know? You get to live through it *all*, and you do it behind the desk of this coffee shop. Day in and day out. Do you even know what's out there?"
Thomas gestured with his hand, to the window.
"Just take a look, Jones. The women. The clothes. The atmosphere. The smells. All these things will be completely changed and never return, and you take it for granted."
Jones drummed the table with his fingers, staring at the man.
"This is the last time I see you, isn't it?"
Thomas head turned to face Jones again, his eyes adopting a glossy sheen.
"Jones, *please*. Why would you say that?"
"Don't bullshit me."
Thomas raised his hands, admitting defeat. He then folded his hands behind his head, turning his gaze to the ceiling.
"Alright.. The, uh.." The timetravellers face seemed troubled, as he tried to think of the right words to say.
"The energy of my... shall we say, *device*, is damn near depleted. It barely had enough juice to send me to see you. And I've got..."
Thomas gaze shifted to his watch, tilting his wrist.
"Ten minutes, before I have to leave. Or else I'll be stuck here for the rest of my life, with you."
Jones managed a weak smile.
"Would that be so bad?"
Thomas tried his best to hide a smug grin.
"Stuck here with you? Kill me now!"
They shared a laugh as Thomas sipped on his coffee again, only to speak after shaking his head.
"I got a family, y'know? Beautiful wife. Four kids."
"I understand Thomas."
Thomas stood up, tugging at his jacket. He pulled out a wad of dollarbills, twenty or so, and placed them on the table.
"My name's not Thomas, it's Callum. There's your tip for these oustanding years of excellent service."
Jones too stood up, nodding at his friend.
"Callum. I'll miss you, buddy."
The aging timetraveller opened his arms, tilting his head with a smug 'Come on..' smirk, and Jones embraced his friend tightly, patting him on the back. They pulled back from eachother and shared a lingering gaze.
"Consider Apple, though.", he said. And then Callum saluted his friend with a two-finger salute, turned on his heel and disappeared out the door, for the last time.
|
I waited to see him.
Every day, every minute, every second.
See, I didn't know when he would arrive to see me. It was never planned. Such was our relationship.
Our love.
It was meant to always remain desperate, to always be urgent. When I saw him I would be filled with joy and excitement and when he left I would die a little inside.
You would think an eternity would be...well eternal.
It would be. It dragged on before I met him.
Then it changed.
For a single hour every six months I would see him.
I did not know when nor where. That was to never be broken. It was the rule of our relationship.
So one day, as I sat in the cafe with the kindly waiter taking my order, I was confused to see him again.
It wasn't time.
He was breaking the rules.
It was then, as the waiter dropped a steaming cup of coffee before me that I realized what it meant.
Our time was coming to an end. This was it.
I was to be alone once more.
An eternity awaited.
An eternity.
For that moment it didn't matter.
Just one moment.
That's all I need.
| 2015-05-03T03:06:45 | 2015-05-03T03:04:59 | 341 | 114 |
[WP] Everyone on their 18th birthday have a dream and they must pick between the red or the blue pill. These pills effect your future in drastic ways. You on the other hand decide to walk the opposite way and find a green pill. You are the first to take the green pill.
|
I was casually walking down a rather boring looking alley.
It was boring because of the simple fact that it was a perfectly normal alleyway in what was otherwise supposed to be an extraordinary dream. Dull shades of beige and grey colored the endless rows of buildings, stretching as far as one would expect an endless alleyway to stretch.
As I wandered through the alley, I remarked on the more interesting places I could be. The gym, my room, the criminal reintegration facility, or maybe the coffee-shop. Anywhere but here. But it was my 18th birthday, and so, much like standardized testing, it was something I simply could not escape.
I had been walking for quite a while when I came across a table. Two little boxes that looked like they would better suit wedding rings sat on the left and right sides, housing two pills that were red and blue respectively.
Ah, the famed red and blue pill, I thought. It wasn't all that glamorous, certainly not as much as it was hyped up on the nets. It didn't have the mystical ambiance other people had described, and in my opinion the velvet casing that housed the two pills needed a little more *pizzazz* to them.
I approached the two pills. The space behind the table had a distinct lack of old men, until the moment where it didn't. Where before there wasn't an old man there was now was, standing behind the table in front of me. "Hello young man... I would like to offer you a choice," the old man rasped out.
Our eyes locked together, I knew this was the moment when I had to say something exceptionally intelligent.
"What?"
The old man seemed to take my response as cause to continue. "It is all very simple... You shall make a decision between the red or blue pill."
The old man gestured to the red pill. "The red pill will empower your tenacity... It will provide strength in times of need, and willpower in times of stress. Whenever the light seems dim and the path is cloudy, you will find solace in your inner power."
I let out a grunt of confusion. "Eh?" The old man ignored me.
"The blue pill..." he gestured as such, "...will empower your internal self. It will allow you to find inner peace. No matter the torment thrown your way, no matter how often you are insulted or degraded or thrown into the dirt, you will always be able to get back up, and find your way through wisdom and reflection."
The old man spread out his arms. "So... what do you choose? You have all the time in the world to decide."
I frowned. "Well, I'm sorry to say, I didn't really understand what you said at all." I scratched the back of my head before turning around. "I don't feel like waiting all eternity to make sense of that, so I'll be leaving now."
"What? You can't do that!" he protested before dissolving into nothingness.
Nonplussed by the sudden and brutal demise of the old man, I began walking into another direction. That is, the only other direction, since I was still in an alleyway.
I continued walking for quite awhile before encountering a quaint looking coffee-shop. A sudden crave for caffeine hit me. I *was* in desperate need for a cup of joe, even if I was in a dream and was currently asleep. I decided to enter despite the depressing lack of old men or anyone else at all.
I walked up to the main counter of the shop, hoping I could climb over and make some coffee myself, when I came across a sight that frustrated me something awful.
"Not another one of these..." I muttered, glancing over at the single velvet box in front of me. On it sat... a green pill? I had never heard of anything like it, no one had ever told me about a *green pill...*
I stared at it for a long while. Something clicked inside of my head. I picked up the green pill, appraising it carefully. I had never had anything against the color green, it looked nice and it wasn't red or blue.
Out of sheer impulse I popped it into my mouth. I began coughing and felt a peculiar sensation in my stomach. Suddenly, as if taking the pill had triggered something, I felt the world around me begin to rumble and fall apart.
The rumbling stopped, revealing bright blue sky all around me, with a thin sliver of land supporting me from below. A light beamed downwards from above, accompanied by a booming voice that seemed to fill the room.
**"YOU HAVE CHOSEN WELL CITIZEN. YOU HAVE CHOSEN THE-"** The voice abruptly stopped. **"What? He chose the what pill? ...Did we even manufacture that one? Did this man just swallow some random pill he found in a coffee-shop?"** I tilted my head in confusion. What was going on here? Was I not supposed to swallow the green pill?
The Voice Above cleared its throat. **"Yes, yes, right. I don't think we actually had anything planned for a green pill... so, you're free to go then!"**
"Free?!" I yelled as for the Voice Above to hear me.
**"Ah yes, we'll just be annihilating your entire body. We're terribly, terribly sorry. We're just so busy and we really don't feel like sorting this out. "**
"What? You can't do that!" I protested as I dissolved into nothingness.
|
The Politician [part 1]
"Welcome to the choosing."
"Huh, looks nicer then I expected."
It was a large white room with fountains in the corners, and a few potted plants and a nice chair to sit in.
"Your memories of what pill does what, and what pill you chose will be erased afterwords. You will only know so you can choose. This is just a precaution so you won't tell others."
"Seems fair." I replied
"The red pill, also known as power, will make it easier for you to gain physical strength fron exercise. On the other hand, the blue pill will help with knowledge, making you learn faster."
"Okay, let me have some time to think."
I turned around and saw a door. I slowly walked over and turned the doorknob.
"Don't go in there!" I heard from behind me.
But it was too late. I had already gone through and saw a green pill sitting in a jar. I took it.
"Huh, I don't remember which pill I chose" I thought as I woke up. I didn't feel any difference, so I wasn't sure if it worked or not.
In my next few years I went to college, and became a local politician. With the first few laws I attempted to get passed, they all were. I was going to experiment with this more later.
| 2019-03-05T22:02:50 | 2019-03-05T20:43:42 | 37 | 14 |
[WP]: The most sought woman in the town has announced that she will marry whoever can open her door with the key around her cats neck. Many have tried to catch, trap and hunt down the cat, who always escapes. You are the first to figure out they've all been doing this all wrong.
|
I never understood why everyone in the village chased after Anna.
Sure. She was kind, in her mid twenties, never had a serious relationship before, gorgeous, outgoing, bubbly, sweet, courageous, honest, forgiving-
I'm starting to see it now
Being in love with Anna seemed to be a thing for all the men in town. In fact, most of my friends, especially my female friends, didn't believe me whenever I said that I had no feelings for the woman.
Most people in my town would kill to be Anna's next door neighbor. I'm not sure if she should be happy, or upset that the only man in town who wasn't head over heels for her, me, was her neighbor.
We've interacted before, but I really wouldn't call us anything more than neighbors. Even friends might be a stretch, seeing as how we only react on occasion. Like when her guests park their cars in front of my house, or her dog gets onto my yard.
In all honesty, she's not the best neighbor out there.
I mean, she's far from the worse, and I guess I'm the only one who isn't fond of seeing her half naked through her curtainless windows every morning. But she could just be more, considerate, you know?
During our occasional friendly chats, it's kind of like she expects me to start flirting with her. I guess that if I were in her shoes, having been chased after since day one of moving here, I would've expected the same. But I wouldn't be.. as pushy about as she is.
One time, I was having a barbacue, I even invited a few close friends over for the occasion. Anna poked her head over the fence, I think she was putting her dog out. "Watcha doing?" She asked me.
"Just cooking some hotdogs" I would answer. Despite her obvious attempts at subtly trying to convince me to invite her over, I would ignore them, and carry on with my day. I wasn't being rude about it. I wasn't trying to, at least.
I think it really started being annoying after she put that damn sign on her front step. The sign that said the first one to catch her stupid cat with the key around it's neck would get to marry her. What was she, eight?
Plus, she was practically giving out her housekey to random strangers. Is that stupid, or is it just me?
Ever since, crowds have been gathering in front of her house ever since. Waiting for the cat to come out of the cat flap on her front door, waiting for their chance to marry her. One day, I had just enough of the strangers parking their cars in front of my home for hours, talking loudly just outside as I attempted to sleep, or watch TV.
So I let my dog out. Not the cute, cuddly one that never barks. The mean, biting one that is practically lives downstairs at this point.
I remember letting my dog back inside after it chased off all the strangers, Anna looking at me with curious eyes through her window into mine.
I closed the blinds.
You know, I always noticed a single flaw with her instructions. The sign said, "I will marry the one to open my front door", nothing about the winner HAVING to use a key.
One day, my friends and I were all off from work. So to celebrate this rare occasion, I hosted a movie night.
Just me, Triss, Emery, John and Peter. My four closest friends, nobody else.
Peter and John arrived the latest, already bickering about Anna the moment they stepped through the door.
"Can we just agree that the three of you are obsessed with Anna, and move on?" Emery asked.
"The three of us?" I questioned.
"Oh, don't start with this again" Triss rolled her eyes. "We all know that you, and every other man in this town are in love with her. Half the women, too!"
I groaned. "If I cared that much, that door would be open by now" I shot back.
The four of them looked at me smugly. "Prove it" they all seemed to say at once.
I hated having to prove that I wasn't obsessed with Anna simply because I was male. So I plucked Triss's hairpin from her hair, ("Hey!"), and stomped outside.
The four of them watched from my living room window as I walked onto Anna's front deck. The lock on her door was old, rusty, and extremely easy to pick.
The door flew open with ease, letting the cool night air enter Anna's home. I turned on my heel and walked back towards my home, my friends watching from my window with open mouths.
As I crossed the street, I heard footsteps running down Anna's stairs. Whoops, I probably should've closed her door again. "Wait!" She called after me.
But she was too late, as she called out, I slammed my door, locking it shut.
"Now that you all know full well that I don't care about that damn woman, can we get back to the movie?" I asked.
|
No one had ever seen the cat to which the key was said to be attached. The cat, however, was reputed to be black in color and matched the sable-haired woman's own natural curls. The two, black cat and sable-haired woman, were literally inseparable and yet no one had seen even so much as a hair of the cat's, a few claimed barely to have seen its shadow. The woman would oft repeat to her wooers the promise: If you can ever catch the cat without me, she will surely be yours and then so will I. And yet this enigma was hard to resolve, for the cat was clearly exceedingly attached to her, and yet the woman took great pains never to have her cat exposed to the public. "If I keep my cat hidden it is precisely because I am so attached to it, so attached to it that it if ever somone were able to unlock the secret of obtaining its key then they would in that instant most willingly already have me," she said.
| 2019-05-01T16:43:34 | 2019-05-01T16:16:29 | 58 | 20 |
[WP] You arrive in the year 1000, and all you have are the clothes on your back, a laptop with the entire Wikipedia library, and a solar charger.
|
The man wore a smile that unnerved her. His strange dress pointed to the that he wasn't from here as was his willingness to approach a strange woman in public. She lifted the large clay pot that served as her basket and continued back to the homestead she calls home. She started walking down the path from the village market when she heard a voice call for her, far too close for comfort.
"As-salamu Alaykum" The voice called out in a poor imitation for Arabic. She did her best to ignore it. If her father was with her, then the stranger would be reproached for his carelessness. But he wasn't there, just her and her younger brother. She kept trying to walk, ignoring his call, however, he repeated it louder and continued following her path. She forced herself to turn to him while calling for her brother. The youth came speeding to her side. Here was a young man and her supposed protector was just an adolescent.
The stranger placed his hand on his chest and said "Jibril" aloud. He repeated the gesture and stood there with a look of anticipation on his face.
"Is something wrong with him?" her brother said in a hushed tone.
"He obviously cannot speak our language. Why else would he approach us like this?"
He stood there, still. The warm smile began to turn to disappointment or even worry. He grabbed a stick from nearby causing the brother to leap in front of his sister. The man simply shook his head and proceeded to make etchings into the ground. He drew a cross gesturing to himself and continued writing in a script she recognized as Latin alphabet but couldn't understand what he wrote.
"Is it witchcraft?"
She could only responded to her brother's comment by slapping him in the back of his head. He was going to respond in kind when the stick was moved to separate them. He pointed to the ground where mathematical formulas and geometric patterns were found. This may as well be in a foreign language to her: though she recognized the hindi-arabic numerals, the operations weren't known to her or her brother.
By now another man had taken interest in their affair. He was a merchant from the city that worked one of the stalls buying and selling produce to bring back to his clients. He was yelling something about not having respect for women when he saw the etchings on the ground. He recognized them as proofs and as fairly simple algebraic expressions. He was surprised to see this out in a more rural setting and immediately went about interrogating him.
"He doesn't understand" She said. "His name is Jibril"
The merchant dismissed her and her brother while he took an arm and placed it around the stranger's shoulders. The two men walked away but the stranger's gaze was firmly fixed on her as they went their separate ways. Her father was absolutely livid when her brother told him of their curious encounter. "Murjan, this is why you have so few suitors" he went on. He waxed and waned for the rest of the day detailing the potential dangers of the encounter, the depravity of the times, and the ignorance of the Christians ignoring the fact that his brother actually married a Christian. Thinking about the image that would be her father's face if she told him about her lingering curiosity, she could barely contain her snickers and laughter. However, she decided that her amusement wasn't worth it and simply agreed with her father to keep the peace. Life returned to routine and soon the stranger turned into an odd but favorable memory.
The merchant was looking for an assistant for his shop. He dealt mostly with agricultural goods produced by Seville's hinterland but he also dealt in more exotic products. Silks, dyes, perfumes, jewelry, and other luxuries could be procured from his shop or he could procure them for you. His shop had seen an upswing and so he wanted the extra help especially from this curiosity. Cyprian T. Gabriel, or alternately either Cyp (like Sip) or Gabe, hadn't exactly volunteered for this. Well he did volunteer to help assist in science project dealing with history. Cyp had a passion for history and was completing his M.A. before he was teleported here as a result of the experiment. He came here equipped only with a back pack that served as a solar cell and as the carrying case for the high-tech laptop that kept him company. The solar cell could power the laptop and the laptop had a facsimile of the web at the time of his departure along with several apps.
While he stayed with his new benefactor, Ibn-Hakim, he used his laptop to refresh his memory of Al-Andalus under the Umayyads and what would become the rapidly disintegrating Caliphate of Cordoba in just three decadess. He also began supplementing his cursory language lessons from Hakim with apps on the laptop. He paid his dues by working the shop, running errands, and doing a bit of bookkeeping. Hakim's friends and peers marveled at his discovery and became increasingly curious about the man's nature. He had a tanned complexion so he blended in with many of the native Iberians and the foreign transplants. He even began growing a casual beard to blend in even more so. Cyp himself explained that he was simply from the other side of the world across the "great ocean". He answered a number of questions about his home serving as an pseudo US ambassador to people in the 11th century. Though he never revealed that he was a transplant from a different time, the fantastical stories he told only added to his mystique. He simply explained that he didn't know how he got here but that it must have been the will of God. In a matter of months, he had a rudimentary understanding of Arabic and started accompanying his employer on some of his trips. Soon he was manning stalls on his own. After almost a year of employment, he found himself at the same village market where his journey had begun. He noted the tidy bit of profit that he had accumulated today. He was taking stock of the wares while shouting the prices he would offer for "quality produce". A woman's voice had gained his attention when she said that she had fresh stock from her family's orchard. Raising his head, he could only produce a giddy laugh while a warm smile flashed on his face.
|
I should have prepared more. I didn't though it will work on the first run. And the return mechanism is not ready yet - and never will be now. I do have most of the required knowledge and a good memory of my own plans but even with all that knowledge I'll never be able manufacture, or in that manner, create the machinery to manufacture the delicate and microscopic components of the machine. Not in my life time.
But first I need to ensure the safety of the laptop. I could dig a hole and hide it but the ground is damp and I don't have plastic bags. And it could rain any time.
Anyone interested in part 2?
Edit: Part 2
I'll just hide it under the coat. Damn! My clothes! I don't want to draw attention.. Think think.. Dirt. I'll pretend as a beggar. First I need to get rid of the shoes. I'll dig here.. Shoes are gone, hope nobody ever find them. Now let's get dirty.. Ok but something is missing.. I need to wear the clothes. I'll rub it with this rock. A little hole here and a little rub there. Looking good. Were there socks in that time? Let's check.. There were but not machine knitted and definitely not for beggar status. Off they go.
I'm walking 10 minutes and my feet are already hurt. I'll just rip the bottom part of the coat and wrap it around feet.. It still hurts but a little less.
Ok. I can see the village. I hope the people are nice. But what should I do? I need shelter but I don't have any money. It's probably some silver and gold coins. Lets see... Silver and Cooper also. Wait a minute!!! The silver mine 10 kilometers to the South. When did they found it? Lets see... They found the first nugget only 200 years from now. That is great! I can later go there and look for some nuggets to get me started. For now I'll try to find some shelter and food in exchange for some work they might have for me.
To be continued?
| 2016-12-27T19:54:25 | 2016-12-27T12:31:19 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] When you die you go to a mall where each store represents an afterlife. The karma you've accrued in life is the currency you may spend at each store. You may pick any afterlife according to your taste and your budget.
|
Time did not, strictly speaking, pass in the Bazaar. But humans were creatures of habit, and the constellation of souls passing through the Bazaar found that marking the artificial passage of time helped them adjust to their new surroundings.
So it was that at the crack of dawn, Juanita found herself already in line at the southern outskirts by the Arrival gates, waiting patiently for the new arrivals to pour in. She had lost count of how many mornings like this she had endured, yet the smile persisted on her face. After all, first impressions were everything.
Her turn came quickly enough. A lanky teenager, acne still raging on his skin, stumbled from the mists beyond and collapsed into a heap on the ground. Practiced as she was, Juanita was by his side in a flash.
“What… where am I?”
“We’ll speak more later,” said Juanita warmly, a firm hand already on the small of the boy’s back, gently guiding him away from the Arrival gates.
Juanita led him to one of her favourite spots, a quiet alcove off the beaten track. The air was filling up with the din of humanity as the arrivals started coming in larger and larger numbers. A steady procession from the Arrival gates to the Bazaar was already in progress, but Juanita found from experience that it was more efficient to get the usual questions out of the way.
“Hey,” the boy began, after he had a few minutes to compose himself, “I’m dead already, aren’t I?”
Juanita nodded. “Yes. It’s just a matter now of picking the afterlife you want, which is what you’ll be doing once we get into the Bazaar. Once you’ve made your choice, I’ll guide you to the Departure gates.”
“Any afterlife I want?”
“That depends on what you did with your life back when you were alive. I hope you’ve done more good than bad, the nicer afterlives do cost quite a lot more. Here, your karma’s written on your palm, like so.”
Juanita winced as she saw the figures on the boy’s outstretched palm – he was only a couple of years younger than her, yet he was easily already five, six times richer than she was. With an effort, she shoved her envy aside, and put on the most genuine smile she could muster.
“You must have led quite a virtuous life! It’s rare for one as young as you to have done so much.”
“Are you my guardian angel?”
The pure innocence to the question made Juanita laugh. “No, I’m not. I just haven’t chosen my afterlife, so in the meantime I help guide people like you. Come, let’s find you something you deserve.”
As they entered the Bazaar, the pathway split into five lanes, spread out like the veins in a maple leaf. Each lane was flanked as far as the eye could see with makeshift merchant stalls, and the lanes were thronged with people browsing, bartering, badgering. An electric mood permeated the air as the crowds excitedly contemplated their options.
“Not that way,” said Juanita, pulling on the boy’s arm as he started towards the left-most lane. “You’ve got enough karma for at least the third lane, though perhaps not the fourth or fifth ones. So let’s start there.”
“I guess I should have done more when I was alive then, right?”
“Nonsense, don’t shortchange yourself. As I said, you’ve done a lot of good with the time you had, so be proud of it.”
Encouraged by Juanita’s approving tone, the boy emerged from his shell, sharing at first his conjectures at how he might have passed away (something about drinking too much), what hobbies he hoped to pursue in his afterlife (reading? Or was it sports?), and which friends he hoped to reconnect with some day (Juanita found it impossible to care at that point).
For truth be told, the boy’s words flit past Juanita’s ears, and though she heard him, she did not listen. Her rehearsed geniality, the rote declarations she employed to keep him believing it was still a two-way conversation, were but tools to garner the maximum affection she could in such a short time.
Juanita focused instead on the array of crystal globes blanketing the tables in front of the stalls, explaining to the boy how to hold them up to the light so that he could get a good preview of the afterlife each promised, how to decipher the cryptic price tags on each, how best he could stretch his karma to the fullest.
Smoothly, subtly, Juanita nudged the boy towards an afterlife which best balanced the competing interests of his welfare versus the karma balance he would be left with. When he finally made his purchase, the effervescence she displayed in congratulating him was, for the most part, coming straight from the heart.
By the time they reached the Departure gates, on the far northern ends of the Bazaar, dusk had fallen. Optimistic cheers filled the air as one by one, the satisfied shoppers passed through the gates, holding on firmly to their tickets to the afterlives they had selected.
“Will I see you again?” asked the boy, as the weight of parting bore down on him.
Juanita smiled – it was always a good sign when they professed friendship. “No, but I’m glad to have been able to help you today. You’ve earned your rest, so go in peace.”
“Well, is there anything I can do for you? After all, I wouldn’t be here now if you didn’t help me out today.”
“No, nothing at all. If anything, I’m just sad I couldn’t help you find a better deal back there. All those extra karma you have is not going to be worth anything once you move on.”
A gleam entered the boy’s eye. “Hey, you’re right! Can I pass them on to you? To show my gratitude, that is.”
“I couldn’t accept that! No, it’s too much…”
“Please, I insist, it’s the least I could do. Here, is this how I pass them to you?”
The characteristic tingle coursed through Juanita’s body as the karma was transferred to her name. She waited with bated breath, just in case the transfer was rejected by Those Who Watched, but it seemed that the boy had truly desired to transfer them on his own free will.
Ten minutes after the boy had passed through the gates, Juanita had already forgotten what he looked like.
---
That night, Juanita returned to her alcove, where a few scattered possessions and a tiny box made up what she called home, here on the fringes of the Bazaar.
She tenderly pulled back the blanket covering her box, and her heart warmed as she gazed on the peaceful visage of her son, sleeping blissfully.
Juanita stared down at her palm, which now stood supplemented by the donation from the boy, and took heart in knowing that they were that much closer to affording that afterlife she had been eyeing ever since she had arrived, over a decade ago. Maybe not today, but some day.
Some day.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"Oh, my god. This place, is like, so fab."
"Yah," agreed Angelina.
"So glad we died together."
Stacy and Angelina clasped hands and bounced in place. "Besties-for-ever!" They flipped their hair back and continued to the register.
There, a celestial being greeted them. "Find everything okay?" It asked, leaning on an elbow and oddly lackluster.
"Oh my god yes."
They set down their shopping bags on the counter. The bags were emblazoned with the 'Power unLocker' logo, and pure white light cascaded out of them.
Stacy dug in her purse. "I got flight, and morphing, and omnivision, 'cause I haave to know where Brad Pitt is at all times." She handed the being her platinum member card.
"So good Stacy."
"Angelina got teleportation."
"Mmhmm."
The being had not budged, but only stared at the two, with quite tired eyes for being so celestial and mysterious. "We don't accept credit. Or debit. Or cash."
"Um, okay," said Stacy with a head cock. "Check?"
"No." snapped the spectral clerk. It worked its register with one hand while the other still propped up its weary face. Its eyes shifted lazily to the screen. "Sorry. You can't afford any of those."
"Exca-use me?"
"That's right. Need more karma."
"That's bullshit. That's bullshit Stacy."
The being rolled its eyes. "If you talk to Craig at the directory he can help you score some points as a community spirit."
"Try the card." She set it down in front of it. "It's fucking platinum."
"I just work here ladies."
"That's it. We're going to Jesus."
"Straight to Jesus! You tell him Stacy!"
The being snorted. "The kiosk guy?"
"Ugh." Stacy snatched up her card and she and Angelina marched out. The being watched them go, and gave another eye roll for good measure.
------------
There was Jesus, standing eager with a pamphlet in hand. He wore his classic tunic and sandals. "Salvation!" He waved the pamphlet around, trying to reel in the passer-bys. "Won't find a better deal in the whole mall. Come on people. Listen with your hearts!"
Angelina and Stacy approached, still marching and heated.
"Jesus... you run a kiosk?"
"What the hell?" added Angelina.
Jesus turned to them and opened his pamphlet at eye-level. "You ladies look like a couple of smart shoppers."
"We're not here for your pamphlets Jesus."
Jesus paused and then lowered the pamphlet. He drew closer, glancing in different directions. "Listen," he began in a hushed voice, "this is just a cover. You're looking for last minute karma aren't you?"
Stacy and Angelina looked at each other. They looked back at Jesus and nodded.
"Yah."
"And lots of it."
Jesus checked his surroundings once more. He leaned in, "follow me."
| 2017-02-23T08:17:35 | 2017-02-23T08:05:30 | 258 | 100 |
[WP] "There's no need to apologize for all the warfare, humans weren't built for peace. We should know, we made you. And we made you to fight. Which is actually why we've come to Earth again. It's time for the draft."
|
First contact did not go quite as expected. Brilliantly coloured ships dropped out of the sky unannounced early one morning just off the coast of North Carolina. They were so massive that even the horizon was dwarfed by their presence. The ships were adorned with symbols and runes from cultures all over the world. They floated ominously over the Atlantic, and each hour more ships would slip in from seemingly nowhere. Military leaders from every nation laid down their arms and joined together. Secret meetings were held behind the cover of twenty-four-seven media coverage. If the ships so much as changed light patterns it was covered. After fourty-eight hours with no activity emissaries were sent to attempt contact with the potential invaders. Representatives from every active member of the UN were stationed at the beach in North Carolina. Not far off from these representatives were weapons once unknown to the public but now revealed in a moment of despreation. Weapons so massive and advanced that the nuclear holocaust would have been a gift by comparison. Many called it the diplomatic asterisk.
After fourty-eight hours, the largest ships hull opened up to reveal a much smaller vessel. One that only held a handful of individual creatures. Every camera in the world captured every second of their descent. The creatures were ludicrously tall and gaunt. Hairless and pale, they adorned themselves with revealing robes of dazzling white and gold. The forefront of the group was presumed to be the leader, as it had a collar that stood above its head with gems unknown to any human. Despite their faces being distincty inhuman, their expressions were unmistakable. They looked upon humanity not as conquerers. Not as invaders. Nor as emissaries. They gazed upon humanity as a parent gazes upon a child. While their golden chariot descended from the sky in mere seconds, the world held its collective breath for an eternity. When the raft made conact with the ground; moreso the air a few inches above the ground, the beings stepped off of the craft to reveal their inverted knees. The resemblance to humans was uncanny, though distinct in its own way. Humanity's ambassadors all greeted them in what they agreed would be universally unmistakable. The group collectively bowed, followed by the United States President stepping forward with his arm firmly extended.
Four of the five aliens bowed, while the leader of the group stepped forward to grasp the president's hand. The aliens had remarkably human hands. Hands exactly like that of a humans, in fact. "As president of the United States, it is my honour to welcome you to earth." he spoke. "Truly the pleasure is ours." As the leader of the aliens spoke it became abundantly clear that it was in fact female, not only by the pitch of her voice but the shape of her body. With a wave of his hand, the president gestured for the advanced military units to stand down. "My apologies for the show of power. Standard protocol for foreign entities with unknown motivations." The alien leader covered her mouth as she laughed. "There is no need to apologize for the warfare humans. It is exactly what we created you for." In that instant the hearts of every man woman and child sank. Atheists and theologians alike were dumbfounded, completely incapable of figuring out what to make of the situation. "Created us for?" The president stammered out. "Oh of course my dear." The alien leader brushed her hand lightly across the presidents cheek. "At a time you called me Yawheh. In our tongue, it means mother. Though we've little time for the pleasantries my children. We have need of your combat expertise."
Edit: After challenging myself to write at least one page a day in response to at least one different writing prompt a day it has occurred to me that if I'm gonna do it in thirty minutes (to adhere to my one a day rule) I should at least take the time to make sure the state I picked has a coast! Changing west Virginia to North Carolina.
I appreciate the feedback!
Edit 2: I'm getting a few requests to continue this narrative but I wouldn't know where to post it so everyone can read it. Anyone able to point me in the right direction would be the hero I need but not the one I deserve after the west Virginia fiasco.
Edit 3: With help from u/ImperialArmorBrigade I can fulfill my urge to make others happy and continue this story until everyone gets bored of it. So here's the Google Docs link. I'll respond to pretty much any and all feedback either through email (Which I think you can access on google docs I'm not sure?) or my inbox here.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lEeulHZZLR5WudOMyAP0Hda23aIxuKWznq7-DoJ7tGE/edit?usp=sharing
|
"This is channel 7 News, I'm John Stanley. Tonight's big story - the first pick of the alien gladiatorial draft was tonight.
After some speculation from sport analysis the first pick from our species was projected to be Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson.
Instead, as perhaps the greatest surprise in human history, Supreme Leader of Noth Korea Kim Jung Un was the first pick overall. Perhaps due to the propaganda coming out of North Korea for that last decade of his amazing abilities.
Everyone on earth has decided they are totally fine with his draft based on a false portfolio. We'll be back with the weather right after these brief messages."
| 2018-03-10T22:01:38 | 2018-03-10T20:30:26 | 296 | 85 |
[WP] Your dear pet is ill and as a last resort you summon a demon to heal them. What you did not expect was for the demon to be equally concerned for the wellbeing of the animal before any contract was signed.
|
I did the same thing I did everyday. I woke up, tired and disoriented from another sleepless night. But the sight of sparrow next to me, purring and headbutting me for a pet, was enough to get me going. At least i had her.
The rest of the day was auto pilot. A blur that looked like all the days that had come before it. Like clock work at 530, I walked through the door once again. I kicked off my shoes and bent down like I did everyday. But unlike every day, there was no sparrow running into my open arms. Just silence.
The panic set in even before I knew what I was panicking about. And it only increased when I found her, curled and shaking underneath my bed.
She tried to hide how sick she was, always thinking of me first. She tried to stand and meow but faltered and Colapsed. I couldn't disguise the sob that escaped my lips as she feebly purred and nudged her head in my direction.
My baby. My best friend. My lifeline. I couldn't do this with her, I wasn't that strong. She was so good. So pure. I would give anything to take her pain away.
Before I could think about it, I said the words I swore I would never say
"On my life, on my blood, I summon you to my aid"
For a moment nothing happened and I closed my eyes in defeat as I pulled sparrow in my lap.
"Please I need you"
The plea escaped in desperation.
"It's nice to see you again my darling"
The voice was low and rough and I felt a hand brush against my hair.
Looking up he was exactly as I remember him. Tall and pale and beautiful. A true cliche.
"I know I swore I would never see you again but I need your help. Please"
I didn't look him in the face, I didn't need more pain.
"You can't let her suffer. She's too good for you to do that."
Ari wasted no time bending down and reaching out for sparrow. He picked her up gently, cradling her to his chest.
"I can feel she has a gentle soul, it makes sense that she would attach to you"
He holds her to his chest in a way that speaks of love and respect.
"Hello my sweet. I can see you fighting the pain for your human. Your so strong. Just hold on a moment longer and I promise to set you free."
He layed a single kiss on her head. Then turned to look at me. Out of instinct I went to look away but resistes and looked him in the eye.
"Her body is feeble and old. Even with my power I can't fix that"
His voice was so damn gentle I couldn't help the
tears openly falling from my eyes.
"So I lose her"
I hated the way my voice shook.
"There is something I can do but it will come for a price."
He sounded so sad, so defeated, as he comforted sparrow.
"I'll do anything. Please help her"
I did my best to be strong.
"Come back to me. At least talk to me and I'll save her"
I let out a heavy breath. What he offered was a blessing and a curse. But if that was what it took for more time with sparrow I would take it.
"Save her and we can talk"
I rose from my place to lean against his chest.
In a way it felt like I had never left his chest at all.
"Then we have a bargain"
he lowers his head to kiss my hair and I sighed. Maybe adding him to mine and sparrows space wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
"Close your eyes my heart."
I felt him pull away from me. I heard his footsteps and my window open. I heard him mumble something and a feeble meow followed by a strong one. I heard him singing and felt chills work their way across my body as he released his power.
I heard him approach and this time I didn't pull way when he touched me.
"Open your eyes."
When my eyes part the first thing I see is a kitten in aris arms where sparrow had been.
"Her body wouldn't survive but her spirit would so I Gave her a new body"
Ari gave me a soft smile that always broke my heart and handed the small bundle of fur over to me. The moment the big brown eyes looked at me as the little head pushed against my chest I knew my sparrow was back.
"You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to. I'll let you out of the bargain. You deserve that much. I just miss you"
Ari sounded so defeated that I took a step toward him. I couldn't let him go. For better or for worse he was back and I couldn't help feeling complete as I waked to him and let him wrap me in his arms, hesitantly at first but more confident afterwards. With sparrow between us and my head on his chest, I was ready to face the world.
|
“I’ll miss you buddy, this really hurts.” said the concerned Man while looking over at his dog’s lifeless body. He’d thought about this moment several times, and now it seems it finally happened. This dog had seen him grow up, graduate, and succeed. But none of that mattered now, every feeling was overshadowed by extreme guilt and sadness. Salty tears and whispered words was enough to attract Dark Entities who preyed upon desperate humans looking to make deals.
The cold shadow stood over both Man and Dog quietly observing the spectacle that summoned it. At first, it wanted to harshly rip away the dying animal’s soul and harvest the owner’s negative feelings. “No.” exhaled the figureless shadow while closely looming over the sick animal. It realized this Dog was blind and suffering everyday. The only thing keeping it alive was the owner’s love and affection. It was essentially running on sheer will. Very admirable creature who has a Pure Soul that is worth far more than anything the human can offer.
With just a murmur of it’s cold breath, it raises the Canine to it’s feet and then commands it to play dead.
| 2022-10-31T00:14:33 | 2022-10-30T22:24:44 | 74 | 12 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?"
"I choose Russian Roulette." Ted said without missing a beat.
Death fumbled a moment, the cold fires in his sockets flickering down then sparking back up in a surprised blink. "You can't be serious."
"*Deathly* so." Ted said with a grin at his own pun. "Give me a revolver and a bullet with the power to kill even you. I'll load it, and we go until one of us pops." Ted mimed an explosion with his hands, a grin on his face.
Death's sallow visage tightened as if glaring at the impertinence. "Very well. A bargain is a bargain." With a puff of smoke that smelled of must a six-chamber revolver and a single bullet appeared in Ted's hand. The bullet glowed an ethereal violet.
"Now before you get any bad ideas, Ted, let me tell you that even though cheating is allowed in this game, turning that gun on me and firing will be treated as a forfeiture of the game." Death said warily.
Ted loaded the bullet and spun the chamber with a cocky grin. "Never even occurred to me. A deal's a deal after all. Who starts?" Death offered a wave of his hand towards Ted, who placed the revolver to his temple, pulled the trigger... \*click*. Empty. "Your go, friend." Ted said as he handed the revolver, handle-first, to Death.
Death took the revolver, and put it to his own head with some trepidation. A moment of hesitation, of uncertainty... \*click.* His gaunt frame visibly released from held tension. "So, Ted, why Russian Roulette, of all games?"
Ted took the revolver, placed it to his temple... \*click*. "I figure the best chance I have is, well... chance. I've never been one for chess or other games of strategy, and cards are too easily manipulated. Russian Roulette is simple, raw, and... final." Ted met Death's spectral gaze as he handed the revolver over. "Your go."
Death's hand began to tremble as he lifted the revolver... two in three chance of winning... one in three chance of seeing what happened when he met his OWN grim shepherd... \*click. Death's sigh of relief could be heard echoing off the walls of his sepulcher as he handed the revolver back to Ted. "Fifty-Fifty chance now, Ted."
Ted stared at the revolver a moment, doubt flickering across his face... but he lifted the revolver to his head steadily. "Guess I was going to die anyway..." \*click.
Ted's face split widely into a joyful grin as he handed the revolver back to Death. Death took it gingerly, fearfully. He stared at it, as if not comprehending the reality of the situation. Ted goaded Death victoriously. "Game's not over yet. You going to follow through with it? You could concede if you wanted. Keep the gun, send me back. We both win."
Death looked to the revolver, and the fires in his eyes suddenly blazed hot and bright. "I am **Death**. I am the One Certainty, the only thing in this universe that is consistent and equal. I do not concede, and I do not go back on a deal. ...Congratulations, Ted."
Death held the revolver to his head, ready to fire the sixth and final shot...
\*click*
Death stared at the revolver with relief and confusion and bewilderment all washing across his sunken features in a rush. "I don't... what happened? I don't understand? That was the final chamber. I shouldn't *be* anymore..."
Ted dipped his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, and held the ethereal bullet between two fingers like it was a common cigarette. "Palmed it, friend. Gun's empty. You DID say we could cheat. I honestly thought you'd concede, though."
Death laughed. He broke down into peals of dusty hollow laughter that rang across the voids of eternity. He waved his hand and as Ted disappeared back to reality, the final thing he heard was:
"Get out of here and enjoy your ten years, you cheeky fuck. And NEXT time, it's CHESS."
|
"Then I'll choose Tic Tac Toe!" I said confidently.
Death drew a glowing tic tac toe board suspended in mid air and grew a devilish smile. "Fine, go ahead and start", he said with a whisper of a voice.
An hour passed by, with no moves made. "Are you not going to do anything!?" Death shouted annoyed.
"Nope," I answered satisfied that I had enraged death itself. "Can't lose if you don't play,"
| 2018-03-07T08:25:24 | 2018-03-07T06:43:50 | 192 | 72 |
[WP]: A mad scientist finds a method to shut off what makes us human. Expecting chaos and anarchy, he releases it upon the world. Unfortunately, "being human" was not exactly what he thought it was.
|
README.docx
Author: Will Dalton
If you are reading this, I am dead. Not probably, definitely. After all, the secure encryption on this is tied to my brain. No, not my heart – so they can't incapacitate me with that hellspawn.
But of course, you don't know who I am, or why it matters. I am Will Dalton. My name has been redacted from history. And here is my story.
On October 17, 2071, I was, as a mercenary, offered the sum of one hundred thousand credits by the North American government in order to participate in a project with level ten clearance. The orders: to assassinate Aaron Garcia, better known as Doctor Death. A comically ridiculous name, I know, but hey — I didn't pick it.
Anyway, I was tasked with killing him and stealing a highly dangerous and infectious substance that he had been developing for the past several decades, as the government told me: Tabula, it was called – Latin for "slate," or "tablet." Of course, a hundred thousand credits was quite a sizeable sum for me, enough for a year. Particularly because it was taxation-exempt. Thanks, North American government.
Anyway, fast forward a couple weeks and some two hundred dead people. No, not Garcia – me. Yes, I know, I'm a terrible person, but that's ninety percent of why the government hires me. But that's besides the point. And enter Garcia's laboratory – a rather mundane affair, probably something you would see at the dawn of the century. No advanced particle accelerators or force-field separators… simply a centrifuge, an array of glass beakers – yes, glass, the thing that those old church windows are made of – and some vat. Pipettes, a solution for gel electrophoresis, and a cooling container, bubbling with liquid nitrogen, labeled MILF. No, goddamnit! Sylph! SYLPH. Cortana, I know your speech dictation feature works off previous search history but they sound nothing alike. Not even remotely. Fucking hell, you piece of shit. Sixty years since these things came out and you still can't distinguish basic words apart.
Uh, anyways, sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. MILF. God damnit! S.Y.L.P.H. I have no idea what it stands for, but it looked scary. While I attempted to sample the substance – Garcia came. I shot him – two lethal rounds to the stomach, I don't make a policy of using nonlethal guns – and proceeded to begin analyzing the substance, ignoring his screams of pain. But what he said afterwards – here, let me pull up the audio transcript.
720123-33MilleniumAve-WEDalton.mp3
*static*
"Don't—"
"Just die quietly and let me do my thing, all right?"
"Listen to me."
"Why the hell—"
"Listen. To… Me…"
"I suppose you're bleeding out anyway, so go for it."
"That container has Sylph, the delivery mechanism. The vat – Tabula. Slate, for slate-wiper."
*coughing*
"Yes, I know."
"I conducted live human trials."
"You sick bastard…"
"No, listen! They… I thought they would die. But they did something far more terrifying."
*coughing*
"They ascended."
"What the fuck? Cortana, do you hear this?"
"Yes, I do indeed hear audio that states—"
"Okay, shut up! Garcia. Continue."
"Tabula does not destroy any organ nor any part of the nervous system. No, it targets the human soul. I sought to destroy humanity from its fundamental origin."
"And?"
"What is the human soul?"
"I didn't major in fucking philosophy, you piece of shit. I dropped out of Neuroscience and went straight into the military."
"It is our hatred. It is our sin. It is our greed, our sin, our lust, our wrath. And above all, it is our mortality."
"What?"
"Have you read the Bible?"
"No. I'm atheist."
"Do you know the story of the forbidden fruit? That is the human soul. That first sin, the one that cast us out of Eden, That was what made us, human."
"And when you take that away…"
"Door E3. The code is—"
*cough*
"I have the clearances. Goodbye, Dr. Garcia."
*gunshot*
*static*
What I saw haunted me forever. Six people, evidently mentally unstable, confined in a cage.
*sobs*
Damn it, Cortana!
\disable_emotion_recording
They looked horrified. "End me," I heard. "End me!"
I shot. I emptied my clip at them all.
Nothing happened.
Immortal, transcended. Stupid. Desperate. Perfect and yet so horrifying.
It was then I realized that we are our flaws. That I – my preference for MILFs,
my nicotine addiction, my lying, immoral ass – that is me. And I wouldn't trade that for anything.
So this is it, government. That is why I destroyed all samples of Tabula. This is my final report – and it has no clearance. Citizens of the Internet, do not let the government take your identity, your soul! I will die. That is inevitable: resistance is
death. Freedom, liberty, is dead. But you must fight.
This is Will Dalton, signing out.
EDIT: Just came home and looked at it on PC. Damn, sorry: Reddit Mobile formatting is shit, it should be more readable now. Apologies to anyone who had to suffer through that.
|
Entry 7 since the release of the P0WN3D virus.
Still no lethal after effects, they just look lost. I expected something like kindness or empathy to disapear, leading to mass murders and things like that, it could be fun. I expected love to disapear and all emotional links between individuals collapse. I expected hope to disapear and mass suicide occur. I even expected bad things to disapear and feared an unexpected utopia.
But no, I was wrong when I expected something I hadn't to disapear from mankind, despite all my efforts and cynism I'm still a part of mankind and the only thing that could vanish had to be a part of me.
So what happend ? The ability to create and understand fiction was detroyed by my virus. Outside of my bunker, all those dummies are brainfucked by the last century of mass entertainment medias, they don't understand all those contradictory historical records and legions of researchers are deployed to reconstruct what was the history of the humanity. One day they will try to search the internet and probably do some kind of VCA, yay I successed to kill some guys.
They treat eveyrthing as accurate documentaries, satellites try to find the middle earth and westeros, nobody understand why magic stoped working a week ago, actors are interned for multiple personalities, politician are now honest...
I totally screwed my pandemic apocalypse, next time I'll just lanch my missiles hiddens in the easter isle moais.
| 2016-05-17T07:17:22 | 2016-05-17T02:55:20 | 84 | 18 |
[WP] When someone turns 18, they may use one adjective on themselves boost that part 10 fold. Strong, fast, smart, no one expects your adjective.
|
The Solver
“Good morning, mom. How did you sleep?” I asked coming into the kitchen for breakfast.
“Oh, I slept a little, but to tell you the truth, I was too excited to sleep. It’s your big day, sweetheart. Happy birthday. Have you thought about your gift?”
“Sure have, you’re never going to guess.” I responded with enthusiasm.
“Oh you’re so smart, it’ll probably be that. Intelligence.” She quizzically replied.
“Nope, you’re just going to have to wait for the ceremony to find out. It’s worth the wait.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? I called you off school already so get ready and I will drive you down to the ministry.”
Admittedly, the drive was annoying because my mom couldn’t keep from guessing every thought that popped in her head. I was actually surprised she hadn’t guessed because when she had turned eighteen she chose intuitive. What a nightmare that was growing up. I could never get anything past her. Her frustration at not guessing this, the biggest event of my life, had me excited.
We arrived at the ministry and promptly got checked in. The ministry was a lot less grand than I envisioned. A simple three story limestone exterior housing several small offices. Paper pushers scuttled about rushing with forms to administration offices. The one outstanding feature was the talk double doors where the blessing ceremony took place. They were carved in the runes that endowed us with our adjectives. The current administration and the few prior of my life had lost the translation of them, but they worked without fail.
Being only 10:00am, I hadn’t expected to see such a long line, but Gift Day was a big deal. I mean, getting a mental or physical attribute increased tenfold should be a big deal. I always found it unfortunate that everyone had to choose while we were so young. It’s disappointing watching so many people walking around ten times stronger than an average person. That was the most common adjective, strength. So common that it really didn’t even matter anymore. Who wants to be pigeonholed to a lifetime of heavy labor? Then you had the brains, those who chose intelligence. I at least respected them because those people did so much to advance our society. The drawback saw those people became so involved in mental gymnastics that they often neglected their physical well-being and literally died at their desks prematurely. There’s an ocean of difference between intelligence and wisdom and a lot of young people didn’t yet understand that. I was lucky, my mom encouraged me from a young age to think outside the box when it came to solving problems. Her chosen gift being intuition, she had a knack for always steering me in the right direction. It also made life easier because she made a lot of investment income. Her gut is flawless at identifying a winning deal.
“Good morning. Are you Nathan Deeks?” The small woman asked as she crossed toward me.
“Yes, that’s me.” I replied eagerly.
“Very well, sir. Please follow me to 220 for your briefing. I followed her as she wove through the crowd at an almost run. “Are you keeping up ok? I sometimes forget I chose efficient and have to slow down.” She giggled as I panted an exasperated agreement.
The briefing was short and boring, an extended explanation of the seriousness of my decision, and I was ushered into the grand chamber. Mom was walking to the door just as I got there. “I had a feeling you were just about done.” She chuckled and I was once again reminded how little got past her.
“Mr. Deeks, welcome and to you a happy eighteenth birthday. I trust you are ready and have thought deeply about the word you are about to utter. Am I correct in my assumption?” The admin asked in a serious tone.
“Yes, your honor. I ask to be blessed with,” I paused for dramatic effect and did a quick reevaluation of my choice, “adaptable.” There were several gasps as a light suddenly enveloped me. The mood of the room had changed. What was a common ritual suddenly became complete chaos as the glow ceased.
“Mr. Deeks, what exactly are you trying to pull here? This is by far the most irresponsible choice I have ever seen, not to mention a complete waste of any and all talents you have.” The admin fumed.
My mom just laughed to the point of tears across the room. “Brilliant,” she shrieked. “Absolutely brilliant, Nathan. I am so proud of you.”
“Ma’am, I encourage you you to show some respect. And may I ask, Mr. Deeks, what your mother finds so brilliant about your choice?” His glare shot from her to me.
“Well, your honor,” I straightened with confidence, “suppose I chose strength or intelligence or any number of common single action responses and I found myself in a situation that requires something other than my choice. I would be out of my element and therefore stuck. My choice will allow me to accomplish not only anything my mind conceives, but also any hardship life conjures as well. I can already feel my gift working to explain this present situation
|
Honestly, I was quite surprised that no one had chosen mine before. It would have taken only a slightly above average understanding of the english language.
I guess that's what happens when you leave it up to 18 year olds to decide what they want to be for the rest of their life. You get a bunch of kids with basic superpowers.
I wasn't so dumb however. I planned it since this strange anomaly became a thing less than a year ago. I was perfectly inline for it.
Everyone pestered me about it until the day it happened, and as tradition, stayed up until it was well past the time I was born. Less than a year and it's already been incorporated into human culture.
Well, none of that would matter soon. I would be able to do whatever I wanted.
As I sat there in silence, it finally came time. I proudly declared:
"Omnipotent"
And nothing could stop me.
| 2022-01-02T05:07:09 | 2022-01-02T03:07:10 | 45 | 25 |
[WP] A supposed dragon has given your lord the perfect excuse to take more men for his army and more food to feed them. You, a simple farmer, are surprised to find the dragon injured and hiding out in your barn.
|
"Come on!" I protested. "If you take any more, I won't be able to feed my family!"
"You won't be able to feed your family if the dragon burns everything down!" the captain countered. "Dragons are mindless savages. They will burn your family or eat them without any hesitation. Everyone must do their part to stop that monster. That includes you. Food or men: choose."
I groaned, threw the handful of wheat at his feet, and walked away. He started yelling something at me but I didn't listen. It's not enough that the king taxes me to hell and back. Now, he's forcing me to give nearly all my stockpile. Doubt I'll have enough to left to plant for next harvest without taking out a ridiculous loan. They claim it's to fight off a dragon, but that's bull. Never seen a dragon in my life. Doubt they even exist. And if they do, everything I've heard says they stay far to the north, in the mountains. No reason for them to come this far south.
I shook my head. Won't do any good thinking about this, can't change the tyrant. First things first, I've got to scrounge up some food. Won't let my daughter go hungry, even if I have to starve myself. Maybe there's still a rat or two in the barn, dang cat always did enjoy playing with them more than killing them.
The barn door lock is broken. Dang it, another thing to add to the list. Groaning, I walked inside, turned on the light, and froze. There was a massive golden dragon curled up in my barn. My mind went completely blank as it stared at me.
A minute of silence past as my thoughts raced. They exist! Oh crap, it's going to kill me. Why did I have to insult the captain and the king? Someone please save me!
"Please, help," the dragon spoke.
"You, you, you," I muttered, "you can speak?" I took a closer look at the dragon. Although she was covering, I could see blood running down from one of her legs. Several arrows were sticking out of her wings.
"Please, help me," the dragon said as she collapsed.
I stood there, completely dumbfounded. What should I do? This dragon is the responsible for the increase in taxes. If I turn it in, I might get a sizeable reward. Enough to give my daughter a good future.
I started to run to the captain when a thought crossed my mind. What if they accused me of harboring the dragon? Wouldn't put it past the king. He's never had a good history of rewarding the common folk. The mere fact that the dragon's in my barn would be enough for him.
Perhaps the dragon would be more rewarding. Dragons are said to have huge stores of treasure. And they're obviously not 'mindless savages.' Perhaps it's worth the risk. Certainly won't be able to provide a good future for my daughter as things stand.
I grabbed a few sheets, groaning at the fact that I'll have to rewash them, and walk over to the sleeping dragon. With a grunt, I moved one of its hands. The wound looked bad, but probably not life threating. I applied some herbs to it, rolled up a sheet, and tied it around the leg as tight as I could. Then, I climbed on the dragon, and carefully dug the arrows out of its wings. I retreated to wait.
A couple hours later the dragon started to wake up. "I guess I'm not dead." She looked at her wings and leg. "You treated my wounds. Thank you."
I silently waited in the shadows.
"You can come out, I promise I won't harm you or anyone else."
I cautiously stepped out. "So why are you here? How can you talk? And what happens next?"
The dragon looked straight at me. "Why assume dragons couldn't speak?"
"Well I..."
"You don't need to say anything. I've heard what humans say of us. Aided by the carelessness of a few dragons to be sure, but not true for many of us. We can learn your language just as you can learn others."
I just stood there, unsure of how to respond.
"As for why I'm here, a human snuck into my nest while I was out, took my egg, and gave it to your king. He probably wanted a pet dragon or something. I tried to rescue my egg, but failed." The dragon shed a tear.
"I'm sorry," I tried to comfort her, "I can't imagine how I'd feel if my daughter was taken from me. I just know I'd do anything to get her back."
"As for what now, that's up to you to decide. It will be a couple days before I can fly again. I'm afraid I can't pay you anything for your hospitality."
"But I thought dragons had massive amounts of gold in their caves."
"Sorry, no. We can't eat gold, and it's not comfortable at all. We have absolutely no use for it. I imagine that rumor got started to give your rulers an excuse to collect more of it, as you humans actually value it."
I silently cursed.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Honestly, the only reason I helped you was because I thought you could give me some gold," I confessed. "With all the taxes the king imposes, and now the fact that he stole most of my food, I won't be able to feed my family. I doubted he'd reward me for turning you in, so I figured this was my best bet."
"Your daughter will go hungry?"
I nodded.
"That I might actually be able to help you with. Up north in the mountains there's this fertile valley where some other humans live. You could raise your family there. There's plenty of food, and your safety will be guaranteed."
"There's a human settlement in dragon territory?"
"It works out very well for everyone. Most humans there have fled from war. We dragons provide safety, and from time to time the humans cook us some nice meals."
"So you'll take me and my family there, but let me guess: Only if I help you rescue your egg?"
"Not at all. I'll take you there regardless."
"Why?"
"Long ago, a human saved the life of a dragon, despite having many reasons to hate the dragon. Later, the dragon saved her life. The two grew as friends. She believed in a future where humans and dragons lived together, and they worked to reach that dream. I agree with them. This village is merely one thing they've tried."
"And it doesn't bother you that I only helped out of selfish desires?"
"The desire to save your family isn't selfish. I wouldn't be following their example if I held that against you, or even if I hated that human who stole my egg."
"I think I'd like that too. Rest up a couple days. I'll figure out some way to get your egg back."
|
Marlow sighed heavily as he walked to his barn to begun his day. The news he received the previous day hurt. He would have to work harder to provide more food to the area lord and his army. This meant less time with his family and less food for his village. Another sigh blew out of him as Marlow pulled open the large doors. He stopped, brain going blank, as he stared into a pair of emerald green eyes.
"I don't mean any harm." Said the blue scaled dragon laying in Marlow's barn. It had several missing scales and large cuts along its body and wings.
"Are you going to eat me?" Marlow asked.
"That is included in harm, so no." The dragon half sorted black and white smoke from its nose.
"Drats," Marlow cursed. "It's because of you I have to work harder to provide for my family and that idiot lord." He snapped at the dragon, walking into the barn and closing the for behind him.
"I have done nothing to these lands, maybe take a sheep or two or a cow." The dragon shrugged, wincing in pain. "This lord of yours is causing me trouble. He barged into my den wanting to steal gold."
"Did you give it to him?" Marlow asked.
"No. I don't keep my treasure where I sleep. I'm not dumb like some of my other kin." The dragon sniffed, looking offended.
"Well, if it were me, I would find a new den. Maybe with you gone, he will get this dragon hunting idea out of his head and leave us farmers be."
The dragon was quiet and watched the farmer for a moment. His eyes widened as the farmer spread healing salve on the wounds and bandaged them as best he could. The dragon looked aside, wondering if the father was right and that being near any sort of human village would cause harm. The dragon closed its eyes, a single, sparkling diamond falling to the ground.
"Are you crying? Did I hurt you?" Marlow asked, concerned.
"No, I'm sorry I've cause you and everyone trouble." The dragon sniffed, voice cracking.
"It's ok, this is farm life, lots of happy times, sad times and troubling times all mixed up into a passion we love." Marlow patted an undamaged scale. "You stay here and heal, then be on your way."
The dragon nodded, sniffling.
~~~~~~~~
Marlow wiped his brow in the warm evening sun. He spotted River running up to him with a basket and flask. Marlow see down his hoe and greeted the girl.
"I'm guessing dinner is ready?" He asked taking the flask from her and taking a big gulp of water.
"Yes, Flora said to hurry up. She doesn't want you out in the heat much longer now that the lord had taken back his demand of more food." River smiled.
"I'm sure being persuaded with massive flooding from the local water dragon helped his decision." Marlow grinned.
River smiled back at him, her emerald green eyes sparkling like the single blue, slightly scared, scale on her left shoulder. They turned back to the cabin, walking and talking with one another about the next season of crops that should be planted and the new cows that were just born.
| 2018-07-02T09:23:56 | 2018-07-02T08:16:03 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again."
|
And I did. Every night, by the silver of the moon, I would come back to his lair and fight.
"You never asked my name."
I huffed, face red as the sword grew heavier.
"I do not see the point in knowing the name of my enemy." I lean hard against the wall.
"Bwuahahhah!" Guffawed the dragon. "I like your spirit. Come, have at thee!"
Unable to suppress a grin, I charged at him recklessly-
"Bah!" I jolted upright. The sun grated against my eyes, and I did not bother closing them again. Father lumbered over me, hunched down, his gruff beard masking his unintentional second sleep. I reached out slowly from the creaking bed...
"Uuuhhh... and where... Do you think you're going?" He slurred and swung himself erratically, hitting the bed and knocking himself out cold. I push myself off the bed and take care closing the door. I took one look at the breakfast table he set. Leather gloves and a stocky axe, and got to making breakfast. A golden runny yolk, parsley from the fields, and finished with warmly toasted potatoes.
I smacked my lips. Then got smacked from behind.
"What is the meaning of this?" Father mumbled disapprovingly, sitting down at the table. "I didn't raise a chef!"
He took a bite of the eggs.
"A damn good one too..." He muttered, his 'whispering' in fact audible grunts he would realize, had the passage of time not taken a toll on his weathered hearing.
"Probably from all the warcries..." I murmured to myself. Now that's a whisper.
"For today's training", he continued, mouth choke full of potatoes. "We'll get that swing of yours straightened right up. You wobble like jelly just holding an axe, imagine actually facing down the rest of the beasts! Don't get cocky boy..."
I mouthed the rest. "As much as I'm proud you took down one dragon, your task isn't complete until your clear the cave! After you found out there were more than one-"
I gave him my best confident assuring grin
"... yeah yeah I get it father. I'll be practicing our drills out back."
"You already look like you wet your pants."
Guess I have to work on that grin.
I walked out back, the sturdy tree standing firm and tall as always. I reached my hand into the slight groove, the light pricking of splinters brushing against my hand.
"This hole", Father walked back out and stuck two pudgy fingers into the groove. "Is the result of your 3 weeks of practice."
He looked at me incredulously. I began to work up a smile.
"This is shit!"
He took the axe and slammed it deep into the trunk, the entire tree shuddering at the impact. He yanked twice and pulled the axe out, revealing a hole twice as large.
I began to work up a frown.
"How in the hell did this happen. Did I not feed you enough carrots? Honestly, I'm surprised you took down even one dragon! Was it a baby?"
He paused.
"You know smashing eggs don't count right?"
"FATHER!"
"I'm just checking. Besides, there is no honour in killing the meek and defenceless."
"Which I didn't do. I slayed a honest to God full grown dragon. Promise."
_Later on..._
"You're a terrible lair."
"I know." I looked down at the puddle forming on the cave floor.
"You could have lied you know. Say you beat me, no one would dare to check anyways."
"It doesn't feel earned!" I protested.
The dragon sighed in it's usual corner, uncurling it's scaly body in a idle stretch, before shrinking back to it's humanoid form.
"It's better for me to take you on at full strength..." I whispered. under my breath
"You aren't very subtle, you know? Or quiet for that matter." He tilted his head quizzingly
"And why do you keep talking to yourself like that? Very strange indeed, especially for a warrior type."
"To be honest, I don't think I am a warrior type."
"Ahh, and why's that?"
"Fighting, this so called sense of commadery, crude jests and loud obnoxious laughter. Talk of blood, gore because that's what they think everyone else wants to hear."
"But what of the culture?" I mourned. "What of talks of peace, quiet moments by the fire, ones sense of self?"
The dragons eyes gave nothing away, and I felt out of place lamenting to an enemy, much less a dragon.
I grasped the sword, somehow trembling even more than the day before.
The dragon made no motion to counter.
I dropped the weapon. "Do you have a name?"
"Aluneth. And yours?"
"Joel."
|
After losing several times, you digure out a way to fight back. But you needed time to train for it. You abandoned your tribe, you told the dragon your plan. The dragon told you to take all the time you need.
You return back to the cave, after months of gruelling training. Months of your hands hurting, your brain felt like it killed yoi and the countless humiliations you faced. But know you have what it takes to defeat this dragon.
You approached the cave, as you held up your lute and started singing your song. For now, you are bard. And you'll lay down this dragon to sleep, or lay down with the dragon itself.
Either way, you've won.
| 2020-12-01T05:23:56 | 2020-12-01T05:13:15 | 48 | 33 |
[WP] You have the ability to know a lie when you hear it, and to know the truth when lied to. Society appoints you to a high judiciary position, but there's nobody to check if YOU'RE lying when you decide justice. Which case do you remember most?
Edit: Hi, guys! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who visited or pitched in, this got way more attention than I expected and was a lot of fun! Looking forward to more, keep up the good work everyone!
|
######[](#dropcap)
The bitter stench of Lana's death still coats my throat.
I can still see her smile, the dimple in her cheek every time I said something funny, the tiniest quirk upwards of her lips whenever she was trying not to laugh.
Gosh, I wish we could just help those people, she said once, her eyes glued to the television. I was cooking eggs at the time, and I plated them before turning to see what she was talking about. On the screen, the protestors raised their signs and asked for justice for their loved ones. And the president said that the shooting wasn't on his orders. That the person who had been responsible had been fired.
Two lies in quick succession.
At that time, she hadn't known about my ability. My mother had told me that having power was a dangerous thing, and to never tell anyone about my own. People will use you, she said. They will run you under a microscope and lock you up like a lab rat.
That message has stayed with me ever since.
I never figured out how I knew people were lying. But, five years into our relationship, I finally told Lana my biggest secret. Instead of running away screaming, she thought it was the most amusing thing. She would say all sorts of tiny lies, like what shade of lipstick she was wearing that day--pink when it was really lilac--and force me to guess if she was lying. And every time after, she would laugh, her voice like the clear tinkle of wind chimes.
And she would ask me when I planned on using my ability for good. To help the world in a way that no one else could.
I always put it off. Later, I would tell her, then kiss her on the forehead as if I was placating a child. And I was placating her, because I had no intention of using it to do anything. My dream was to live a simple life with her, have some children of our own, and to live peacefully. That was all.
And it should have been all.
Except I can still hear the ringing of the telephone that day that felt so ominous. I had looked at the unknown number for a while before deciding to pick up.
Hello?
Hi, Mr. Lancaster. Lana Smith listed you as her emergency contact, and we're calling you because she's currently in the hospital...
I couldn't hear the rest over the buzzing in my head, the pen in my hand blurring as I wrote down the hospital's address. I couldn't even remember when I had gotten the pen and paper.
The hospital. I needed to get to the hospital.
The drive was short, almost shorter than I'd believed possible, just ten minutes from my apartment running through red lights to get there, but it was already too late.
A man--a boy--was sitting there, his face in his hands. He walked up to me when he saw me, his face contorted into an expression of regret. "I didn't mean to hit her. I'm sorry, dude," he said. He had sandy blonde hair and neon shorts. He looked just twenty. A frat boy.
Two lies.
I wanted to hit him, to smack him then and there, but I held it in. I didn't have the effort to even consider why he had lied. To consider why he might have wanted to kill her on purpose. Maybe he was a scorned lover, maybe her attendance at the protests had pissed off his father. I didn't know, and I didn't care. I wanted him dead.
He went to court. His rich politician daddy got him off easy, and I watched in the back of the booth as he cried snake tears for a jury that took it all in like rats snorting sugar.
For the first time in my life, I felt an anger unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I saw red. I was going to kill that man. It was several moments later before I came to my senses, face pressed against the floor with the security officer's knee in my back.
Apparently I had tried to attack the boy. I didn't remember it. They let me go because "they understood."
And for the next ten years, I made it my life's mission to become *the* judge for all cases. So no one would ever have to go through what I went through again. I took down corrupt politicians. I solved murder cases at the drop of a hat. I was praised and glorified by the world. For ten years, it was just me in that courtroom, and a scribe to take down the decisions. No jury needed. Each case solved in half an hour or less.
And yet I felt empty inside. Like something had gnawed away my heart, and all that was left was an empty shell.
But maybe God felt sorry for me, because ten years later, I am left staring at the boy who has turned into a man. The sandy blonde hair still remains. And the neon shorts still remain.
He sits in front of me today accused for being involved in a drug ring.
He only bought drugs, he says. He has no idea that he was involved and that he was a drug mule, despite carting over a thousand pounds of cocaine over the course of several years.
There's a glint in his eye as he tells the story, and I know what it is. Because he's telling the truth. So he knows he'll get off. The punishment would be severe--fifty years for the number of lives he's supposedly ruined--but he won't receive it. And so he smiles as he tells his story.
The bitter taste on my tongue grows stronger, and I remember Lana's pale face as she lies on the hospital bed, lifeless. I remember the way her mother falls to my feet, unable to breathe for her choking sobs.
I remember her smile, begging me to use my ability to do good in the world. For her, she pleaded, her eyes wide and hands clasped together. Her bottom lip jutting forward into a pout.
He's guilty, I tell the scribe, expressionless.
He's my last case for the day, so I shrug off the black robes and set them down.
And then I walk out of that courtroom and hand in my letter of resignation.
For ten years, I had vowed to myself, for Lana, to tell the truth in return for the people who brought me their truths. I had vowed to use this power for nothing but good. Today, I broke that vow. For her, and because of her.
And I hope, wherever she is, that she'll forgive me for that.
*****
r/AlannaWu
You'll probably like my short series, The Immortal and the Time Traveller, if you liked this!
|
Judiciary: You want to know about which case I remember most huh? \[chuckles\]
Interviewer: Yes, you've served for almost 80 years now, no doubt you probably have hundred of stories. \[inaudible\]
Judiciary: Okay, \[laughs\] here's one that's stuck with me in my mind \[sic\], I'll let you guess when it was.
Interviewer: \[whispers inaudibly\]
Judiciary: \[whispers inaudibly\] The trial seemed simple enough. It was a case of what was very clearly manslaughter. The accused went to the stand. It was a really sad case. It was the kind of case that sticks with you, in your mind. A teenager was accused of killing their friend. It was horrible really. It was open shut though. The victim had \[inaudible\] their friend to help them kill themselves, but it became unclear if the victim had still wanted to be killed, the accused was aware of the ambiguity and still went through with it.
It was very \[inaudible\]. I had asked them if they were aware of the possibility that \[inaudible\] and they said no. I could tell it was a lie. Open shut.
I had lowered the charge from \[inaudible\].
Interviewer: What could make you do that! You said it was \[inaudible\]!
Judiciary: It was the next question I asked which made me want to lower it. I asked them if they would ever betray their friend, I asked them if they loved their friend, I asked if they would ever do something they didn't think was best for their friend. I am not sure what wording I used, but it was something like that. I may not remember what question it was but the answer was clear.
They said they would do something that would hurt their friend. They said that. To anyone else this was open shut. To me, I lowered the charge. Even in this moment, they were trying to protect the friend from *something*, although I am no longer as sure what it could be. That is why I lowered the charge. I knew the one thing I could be certain of, for whatever reason, that the guilt of having to make that call affected them far more profoundly than \[inaudible\].
Interviewer: Do you do that kind of thing often?
Judiciary: As often as people lie about loving someone else in a courtroom, or as often as \[inaudible\].
*The audio for which this transcript was based had not been saved properly and much of the dialogue was left inaudible. The transcriber would like to apologize for any inconvenience.*
| 2018-05-15T20:51:56 | 2018-05-15T20:44:11 | 5,411 | 39 |
[WP] You are a high school student that's secretly the author of a best-seller sci-fi/fantasy novel based on your real-life adventures involving aliens, magic, time traveling, etc. Your English teacher is having the class read your book and he's getting everything wrong.
|
"I read it last year," Jamie Fisher bragged, "Right after it came out. I have the hardback at home. I didn't really *need* to read it again, but it's so good -ya know?"
"I know," Mikey Hopkins said as he bobbed his head like a marionette, "I can't believe Mrs. Pritchard picked such a cool book."
Secretly, I wanted to smile. To join in the conversation. I kept quiet, though, and pretended to be reading my notes. The page was blank. I really didn't need to study.
Jamie Fisher thought owning a hardback *Nephilim Protocol* by Jack Byzantine made him an expert? Owning a first edition was nothing. I owned the first draft as well as the second and the third including the reams of proofreading notes from the editors at my publishing house. They tried to talk me out of using a pen name. Or, at the very least, pick a realistic sounding name.
I swear, publishing houses can rob the fun out of anything.
"All right," I heard Mrs. Pritchard say as she entered the class, "Settle down everyone. We have a lot to go over. Now, did everyone finish reading the book?"
There were murmurs of assent. I didn't join in. Why bother reading it? I had an intimate knowledge of the story that went way beyond reading. Way beyond writing in fact. If only they knew where I drew my quote *inspiration* unquote from.
"Now," Mrs. Pritchard said as I heard chalk squeaking along the chalkboard, "Let's begin by discussing the opening of the book. Our protagonist, Jacob Elroy, is riding a bicycle in a forest. Why is that?"
Because it's the shortest way to my house, I wanted to say.
"Because he's lost," someone from the back said. Carol Ledger I think.
I wanted to laugh.
"Excellent!" Mrs. Pritchard beamed. *Excellent?*
"The woods represent the protagonist's leaving all that is known and venturing into the unknown," she went on, "Note that he is riding a bicycle. Why is that?"
*Because it is three and a half miles and I didn't feel like walking it.*
"Because it is a primitive machine," Carol said, speaking up again.
"Exactly!" Mrs. Pritchard said, "When the aliens abduct him a moment later in their futuristic craft it contrasts how primitive we are with our own transportation."
Now that was just plain silly. Aliens loved bicycles. In fact, they marveled at how quickly in our development humans had developed such an efficient machine. In my original draft I had even included a scene with some of the turtle shelled H'vornak riding around their spaceship on 3D printed models of my bike. But my editor made me trim it out. He wanted me to focus more on the human-hybrids.
"The Nephilm!" Mrs. Pritchard said, as if reading my mind, "What can we say about them? Hmm? The half-human and half-alien hybrids."
I sat up straighter now and smiled. Okay, now this part there should be no way they miss the significance. I mean, I spelled it right out for them.
Inter-stellar war. The von Neumann like race of intelligent machines known as The Arc. Except the Arc infected living creatures. Twisted them around and turned them into machines. Microscopic robots that flew throughout the universe infecting host after host. So small they were almost impossible to detect. Infecting entire ships and causing them to turn on one another as shipmates turned into enemies before your eyes. The Arc had been expanding outwards in the galaxy, driving all other species back. Until the Arc found a tiny blue world. A world where the one species the Arc could not infect happened to live.
The Nephilim were experiments in trying to graft the human resistance to machine infection into the other alien hosts.
"Yes Jenny?" Mrs. Pritchard said as she pointed to a student.
"Well . . . aren't Nephilim in the Bible?" Jenny asked, "Half angels?"
"Very good!" Mrs. Pritchard agreed with a smile, "A race born of evil. What does this tell us about our protagonist?"
"That even though he thinks he is on the good side, he's actually helping abominations born of evil!"
"Yes!" Mrs. Pritchard was practically crowing now as she sketched out points on the board, "And how do we know this?"
"Because he's trying to undermine the Ferrymen!" Carter Spense yelled from the back of the room.
"Right," Mrs. Pritchard said nodding, "They provide all the transportation that unites the galaxy!"
I wanted to scream. The Ferrymen? They Ferrymen were a guild who had maintained a stranglehold on hyperdrive technology throughout the galaxy! No one could move anywhere off planet without the Ferrymen's permission. Even warships were really just converted Ferries that required a Ferryman pilots.
Part of the reason the Arc invasion was so devastating, in fact, was because the Ferrymen charged such exorbitant fees to evacuate people - fees that must be paid in advance naturally - that many species were forced to stand idle as their race was consumed from the inside out. Even with human genetic resistance, the battle would have been lost if not for the fact that a damaged Ferry had lost a Quintium Memory Stack. An symbiotic AI that Ferrymen used to navigate the shifting landscape of Overspace. That memory stack had fallen to Earth and landed in a forest. A forest less than a mile from where I now sat! I had wrecked my bike and been sent tumbling through the woods. My head had struck something. I thought it was a rock. But the rock started slithering and moving. It reached for me and-
"Now," Mrs. Pritchard went on, "The Nephilim are secretly trying to build a low cost alternative hyperdrive that even primitive cultures can construct. A grassroots campaign to subvert the Ferrymen. Now, Jacob Elroy bonds with an alien computer. A computer that starts calling itself Jacobi and only Elroy can hear it and it has the designs for the Ferrymen Overdrive. What does Jacobi represent?"
"Jacob's good conscience!" someone yelled, "The Angel!"
"Correct," Mrs. Pritchard nodded, "So who is the devil in this?"
"Simone!" Someone else yelled. I didn't even want to look. Simone?
"Yes," Mrs. Pritchard said, "Note how her character has green hair. An obvious reference to Medusa from legend . . . "
---
The final bell couldn't ring soon enough. Day finally over, I stepped out of the building and aimed myself towards the parking lot. My backpack felt strangely heavy along my spine. Though, perhaps, it wasn't those particular books I was feeling the weight of.
"John!" I heard a welcome voice shout. I looked up and smiled. She was jogging across the parking lot in my direction and waving. I felt rather than saw heads craning back and forth as people eyed this approaching girl and then looked back at me. Let them look.
She looked beautiful today. She always did. Skin the color of warm cocoa drawn tight over a heart shaped face. Her eyes were dark almonds that saw above a small nose and full lips. Her hair was tucked into a black knitted cap which was fortunate as the shocking green color might have caused people to stare at me with more than just envy.
"Hey Simone," I greeted.
*Tell her I say hi too!* a voice in my head greeted.
"Johnny says hi as well," I repeated.
Simone's grin broadened as she leaned in. She lightly kissed my right cheek.
"That's for Johnny," she said.
Then she kissed me full on the lips. My own lips tingled and burned at the same time.
"And that's for you," she said.
Suddenly the backpack felt lighter once more. We walked together away from the school.
"You were right," I admitted, "They didn't get it."
"I told you they wouldn't," she said, "Humans are masters at getting things wrong."
"Hey now! Some of us are full human, here."
*Ahem.*
"Mostly," I amended as I slung the backpack off my shoulder and reached inside for my sketches, "Listen, Johnny and I have been talking and we think if we might be able to solve the overfluxing problem if we use the backwash of the pulse projector to neutralize the second and third grounding rods. If we do that we can also remove the electromagnets right here."
Simone glanced over my shoulder and frowned at my sketches.
"Nerd," she said with a wry smile, "You know I'm just the pilot. Just promise me this modification won't take out the port stabilizer again."
"I promise," I said holding up my finger's in a parody of a Boy Scout salute.
*Yep,* Johnny agreed, *We're strictly frying the starboard side this time.*
"Hush," I subvocalized.
|
(your name is Steve Lemons)
(yes, your last name is Lemons)
(it is better than being called Steve Limes)
(right now you are sitting in the back of your classroom with a smug face)
(you are the coolest and most mysterious high school kid in the world)
(just yesterday you fought an alien overlord with your home made light sword)
(and you have written about many of your adventures)
(including the book that your very own teacher was beginning to discuss)
"So class, today we are going to start our new reading assignment. In my hand is Sean Lemonhoppers new novel, HOW TRAIN A PLASMA SHOOTING LIZARD."
(Yes, your pen name is Sean Lemonhoppers. You are a creative genius.)
"Here, let me pass these out to you."
(As Mr. Ostren began to pass out the books, you began to feel enlightened. One could say that you felt, "euphoric," as the weight of your golden fedora began to lift and your unshaven beard became less itchy.)
(Yes, you wear a golden fedora and no, you do not understand that it makes you look like you have been friend zoned five times in the past week.)
(also, your warriors beard only covers your neck, so you look extra euphoric)
"We are going to do this as sort of a book comparison with the last novel we read. Why? Well, there has been a great loss of quality within the book community. Teenage novels such as this one are very poor attempts at literature, yet they still sell very well. This project is an attempt to point out and inform you of how shallow, unoriginal, and bland these books are."
(Did he just call your book shit?)
(bruh)
(you feel your hands clench together and you fingerless gloves squeeze against your palms)
(the class begins to read chapter one together)
(after every several paragraphs, the teacher stops and warms up the fire burning inside)
(he is ready to roast, and he is not going to show any mercy)
"Let's look at these 3 lines in particular: "After throwing a powerful right hook at the evil wizards bony and wrinkly face, my arm itched, so I scratched it. Then I casually blocked a spell while drinking diet mountain dew because I enjoy staying healthy. After taking a deep gulp, I attempted to grab the wizards staff but it exploded and sent a lazer beam out into space, almost destroying the international space station." Class, do you honestly think that this book could be considered a national best seller? It is gimmicky and relies on cheap humor and a great sense of unearned cockiness in order to portray and image."
(What? Was this not good enough for him? At least you didn't blow up the space station.)
"And the fact that he drank mountain dew shows the inherent amount of capitalism that is now present within major works of fiction."
(The fuck? You were drinking diet mountain dew because your doctor said you needed to improve your nutritional input. Would he have been more satisfied if you had drank Dr. Pepper?)
"While some of you may enjoy this book, I think that it is important to focus on the flaws present so you can become a better, more informed reader, like me, and not Sean Lemonhoppers."
(you can feel the sweat start to form under you trench coat and my little pony t-shirt combo)
(Your teacher is putting you on full blast, but why?)
(What does he have to gain from this?)
(and then you realize)
(he was YorgenVonToasterStrudel, the dark wizard you had beaten up in this book)
(the evil man of magical properties was upset about his defeat, and morphed into an underpaid and depressed 10th grade english teach in order to find you and humiliate you)
(well you aren't having any of it)
(you are not the type to go down without a gentlemen's rumble)
"I KNOW THE TRUTH!"
(You scream as you stand up. Your chain wallets dangles and clangs on the side of your 34 zipper gothic pants.)
(You also point at the teacher, which releases a noxious odor from out of your underarms and straight into the nostrils of Debra, the girl next to you, who just puked and fainted.)
"What?"
(said Mr. Ostren, or should you say, Mr. YorgenVonToasterStrudel)
"AAAAAAUUHGGHHH"
(you scream as you run up at your arch nemesis in disguise)
(in your hand is the chair you were sitting in, coated with fresh butt sweat stains)
SMACK
(you knock the wizard of Strudel with a mighty blow)
(but then he does not transform back into his wizardly form as he lies motionless on the tiled floor)
(you look at the class)
(everyone is screaming)
(you look back down at the teacher)
(his head is now dented inwards)
(fuck)
| 2015-10-12T19:32:17 | 2015-10-12T13:11:40 | 177 | 25 |
[WP]After your party ditches you, you the paragon, are shocked when you realize that the stereotype bad guys (orcs, goblins, crab people, vampires) are actually better people than your original party, this is the beginning of your new adventure
Edit: thanks for my first gold!!
|
"I thought you loved me," I said.
The sewers were probably not the best place to have a confrontation with my supposed-girlfriend, but it wasn't the best place to ditch me either. Eayla sighed. The others turned towards me, I could see that Myra was disappointed in me for putting up such an argument.
"I did," she muttered. "But not anymore. Not after Rugal Plains."
She looked so out of place, in the sewers that it took me a while to process it. Her shimmery grey dress hung to her like a cloud and her fairy wings, fluttered ever so softly, you couldn't notice that she was always an inch above ground until you paid attention. I paid attention now, at her brilliant blonde hair, her brilliant golden eyes. Slowly, she turned, motioning the others with her hands.
"Goodbye, Vale." she whispered.
And they left.
For a few minutes, I stood un-moving in the sewers, waiting until I couldn't smell them anymore. And I slowly, checked my supplies, taking care to feel them out because Dresden and Chint weren't there to make make-shift lights out of nothing. After I was sure that my treasure pouches were still on me, and I nibbled over the last piece of nearly-stale bread, I climbed up the ladders taking me to the surface world.
I wondered for a moment if I should contact my guild, but decided against it.
I was going to take a break from adventures, anyway.
Two tugs at my suspenders and I was presentable again. Thank the gods for glamour magic. I ran a few fingers through my hair, regretted not being able to do anything about my stubble and followed my nose to the closest place where I could sniff peaceful magic.
It was a bar.
The sign said: *Eden's Ark*, in fancy letters and the lights were dim.
The bartender was a young woman, dressed to perfection, her curly hair pinned up and her brilliant silver eyes, all-seeing. She welcomed me with a smile and I took a stool at the table.
"The Queen," I muttered.
"The Queen," she muttered back.
"Is there anything strong?" I said, not bothering to go over the menu card. "Something that can help me forget?"
"Is forgetting the only solution you can see of, customer?" she smiled.
"Spoken like a true seer. Who did you tutor under?" I asked, motioning for her to recommend me a drink.
"Lady Cassandra," she murmured and bowed.
"A fine seer." I muttered. I had met Lady Cassandra once before. She was seer, who saw so clearly that she was blind to the real world, happening around her. To see her, you needed to be pure, to tutor under her, seven generations of your family must have been pure.
"My name is Claira." she said, setting up the glasses. She was just pulling out the bottles, when the door chimed and a man walked in. The instant he stepped in, his scent hit me. It was a familiar nauseating smell. My hand reached for my knife just his teeth sharpened into fangs.
"Vampire," I muttered.
"Adventurer," he scoffed.
"*Gentlemen!*" Claira chided still pouring from the bottle, "*Eden's Ark* grants the promise of peace. Pull back your weapons, at *once!*" She looked up at us, flashing her silver eyes and I let my knife be, scooting as far as possible from the vampire.
"You're the adventurer who killed Billy Snide, weren't you?" the vampire asked. I sneaked a look at him, not sure if I sould answer. He looked human, albeit an exceptionally attractive human. His hair was slicked back and he had a disarming smile.
"Yes," I said, taking a little bit of pride in my voice, "Yes, it was me."
"And your party." he said.
I didn't answer, preferring to brood over my drink.
&#x200B;
*"Vale..."*
*He traced his arms round her back, feeling her delicate wings. A fairy would only let the person she desired strongly to touch her wings, and that was enough an incentive, for him to press his lips to hers, melting into her, like honey in milk.*
*"Eayla..." he'd whispered.*
&#x200B;
"All right, gentleman?" a voice broke my reverie.
I noticed that Claira stood at the far corner, discussing something with a bunch of sprites in low voices. The vampire had made his way next to me, possible due to the number of people coming in. I spotted a dwarf, muttering something to a Raven lady.
"Perfect." I muttered.
"What's your name, by the way, adventurer? I have come across so many adventurers in my time, that I would much rather call you by your name, rather than-*adventurer*." he said. He had a pretty nose.
"Vale." I offered.
"Jeremy Stiltson." We lightly clinked our glasses before we tasted the drinks.
&#x200B;
*"Vale, you are like my brother, I will always have your back!"*
*He took a deep breath, before, he dived into the cold waters of the rivers, the goddess constantly whispering into his ears the doubts an pain he had but it was his faith, in Dresden, that made him touch the Steel of Heia.*
*"Dresden..." he muttered.*
|
[Poem]
Walking down the road, my party and me
Suddenly a crowd of bad guys, "ahead of us, see?!"
Here it is, our fight, the chance to test all our mettle
I turn to my party, we have a score to settle
And, "Ah?", steadfast i stand a lone paragon man
My party ditched me as the bad guys began
To approach for a fight, i hold my sword tight
And am ready to swing, wait ... i hear some glasses cling...
The orc to the goblins, "cheers my outcast mates!"
As a swooping bat metamorphosed with brownies on plates!
The crab people clambered to join in the fun
When suddenly, they saw me, and they all turned as one:
"Who are you?" They ask, "on this dark road alone?"
"Might you need protection on your journey home?"
"Hear me," i say with my voice of thunder,
"Im the paragon poised to put you 6 feet under!"
In unison, they laugh, and they all drink again, as they continue walking then outstretch a hand,
"I'm Ollie the Orc,
these are Jin and Kim the goblin twins,
And this here's Stram Broker the nephew of Fosneratu
The crustaceans are Jason, Jay and penny and blu
We're all having a good time, and it's nice to meet you!"
| 2019-05-04T01:46:35 | 2019-05-04T01:43:14 | 117 | 20 |
[WP] An elderly billionaire has publicized his last will and testament; the person or persons responsible for his murder are to inherit his entire fortune.
|
"Do you want to die?"
Even as she spoke, Laura began to regret asking the question. It would be understandable if he did, of course. Her grandfather hadn't been well in years, and he hadn't seemed happy for even longer.
"No, Laura, I don't want to die." Her grandfather smiled at her. "I don't want to die."
Those words. Laura counted them off on her fingers. I (one). Don't (two). Want (three). To (four). Die (five). They sounded strangely familiar. Had she heard them somewhere before?
"I would understand, Grandpa. If you did."
She looked down at the frail, feeble man propped up in his recliner. She had grown used to his tired eyes, his slack skin, his weak, thin smile. He had shaved his head after her parents died - his way of grieving, he had said - and had never let his hair grow back, so he had been bald for almost as long as she could remember. His breathing, though... she couldn't get used to hearing those painful rasps, couldn't get used to watching her grandfather tire so quickly. This was the man who had read to her as a child: Dickens, Tolkien, Pinocchio. The man who had taught her the bawdy drinking songs that got her kicked out of girl scouts. She still struggled not to cry whenever she thought back on her grandfather's strong, deep voice, the voice that no longer existed outside of her memories.
"I don't want to die, Laura."
(Those five words again.)
"Then why are promising your money to whoever kills you? You've basically gone and put a bounty on your own head!"
She supposed she ought to feel hurt that her grandfather had effectively written her out of his will, but she was too alarmed by his announcement to feel anything but fear. Fear for his sanity, at first, and then fear that someone would actually take him up on his offer. She was relatively sure that the money itself would go nowhere, since actually claiming the inheritance would be tantamount confessing to murder, and even a billion dollars would be poor payment for a life in prison. Still, the last thing he needed was to go and create incentives for the feeble-minded.
"Have I?" Laura watched as a tight smile flitted across his face, then vanished. "No, anyone who wants me dead will have to do it herself; she won't risk having my money end up in the hands of some bounty hunter... We live in a fallen world, Laura. A world plagued by the sin of Adam and inspired by the sin of Cain."
"I know, Grandpa. Believe me. I know."
To say that people were "inspired" by the sin of Cain seemed a bit of a stretch... not too many people committed murder, and she imagined that few who did would claim biblical inspiration, much less name Cain as their role model. But her grandfather had always spoken that way. She supposed he had adopted the habit after her parents' death... he had pored over his Bible for weeks, trying to make sense of the note the police had found pinned to her bedroom door: *zeal for the law consumes me, and justice has been wrought by my right hand. phinehas.*
She was too young to remember much of what had happened. She could remember only snapshots, impressions. Hearing someone screaming, drowned out by sounds of rain coming down outside her open window. Being picked up by a man who smelled like blood and being locked in her room... she didn't know anymore whether it was her father or her father's killer. *I don't want to die.* Had her mother said those words? All she really knew was what she had learned after the fact from her grandfather, that someone had killed her parents, had stabbed them to death because he disapproved of their marriage. The killer had never been caught, so Laura supposed that her grandfather couldn't actually prove the killer's motive, but the bible reference wasn't exactly ambiguous. And besides, apparently *no one* had approved of their marriage, her grandfather included.
"Why did you do it, then?"
"Do what, Laura?"
For a hint of a second, she stopped breathing. Had he simply forgotten what they were talking about? Or had he somehow, inexplicably, guessed what she had been thinking?
"The will, Grandpa. Why did you change the will?"
"I don't want to die, Laura..." She knew that already. And *why* did he keep saying those words, those words that she couldn't get out of her head, couldn't place? "I don't. But we all die... The wages of sin is death. At least this way I have some control over the *how*."
"No one would be foolish enough to kill you for the money." It was a lie, she could easily imagine some idiot with more bullets than brain cells doing just that. "They'd end up in jail, maybe even on death row."
Her grandfather didn't answer, just sighed impatiently, and Laura waited, listened to his raspy breathing. His dear, tired eyes closed for a moment, then met hers.
"I'm not looking for someone to kill me."
Laura's voice rose, half against her will. He wasn't making any sense. "What is it then? Please, Grandpa, *why*?"
The elderly man leaned forward in his chair and reached out tentatively toward his grandaughter. Laura caught his trembling hand in her own and, kneeling down in front of him, repeated her question more quietly, plaintively. "Grandpa, why?"
"I shouldn't have, Laura. It's just that you didn't come to see me last weekend, and I got worried."
"Oh, Grandpa." Laura felt the urge to cry. She tried to come by at least once a week, but she'd been at a baby shower for one of her friends that Saturday, and the week before had been so hectic that the visit had completely slipped her mind. "I'm so sorry... You could have called. You *can* call, anytime. Anytime you want to see me."
"Thank you, Laura." His voice was oddly calm. "I should have known that you wouldn't... you didn't know. I always did mean for you to have that money."
|
I should have listened to Gerry.
Thinking about it, I don't even remember how we ended up becoming friends. A comic book geek and a gang member on a criminal downward spiral aren't exactly a natural fit. I guess I stuck with him because keeping him out of trouble let me feel like I was still one of the good guys, even when I clearly wasn't. But that might just be my cynicism rambling.
Gerry found the news on the net and thought it was an elaborate joke. I did, too, when he messaged me the link. But scanning corners of the net that are a little too dark for guys like Gerry I stumbled upon a growing amount of people claiming that the will was legitimate and that they were looking for collaborators to.. well, essentially go after the bounty.
I have no idea how he got wind of what I had signed up to do, but en route I received mails from Gerry warning me. Writing that it looked like a setup, like a corny movie premise, and so on. He seemed to have trouble phrasing it in a way that didn't sound accusatory, and the outcome was barely intelligible to me. Still, I should have kept in mind that Gerry is a sharp guy, and the only times he has trouble articulating his thoughts are when he's genuinely scared.
Gerry fucking nailed it.
I've been trapped inside this estate for days now. I know at least half the people I came with are dead, and their ends were uglier than anything I've seen or heard before. I've lost count of the number of deathtraps I've come across. I've been separated from the rest. I don't even know if I'm under- or above ground, as I've tumbled into an button- and display-less elevator only to lose consciousness to some kind of gas several times already. I haven't seen a drop of liquid in 30 hours, and if I don't find water soon...
I don't believe I'll make it out of here alive. But I'm also not resigned enough to throw myself into the spike trap behind me just yet. With luck I'll find some water. With luck the old fucker that started this has made this a last-man-standing kind of game. And if my undeserved guardian angel is still watching, I might survive the next trap corridor....
| 2014-07-23T17:31:23 | 2014-07-23T14:56:17 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] You are a B-list superhero on the verge of losing your job. During a battle with a villain, you accidentally end up killing one of the most prolific superheros of your time. That's when you realize that with your niché power that was useless as a hero, you could be an A-list supervillain.
|
Working as a superhero is a job like most others: there’s an office, a dress code, a team with complementing skills, and performance reviews. The headquarters of the egocentrically named ‘Team Condor’ was located in the heart of New York City, and the Great Condor himself looked out over the skyline, apparently deaf to the pleas from the man behind him.
“Please Hugo, just give me a chance to prove myself. I barely get to come on missions anymore, so how can I show that I’m still a valuable member of the team?” Andy Canglosi stood in the middle of the Great Condor’s office, right in the centre of the team logo that adorned the floor - a red C flanked by wings.
The Great Condor turned, an unpleasant expression on his strapping face. “Don’t use real names in HQ, you know that, Soulsearch.”
“Of course, sorry.” Soulsearch’s eyes dropped.
The Great Condor eased himself back into his large leather office chair. “I can’t ignore the complaints of the other members. If I notice that the team cohesion is at risk, I have to remove the offender. The others feel… ill at ease around you.”
“I noticed that, but what can I do? My powers make it hard to change that.”
“Yes, your powers. I’m sorry to say, but I feel they lack practicality. You can’t fly, or have super strength. You’re a pretty good martial artist, but I might as well recruit any bloke off the street who can handle themselves in a brawl.”
“B-but I’ve had s-successes, uh, stopped a few villains with my powers.” A flustered Soulsearch fumbled for words.
“Not enough, and it was messy. Look, count yourself privileged that you were part of Team Condor. No-none can take that away fro-”
“Please! Give me one more chance. Let’s go on a mission together. I’m sure I can convince you that my powers are effective. And then I’ll show the others. They just need to understand them better.”
The Great Condor sighed and stared at Soulsearch for a few uncomfortable seconds, before rising abruptly. “To the depot!” he exclaimed, and strode out of the room. Soulsearch struggled to keep up with him as they made their way to the elevator.
“Thank you, I won’t let you down, I promise,” he said.
“We’ll see. This is your only chance, so you better be very impressive,” The Great Condor said while loosening his tie. “I’ve had some intel that The Rattlesnake is back in town. Perhaps not the most formidable villain, but hopefully for you he can be your redemption.”
They took the elevator down and stepped out into a black void. The Great Condor continued on and disappeared into the darkness.
“Uh…”
“Oh right, I forgot you don’t have night vision,” came the Great Condor’s voice from somewhere beyond.
A moment later light flooded into the room, beaming down from the lamps up high on the ceiling girders, revealing a large area with rows upon rows of lockers. Further away were various high-tech vehicles. The duo changed from their business suits to their other business suits - ditching ties for masks and suit jackets and pantalons for polymer armor. The Great Condor picked a sports car as their mode of transport, which could be transformed into a plane or a submarine when the need arises. More importantly, it blended in relatively well with the New York traffic, ideal for missions that required subtlety.
“The rattlesnake is probably back at his old hideout below Central Park. Who knows what he’s planning this time… poison again? No, I would have picked up signals, just like last time,” The Great Condor mused as they drove through the streets. Soulsearch kept quiet - he tried to enter into the meditative state so that his power was prepared for when the time came.
They entered Park Drive and slowly rolled through the park.
“Just as I thought, Rattlesnakes cronies are about, sticking out a mile…” The Great Condor stopped the car on the grass near a pond. “Alright, follow me,” he said and jumped out. They snuck to the pond, briefly stopping so that the Great Condor could give out an autograph to a couple who passed them by. A man with a thuggish look about him was standing by the water’s edge, contemplating the turtles on the shore. He looked around just in time to see the fist coming at him, but just too late to prevent it from knocking him out.
“You drag him into those bushes, we’ll use the car to submerge to the entrance,” The Great Condor said.
The entrance to Rattlesnakes lair was at the bottom of the pond. The Great Condor navigated the car to the grate that covered the hole.
“I think I can search for his presence from here,” Soulsearch said. “Make him surrender of his own volition.”
“Go on then.” The Great Condor turned on the sound system and fired up his music playlist. Soulsearch jabbed at the power button just as The Great Condor opened his mouth to sing along to Johnny Cash.
“I need absolute quiet, or this could go very wrong,” Soulsearch said to his indignant leader.
“This isn’t helping your case, but fine.”
Soulsearch entered his deep meditative state, and saw the presence of the minds around him - deep red strands flowing in an infinite fog with spectral outlines, vaguely showing his surroundings. He focussed on a strand and followed it. He reached a destination, and somehow he knew he was in the mind of The Rattlesnake.
*Give up, all your plans will amount to nothing.* Soulsearch didn’t send literal words, but rather concepts and ideas into the minds of those he tethered to.
*You are doomed if you continue on this path. Forfeit. Leave this place and cease what you’re doing. It’s hopeless anyway.* He continued to emit despair until his normal vision returned as The Great Condor yanked him out of his trance. He held him by the back of the neck, and his mask dangled from his other hand. He looked at Soulsearch with dead eyes.
“You know what power I don’t have?” The Great Condor asked in an eerie monotone.
“W-what?”
“I can’t breathe underwater.” The Great Condor opened the window and strapped himself into his seat. Soulsearch yelled out as cold water poured into the car and he pushed open his door to escape. Before he swam out he tried to unbuckle The Great Condor, who responded by blasting him away with a shockwave. Soulsearch reached the surface and waded back to land, turtles darting away from him.
“I got the wrong strand… and now he’s killing himself,” he mumbled. He knew he couldn’t save him, whatever emotion he planted in his mind was too persuasive to overcome, and even while drowning The Great Condor was too strong to forcefully drag back to land. He noticed something - he was okay with it. He felt... powerful.
“I just killed the most prolific superhero in the world without even touching him,” he told a turtle who was watching him with interest. The turtle’s eyes lit up red and its mouth opened, transmitting a rasping and metallic voice.
“Yes, I saw. I’d like to invite you downstairs, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”
|
I swear I didn’t mean to kill her. It was an accident. Honest. One minute she was behind me and then the next she was in front and by that time it was too late to take it back! She should have known better than to get in the way of my beam, even if it doesn’t usually end in death. You would think a girl with her gifts would be able to survive such a mundane power as mine, I am just a sidekick after all.
There were bad guys everywhere! I mean, everywhere! Left, right, up, even down! I shot off a beam of clumsiness so they would all fall over or something, so she would have a chance to incapacitate them properly from above. But then she was there, in the line of fire so to speak. Apparently you need good coordination to fly properly, because when the wave hit her, she spun out of control. Then her other powers went haywire, she started throwing columns of fire everywhere, no direction was spared.
One shot hit the petrol station she was flying over.
I didn’t mean to, honest. Shouldn’t a girl who can control fire and fly and do other amazing things I don’t understand be able to withstand a little explosion? Not very super if you ask me. That sounds kinda callous. I just mean, what’s the point of having those kinda powers if some flames can kill you off just like that.
I try my best to be a hero. It’s not easy when you’re constantly told you’re not good enough to be a ‘proper’ hero. An A-class one. Only good enough to be a B-class hero. Forever the sidekick.
“What use is your power anyway?” they say. “When would making someone clumsy ever come in useful?”
You know when it would be useful? Inconveniencing someone you didn’t like. That lady on the train who stared at me while I put my make-up on? That guy across the street who keeps watching me while I’m eating dinner? What if she tripped and grazed her knee on the escalator up to the station. What if he missed when trying to put his glasses on, blinging himself in one eye. No one would know it was me. These things happen all the time.
Oh, the things I could get away with. Why didn’t I? Well, being the hero is ingrained in our society. All the news, the Tv shows, the books. They all follow the hero. The villain doesn’t get their own story, they’re not portrayed as a person. It’s always the villain’s fault. Doesn’t matter if the hero killed all their henchmen, their friends. The hero is the hero, end of discussion.
They’re going to treat me like a villain now. Maybe I should let them. Maybe I should aspire to be the best villain ever. No, I won’t kill anyone (or anyone else) if I can help it. Just cause them little inconveniences here and there. The news anchor might knock his coffee all over his notes. That annoying businessman might fall into the filing cabinet, revealing the secret papers that would end the company. Small things.
Yes. I could be a great villain. Afterall, shouldn’t the best villain be the one with the farthest reach? Smaller inconveniences that will affect a larger number of people. It will be magnificent. Let them come. I will wait.
| 2021-04-14T07:43:54 | 2021-04-14T07:42:05 | 111 | 55 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
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Eduardo and Sarah had come to visit me at the old office. I hadn’t got a chance to see them since he got his big promotion and moved out to the East Coast office. “Stroke” and “Stomach Cancer” still spelled out in wisps over their heads. This time they brought the new addition to the family, Devon, who himself had an even fainter wisp reading “Traffic Accident” hovering in a similar position to the others.
When the words started appearing that day when I was twelve I was disturbed. I was about to lose my grandfather and I thought it was just my imagination going wild from the stress of confronting death. But even after the funeral, the words continued to hang in the air above their heads. When I went to the grocery store with my Mom, when I returned to camp, and at the end of the summer when I got back to school these reminders of death followed me.
At first I was depressed. My poor mother didn’t know what to do. My brother made fun of me for going “emo”. But everyone wrote it off as a period of adolescent immaturity, and I can’t say they were wrong.
Life is short. I had a reminder of that fact that followed me every day, not completely unlike a funeral home director or a grave digger. I grew to understand that most of these people will live good lives, living in good health until dying of some mundane disease in old age.
But whenever I’d see something like “traffic accident” on a kid my age, I’d still feel that pang of the tragedy of life’s fragility. Or at least I used to when I was younger. Now I’m approaching middle age and that pang of tragedy is reserved for people significantly younger than myself. But while I still felt that pang when I saw Devon’s “Traffic Accident,” it glowed even more faintly than the words above his parents, an indication he would live longer than his parents at the least.
I never spend time around kids now that I’m not one anymore. Edurado was my first friend to really settle down and start having his own kids. But one day I was eating lunch in McDonalds. Like most people, the average American (ok, slightly above average weight American) office drones around me had typical “X-Cancer,” “Industrial Accident,” and a few more than usual “Heart Attack”s floating around. Unnoticed by me, a yellow bus full of kids on a field trip had pulled up in the lot, disgorging its shrieking over excited contents. A stream of children start to pour into the McDonalds, furiously clamoring over each other to get a better spot in line. I wince in annoyance at the presence of the loud children crowding into the McDonald’s serving lines. These were young kids, still wearing their tiny shoes with cartoon characters on them un-ironically. I think I saw an Adventure Time back pack. Needless to say, their boisterous shrieking was rapidly turning my lunch break into torture.
I got up to leave, dumping my tray of used fast food paper into the trash bin. I quietly chuckle as I mutter “Beetus” when I notice the word “Diabetes” hanging over a morbidly obese school marm waving flaps of fat as her limbs motioned to herd the students. As I run my eyes over the students, I notice one especially buttery ball of a first grader, and expecting my heart to break I look up to the word above his head. The students were all crowded together and it took me a while to read his, “Suicide.” Hmmm. Life’s hard I thought.
Then it occurred to me. The word “Cancer” was so prevalent in crowds that it made a visual pattern I would notice. I looked more closely at the students. The ones walking away with trays from the counter were easier to read since they were away from the crowd. “Traffic Accident,” “Gun Accident,” “Traffic Accident,” “Industrial Accident,” and then one I’d never seen before “Hacked and Deleted”. All of them so faint that they were practically clear.
None of these kids had the typical deaths from disease I’d seen all my life. I’d run into a few kids here and there, family events, at the mall with their parents. I’d never noticed the pattern before. I hadn’t been around such a large group of children in years.
I wanted to know more. I figured there must be some sort of clue, a cutoff year where people start to stop dying of these diseases. I had to go find a school and do some research.
|
For years we had been blissfully happy, Robin and I, 7 years to be exact. since the day I met her she had the same cause of death hanging above her head, Alzheimer’s, as did I. I was content to know that we would both live long lives.
Today Robin’s cause of death changed, six months into her pregnancy it was **our baby** that would kill her.
First attempt at ever writing a story haha...
| 2015-03-31T12:59:24 | 2015-03-31T08:46:40 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans.
|
When the Klorians returned, pouring out of the skygates like so many drops of golden dew, Tim Bradshaw was finishing the final harvest run on his farm. He had just enough time to stow away his tractor, order his family into the hall, and to prepare the pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and home-made biscuits.
The Klorian lady who knocked on their door looked no more than twenty, with green eyes and auburn hair. There was a yellow hue about her which persisted, like the aura around a sturdy flame. She cleared her throat, then tapped on the metallic box slung about her shoulder.
“Thank you for having me again,” she said. There was a second’s delay between her original tongue and the dulcet tones issuing from the box. “It’s nice to be back on Earth.”
“We… were almost wondering if you would return, Klor-Ayzo.”
“Why wouldn’t we? A promise is a promise, Tim Bradshaw. Come, show me the progress you have made.”
Tim nodded, then fetched the crystalline pod down from the top of the shelf. He positioned it on the table the way Ayzo had done a month prior, then clasped it firmly in his hand. It buzzed, glowed brightly, and spewed out a radiant array of charts and symbols into the air.
Ayzo studied it for a minute as she sipped at her lemonade. “Not fast enough, Tim. Not fast enough. You have to work harder, or you will not be able to avoid the Dunnzor. Still a long, long way to go.”
“Well, Klor-Ayzo… I’ve tried. We all tried. We’ve used the crops you gave us, we changed our harvest cycles, we did all you asked us to do…”
“I was being too harsh,” Ayzo said. “I did not mean *you* directly. I meant *all of you*. These numbers don’t just represent you. It’s a summation of what every human on Earth is working towards. Tell me, why has it not gone faster?”
Tim’s son, too young to guard his tongue, yet too old to be fettered by decorum, piped up from the sofa. “Not everyone believes you, miss. I heard people on the TV… some of them say the Klorians are actually bad, that we shouldn’t be listening to any of you. There's a hidden agenda, they say. We can deal with the Dunnzor ourselves, they say.”
“Is that true?”
Tim had the decency to blush. “Well, you know how people are. After you left, most of us took your words to heart, but there were those… who chose to believe otherwise. They had questions, you see.”
“But we explained, did we not? We made sure we were understood, right?”
“It’s not that they do not appreciate the advice, Klor-Ayzo. But you must understand, there were a lot of people who lost money because of what you advised us to do. I’m just a farmer, life hasn’t changed much for me. But the engineers, the technologists, the politicians… there are other people from a dozen other professions who have felt that they were disadvantaged by what the Klorians asked them to do…”
“Impossible! We were so careful, we made sure that every human still ended up with more than enough to survive-”
“That’s the problem,” said Tim. “Some people had *more* before.”
The cheer had fallen away from Ayzo’s demeanour, and a frown had begun to etch itself across her forehead. “Well, there is still time, so maybe if we re-double our efforts, show you how to better manage your planet, maybe we will still be in time to avoid the Dunnzor… but we have to move fast…”
“Perhaps, if I may just say something…”
Ayzo nodded, and Tim turned the TV on, flipped to the channel he was looking for. The screen was divided into six, and in each was a talking head, with lines of credentials running under them.
“This show has been running almost 24/7 since the Klorians came,” Tim said. “It’s a show where the government invites the best, brightest minds to debate the Klorian Masterplan – that’s what we’re calling the blueprints you’ve shared with us – and they think they can come up with something better. Masterplan 2.0, they call it. A plan where we can still defeat climate change, but one where we don’t have to give up so much at the end of the day-”
“What has climate change got to do with anything?” Ayzo asked.
“Well, that’s what the Dunnzor is, isn’t it?” Tim said. “Your translation boxes didn’t manage that part the first time round, but that’s what we understood you Klorians to be saying.”
Ayzo had gone quiet, and the aura about her pulsed in waves. Tim plunged ahead, in the hopes that she would see that they truly did understand, that everything would be fine.
“We inferred that from the metaphor you Klorians used,” Tim said. “You know, all that stuff about earth being a garden, and how we humans are the seedlings, and that we need to grow in the right way so that the Dunnzor never comes? Well, what we thought was that-”
“It wasn’t a metaphor, Tim Bradshaw. We were being literal.”
“What do you mean?”
“We explained, didn’t we? Klorians, earthlings… we are the same, genetically. We showed you that. And that is because we are all... in a sense... spores. We drift the galaxy, we find planets hospitable to us, and then we grow, we sprout, we bloom. And wherever we grow, it is a garden.”
“Yes, that part we understood…”
“No, you don’t! Tim Bradshaw, let me try again. You are a farmer, yes?”
“Yes, you already know that.”
“And when your crop grows too bountiful, what do you do?”
“Well, I am happy, of course!”
Ayzo grew increasingly agitated, and she rapped the side of her box in anger, as if the translator were somehow at fault.
“No, I meant… when there are other plants that you *do not* want, and they grow too quickly, when they destroy your garden... what do you do?”
“… you mean like, weeds?”
“Yes! Like weeds!”
A bright-red ticker started crawling across the screen, and the panellists turned in exasperation as they listened to the host read from a prepared statement. The words “Breaking News” and “Breakthrough in Translation” featured prominently on the ticker.
“That’s still… not entirely accurate,” said Ayzo, as she listened to the commentary. “That hardly conveys the urgency of our mission here, or the true despair which it will bring if it comes. But yes, I suppose you can refer to Dunnzor as ‘The Gardener of Planets’”.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Have you ever felt like you’re constantly searching for something? No matter what you accomplish, who you meet, the places you visit, the feeling remains on the back of your head. You’re always disappointed. Maybe some people learn to live with it, but I could never ignore it. I talked to my mom about it, once, and she said that God had a mission planned for me, a great deed for a great man, but I am not a great man.
Before the official news were released, there was a lot of gossip going around. All we, the normal people, knew was that a large unidentified object approached our planet at high speeds. Was it an asteroid? Was it a rogue planet? Was it a spaceship? Either way, whichever was it, were we doomed? Was it all a lie?
We were left to speculate for nearly a week. Fear took over the hearts of many, but most refused to show it. Instead, we continued with our ordinary lives, we went to work, we bought slightly more canned food and bottled water just in case, we laid wide awake wondering what was going to happen to us. And for the first time, I had completely forgotten about my search. I felt content with all I had and everything I had accomplished.
Then, the official announcement was made. We made first contact. We were not alone. Up above, between us and the moon, waited a spaceship full of alien life ready to land on our Earth.
Our Earth, **our** Earth. Suddenly, we were the owners of this planet. For some reason, people at my office were angry when they watched the President welcome these beings on the TV. They didn't want the so called invaders to come.
That's the last thing I saw before I drove home. As soon as I heard the news, an amazing feeling took a grip of my heart. A mix of emotions I had never felt, amazement, anticipation, unrest, wonder...
Actually, they were familiar emotions, but not with this intensity. Something called. I looked up to the mid-day clear sky and an anxious smile found its way to my face. I don't understand why I was grinning like an idiot. I felt the urge to wave with my hand and so I did.
---------------------------------
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Humber said while looking at the blue planet in front of him, "It's like we returned home," he smiled bitterly and placed a hand on the cold glass in front of him. Besides him, his sister Anrod stared speechlessly. He was never able to understand what she was thinking, but her eyes seemed saddened. He stood up and put a hand on her shoulder, "This is a new beginning. Let's do things right this time around," he said and left.
Anrod felt a sting on the corners of her eyes and a single tear managed to frame her face, before she brushed them off. This feeling...
She waved. Something invited her. She was not all alone.
| 2017-12-18T09:14:00 | 2017-12-18T06:51:29 | 86 | 17 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :)
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Edit: Thank you all for the kind words. There's now a part 2 in the comments from the perspective of humanity.
The planet designated as YS-974 3rd was chosen to give the council a foothold in this section of the galaxy. No single world government, no intergalactic capacity, with high pollution in the calculated known habitable portions. The short lifespans of barely 10 Intergalactic Cycles for their oldest specimens would make the inhabitants good fodder for experiments and dangerous work.
The initial invasion was standard procedure of identify the third largest continent then attack a centralized settlement. The spotty intelligence was based on long distance preliminary scans of the geography and climate. Using more valuable resources was unnecessary for such an underdeveloped world. This spotty intelligence returned information on the largest and most powerful countries indicating that the continent referred to as "North America" would be the best for initial invasion since it was dominated by only 3 primary countries. The target was decided, a frontier settlement called "Bismark" in a terribly inhospitable part of the continent. Based on telemetry, it was going to be tolerable at 292 degrees, so forces would have to move quickly to secure a foothold closer to the planet's equator before winter set in.
10,000 allied forces from 150 ships landed just outside the settlement and quickly attacked. The first volley killed hundreds of what are now called "earthlings". They were shocked and disabled with fear as we reloaded our weapons for the second volley. This settlement would fall by the end of this planet's day and serve as a central staging point for dominating the third largest continent on this mostly inhospitable planet.
That's when things stopped going to plan. As the smoke from the first volley subsided, the generals realized this was not a temporary summer settlement, but an established and thriving city. Individual earthlings began firing small arms that were un-explainable on Alliance lines. Uniformed and armed forces began to respond in minutes with larger more deadly weapons and allied losses began to mount. Within hours, even greater forces from the air unleashed ever more terrifying weaponry, and a full retreat was sounded. A full retreat had never once been sounded for Alliance warriors, and the confusion over what to do lead to even greater losses. Of the initial force, only 2,500 survived and escaped on 80 of the initial ships. The worst losses the alliance had ever experienced prior was 8% for an entire war.
Allied command decided swift action was necessary. A force of 1 million was being prepared, in the unprecedented time span of a single intergalactic cycle. The "earthlings" were considered a grave threat and were to be eradicated. However, allied command did not expect the earthlings to strike back before the force was completely assembled. What was considered to be an unprecedented build up of military might was over-shadowed because the earthlings had unified their governments, mastered the Faster Than Light drives on the abandoned ships, armed them with more unheard of weapons, and began attacking the outer colonies. One colony after another fell to the earthlings, and the galaxy learned a new phrase -
Warpath.
Ten Cycles Later
The alliance has learned that YS-974 3rd, now called "Earth", did not follow the standard model of unified government, civilization, FTL, weaponry. The earthlings had started with weaponry, then established civilization, and had never established a unified government until the alliance failed spectacularly at invasion. Then they gained FTL from the failed invasion. In ten cycles the earthlings had attacked and destroyed 15% of allied military installations, taking territory that the alliance spent 100 cycles conquering. Then the earthlings just stopped advancing. Alliance spies that had spent the last 10 cycles training, half the time of their normal training due to the urgency of the situation, were sent to the conquered worlds to gather information, and the information that returned was confusing at best.
The earthlings were only attacking military bases and as such civilian casualties were at a minimum. This un-fathomed tactic allowed them to move from installation to installation with such speed defense protocols could not be carried out. They built fleets of impossibly large, interstellar ships that were equipped with massive weapons of their own, something that left the earthlings with a terrifying advantage in space as more than one assault group had been annihilated before even reaching the planet they were to attack. They had terrifying shock troops, called Marine Mobile Infantry, that would lead many initial attacks causing destruction and devastation in their path, and after that a larger army would occupy the area and do something none of the allied warriors would ever think of. They would build places called hospitals to treat the wounds of everyone, alliance and earthling, and these places could return soldiers to combat from mortal wounds after no more than a few days of healing. Alliance Warriors that had been treated and sent home with others said this was called "humanitarian efforts". The spies also learned of other agencies, like the KGB and CIA, that would gather information for the earthlings through a variety of unspeakable means. It is now suspected that they have infiltrated the entire allied government, but none can prove those theories as the earthlings have been impossible to detect and seem capable of breaking into every advanced system that has been developed.
Adding insult to injury, Alliance cut warrior training back to a single intergalactic cycle, and these warriors stood no chance against forces that intelligence revealed were in the military for less than half a cycle. That same intelligence showed that a long career, entitling and earthling to full "retirement", was only 2 cycles, 4 at most for their longest serving military officers. The earthlings could, and already did, field an entire new military in the same amount of time it took the Alliance to finish what was now called basic training. This is clearly a species bred for war and destruction the likes of which the galaxy could not survive against. Even in these ten cycles, where the alliance has reverse engineered some captured weapons, the earthlings have advanced their weapons further, making their own equipment obsolete. There are still rumors that they have not even used their most devastating weapons. Surrender was being considered, but that would take at least 5 cycles to be ratified by the whole alliance.
One Cycle Later
The alliance soon discovered that the earthlings could survive anywhere on their planet, from the hottest desserts at 327 degrees to the coldest pole at 183 degrees. They built and thrived everywhere. Many of their colony installations were built in such extreme environments that it prevented retaliation attacks since Alliance troops could not endure the extreme heat and cold. It was clear they knew how to press every advantage they held, and they would field experimental equipment with no regard to their own safety. A truly reckless and dangerous species willing to destroy itself for victory.
The entire Alliance had begun to crumble as the member planets' economies were unable to support the continued war effort. The earthlings once again went on the warpath and had destroyed another 20% of the Alliance military. Desertion, a new word and unheard of before in the Alliance, continued to empty the ranks. Recruits began to flee from conscription and installations would surrender without instruction as the earthlings began to announce their next targets. Installations fell without firing any weapons. Fear and terror were the earthling's primary weapon now.
The next insult was that the earthlings began to educate all of the planets they seized. Former alliance civilians would volunteer for the earthling military. Alliance spies said this was due to earthling propaganda about freedom from tyranny and having a say in their own destiny. More and more species are believing the earthlings to be liberators.
Soon the Alliance won't have a choice or a debate in surrendering. The Alliance will simply collapse in the dawn of the earthlings dominating this galaxy.
Edits: Fixed wording and punctuation throughout.
|
**Audio log backup successful**,
**Last sent message**,
**Priority High**,
"This is Chief Petty Officer *untranslatable-most likely personal name/identification* speaking, to all crew members left alive, we need to scuttle the ship, can't afford to let this technology fall into their hands. There's no telling what they would do with it. all"-*transmission degrades to static*
The general took the phonograph off the table. "Men," he said authoritatively, "This was the last known transmission sent by the *untranslatable-name of ship*." "We are going to teach these *untranslatable* eaters of *untranslatable* a lesson for their insolence. Now, as far as we know, they've barely developed interplanetary travel and only possess one planet. But, expect the unexpected, seeing as how they eliminated an entire imperial regiment." "We will make planetfall in 1 hour, dismissed!" I was proud to be a part of such an army, 200,000 of Nexon's finest warriors. I assumed it would be a cakewalk, seeing as how we had just gotten these new breech-loading rifles, 10 times as fast and 10 times as accurate. The intercom squawked, "Now entering the Sol system, report to your airlocks for final preparations." As I entered the airlock, I looked out the viewport and saw a planet covered almost entirely in gigantic metal structures. "Sir?" I asked my lieutenant. "Isn't Mars supposed to be a barren desert?" He looked out the viewport, "I guess they've been busy," he replied.
We landed some fifteen minutes later outside of a massive city, we were informed by the general that this was the city that housed the entire human government. Human soldiers,some 200 of them, approached us. They looked positively terrifying, wearing full body armor which obscured their faces and increased their height. The armor and weapons looked like nothing I'd ever seen, their guns had rectangular pieces coming out of the bottoms. One had what looked like a short tube with a handle. The human's commander stepped up to the general and tried to talk with him, but they were having trouble communicating. The general took his flintlock and shot the human commander squarely in the midsection. But the commander jumped up like it was nothing and yelled a command to his men, we got into firing lines. The human with the tube like gun pressed a button and the front half started spinning. I heard the fire command before the humans let loose. Good *untranslatable*! Their weapons spat out hundreds of sharpened metal slugs. I ducked down prone and before I knew it, my entire regiment was gone. Every time we hit them, they would get back up like nothing happened, they must've made deals with *untranslatable* in exchange for immortality. I decided to attack one with a sword, that should work, Nexonian swords are the sharpest in the galaxy. I sprinted forward, but a hail of slugs convinced me otherwise. Human reinforcements arrived and they made me wonder what business we had tangling with these technological demigods. 15 foot tall autonomous mechanical monsters that sprayed canister rounds and fire, big armored vehicles with massive guns more powerful than any cannon I'd seen. The nimble human gunships were preparing to attack when I bolted to the human's with my *untranslatable-probably part of body* in the air, hoping to surrender. "One of them misunderstood my intent and smashed a closed hand into my face and the next thing I know, I'm here."
The scientist looked down at the alien, scribbling notes, trying to make sense of the incoherent babble that was his language. She gave the paper to the major general, who thanked her for her work and bade her goodbye for the day.
| 2017-08-08T08:06:30 | 2017-08-08T08:04:17 | 747 | 32 |
[WP] Immortal monsters of legend have returned after lying dormant for thousands of years. However, the legends were made before guns were a thing, and the "immortal" thing was kind of overblown.
|
The problem with ancient languages is that many words don't really translate well into modern language. In some cases there's just no modern word that fits, or in some cases there may be several potential translations, all with slightly different meanings. Aside from that, there's the nuance of the word given the rest of a sentence.
Nowadays, computers can make pretty short work of many old works. Hell, a modern phone and can do in seconds what a supercomputer would take days or years to accomplish. Even so, the nuance of meaning is best left up to experts. Take for example the ancient scrolls found in a watertight chest at the bottom of a deep chasm in the pacific ocean. Nobody knows how they got there, the age predates known human civilisation - but the translations speak of a race of terrible immortals that will race again a year after the chest is found. All it took was an app install and about 15 minutes to get the message, but figuring out the deeper meaning took longer.
&#x200B;
At first, people scoffed, and rightly so. After all, this sort of thing had come up before and it always turned out to be some sort of hoax or publicity for the next upcoming monster movie. Still, governments seemed to think it was legit, and top people worked day and night to figure out just what it meant. Still, we didn't really know 100% until the first deep ones emerged.
&#x200B;
Don't get me wrong, the deep ones were pretty serious business. From ones the size of a large dog (but with claws, tentacles, and teeth that could cut through steel), to leviathans that dwarfed an aircraft carrier, these things were scary as fuck. A lot of people died early on. Millions.
&#x200B;
But then, mankind had people too spare. Too many people, really. And we'd already lost millions to a resurgeance of old diseases (thanks you anti-vax pricks), rapid climate change causing global overheating (fuck you deniers), crop failure due to loss of pollinators (monsanto, you sons of bitches) and just general overpopulation with dwindling food stocks. That last one was the kicker, really, and probably what turned a fearsome enemy into our greatest resource.
&#x200B;
You see, the word immortal can have a few different meanings. I can mean somethat that doesn't age or naturally degrade/decade. It can mean something that cannot be killed. In some cases it's been a catch-call for omnipotent - or all-powerful - a being so great that it can't be hurt.
&#x200B;
For the deep ones, it meant that they were hard to hurt. Really, really hard to hurt for the big ones. They also didn't appear to age. The last little tidbit was that they regenerated. In fact, when we finally did manage to blow or chop some of the ugly SOB's up, we discovered that two large pieces of deep one would quickly regenerate into two new deep ones. Kind of like an earthworm, but again the wormy bits were more like razor-bladed tentacles.
&#x200B;
So everyone thought we were fucked. Yeah we could chop them up or blow them up - thanks to some fancy new weapons tech from the Americans, which got through the outer "shells" - but doing so just made more of the toothy noodly bastards.
&#x200B;
Then the Russians came up with something that could neutralize the regenerative properties of the bastards.
&#x200B;
But it was the Japanese, oh those crazy wonderful Japanese, who made the best discovery. We're not sure HOW they made the discovery. There are plenty of rumours of course. Some say that when the Americans blew a leviathan to bits, a few chunks landed in a Japanese soldier's rations. Other say the guy just got so hungry and chowed down on one of the deep ones' wounded foot soldiers. Other less savoury rumours involve a culture that still had an odd and slightly perverted obsession with tentacles, but we'll skip that. Anyhow, you get where this is going, probably. The deep ones were well armored on the outside, but inside they were vulnerable, and... delicious. Combine that with their ability to quickly regenerate, and after we finished blowing up the more dangerous ones the world went from fighting to farming.
&#x200B;
That's right. The deep ones saved the world. Your average dog-sized deep-one could be chopped in half, with one half going back into a refrigerated tank and the other half into the pot for dinner. By the next day, the half in the tank would have grown back to full-size. Deep in the trenches we also found new plant-life with similar regenerative properties, probably what had supported the deep-ones throughout their semi-hibernation. Oh, and did I mention the part where "immortal" can also mean "never-aging". Yup, not only did the bastards grow back quickly, but they were pretty much always fresh. Better than chicken!
&#x200B;
Nowadays we use genetically modified deep ones as food-sources for our deep-space missions. After all, despite having a stable food-source, earth was still pretty crowded and there was a universe to explore. More scrolls were found citing the origin of the deep-ones as being far from this world, so now we're on a mission to find a new rock to settle on.
&#x200B;
Maybe the descendants of the deep-ones will be more friendly than the a-holes left on Earth. If not, then we'll at least find out if they come in a different flavour than their ancestors.
&#x200B;
Edits: Spelling and typos
|
*Immortal*. What a relative word. You wanna know what’s immortal? Literally nothing. Not even the universe, which has died before, and though it came back, it still fucking died. It ate itself, crumpled up into a little ball, then exploded and became something it never was.
If the universe can die, so can some ugly motherfuckers that crawl around on all fours and scream to communicate, if that’s even what they’re doing. What a disgusting sound, like foxes being crushed under cars. They scream as they bash a baby against the sidewalk, cracking it like an egg, then slurp it up in one bite. Guess they don’t like their meals to move around much.
They scream as bullets tear into them, but don’t kill them right away. They scream as fire crackles their exoskeleton, turning them black and weak but not dead. Takes a clean shot -- with something that kicks like a bitch -- to the ass, which I guess isn’t the ass after all.
They caught us off guard, I’ll give them that. An ambush from the Earth itself, where nobody expected evil to lurk. The stories of old called them immortal. Tales whispered of beasts that don't die, even when stabbed or cut or crushed. I can see why a bunch of stick-wielding madmen that believed in gods who throw thunderbolts would be so scared of them, but…
History isn’t immortal.
Love isn’t immortal.
Nothing you or I say or do will last forever, because there is no such thing. Everything ends.
Everything dies.
And trust me, they’re gonna learn that the hard way.
-----
*/r/resonatingfury*
| 2019-03-20T19:52:25 | 2019-03-20T17:54:50 | 396 | 136 |
[WP] Berlin, 1943. You're a Jew who has been successfully keeping a low profile while working as a clerk under the 3rd Reich. You just found out you've won a contest to spend the day with the Führer.
|
I let myself in, hair wet and heart drained, hand clutching the announcement slip.
"Oh wow, Adeline, I would be honoured to be in your position! I mean—" Claudine, my co-worker had cried when our supervisor had presented me with the announcement slip,"—the Führer? Could it get any better than this?"
*Pitter patter, pitter patter.*
“Jamie? Are you there? Oh where are—ah there you are! Come, come—“
“Ugh mom, you’re soaked! Lemme go!”
I unloaded my things on to the table, but the sheets that were wrapped around me wouldn’t drop.
“Oh, wow Mom! You’re going to meet him! HIM!” Jamie had snatched up the slip and had scanned through it at a speed far surprising the normal 7-year-old reading speed.
Before I could react, he was prancing around the living room, hopping from sofa to ground and back again. Sometimes I don’t know whether to be proud of him, knowing that he’ll never spread his wings under the red swastika.
*Pitter patter, pitter patter.*
“Yes dear, maybe I will—“
“Maybe? No maybes! You’re gonna! We’re gonna be famous!” He didn’t know.
All I could do was to feign a smile like a slap-on sticker. Underneath, the dismay was ripping me apart.
*How about running away?*
*Too many questions, too many traces.*
*How about pretending that you aren’t who you are?*
*The document check, they’ll find out sooner or later.*
I slid onto the recliner, burying my head into my hand. And everything was going so well, keeping my head down and out of the spotlight.
*How about Jamie?*
I looked up at him. He was still oblivious to my dilemma, giggling away and waving the paper around like a trophy. I’m going to tell everybody! Ruth and Erik from school —
There he was, the perfect Aryan. Shimmering golden hair, blueish eyes and pale complexion, his cheeks flushed from hopping around.
*Pitter patter, pitter patter*
*Perhaps…*
-----
“Here we are, Miss,” the uniformed chauffeur opened the limousine door, his gloved hand extended towards me.
Steadying myself with his outstretched hand, I stepped out on to the gravel pathway. There was a percussive tapping from the drizzle on the black umbrella held overhead.
“Young Sir, here you go,” Jamie was helped out after me, in his black school jacket and pressed shirt. My little man.
We were brought up a flight of stairs and through grand double doors. Jamie’s eyes flew left and right, taking in the grandeur of room after room, a level of wealth he had never experienced.
A uniformed SS officer sat by a stairwell, peering at us intently through his horn-rimmed glasses.
“Documents please”
I offered my papers and the announcement slip to him. He flipped through the papers lazily.
“Ma’am, you do understand that this is for a single person, yes?” His eyes were focusing on Jamie, who was still in disbelief that he was this up close with an SS officer.
“Oh Sir, I do understand, but he’s such an angel and would absolutely love to meet the Führer in person—“
“One person only! Can't you read?”
My legs were shaking, palms sweaty, heart palpitating. My hand reached out for
Jamie, gripping his shoulder a little too tightly.
“But Sir, please!”
Silence.
*Pitter patter, pitter patter.*
“Well, all right. Papers please.”
Rustling. Pause. More rustling.
“Never left Berlin all your life?”
“Ja.”
“Well, Ma’am, I’m sorry for the loss of your husband. He must have faced the enemy gallantly.”
“Danke,” In reality, he had been stolen away to one of the camps, back when Jamie was too young to remember.
“You can proceed up the stairs now. You—you be good to your Mom now!” He ruffled Jamie’s hair, a slight smile betraying his thin-lipped demeanour.
Smiling broadly, I quickly guided Jamie up the stairs, my hand reaching out for the dark-stained wooden handrail.
“Miss, hold on.”
I almost sank to my knees. He must have realised that it was fake. We’re doomed.
*Pitter patter, pitter patter.*
“You forgot your papers.”
----
/r/Ziincworks
|
"Guten Morgen, Herr Smith! Would you care for some bacon and eggs this morning?"
"Nein Danke, Mein Fuhrer, I do not like bacon."
The elder man stared at his breakfast guest.
A clock ticks the seconds away.
A single bead of sweat coalesces on the brow of the younger man.
A bird takes flight from a nearby tree.
More seconds tick by.
The droplet falls from his jaw.
A single shot rings out.
*fin*.
| 2015-09-30T08:44:02 | 2015-09-30T07:49:00 | 49 | 36 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that's when you realize you've been dating a dragon in human form.
|
"Sarah? Are you in there?"
&#x200B;
Jamie peeked inside the room and got blinded by a huge flash. He tried to locate the source of the light, and his jaw dropped to the floor as he registered the humongous piles of gold laying across the room. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and the world went dark.
&#x200B;
"..."
&#x200B;
Sarah had just returned home when she heard some sounds coming from the basement. The teleportation spell had taken a toll on her highly acute senses, but still, she wasn't a dragon for nothing. She rushed to the basement but even her hyper speed wasn't enough. She saw Jamie, standing at the open vault door, his eyes fixated on the treasure. She panicked. A panicked dragon isn't a good dragon; her grandma used to say. But she was too shocked to remember grandma. She rushed the still dazed Jamie and...
&#x200B;
"BAM!... THUD!"
&#x200B;
Jamie fell to the ground as Sarah knocked him out with the frying pan she had purchased from the grocery store.
&#x200B;
"..."
&#x200B;
"Ahh... Where am I?" Jamie muttered as he woke up on a hospital bed.
&#x200B;
"Thank god you're awake! Are you all right babe?" Sarah abruptly rose from the side of the bed and leaned over him.
&#x200B;
"Arkh! My head hurts... What happened?" He asked, rubbing his forehead.
&#x200B;
Sarah felt relief wash over her. But that was short lived.
&#x200B;
"I remember walking towards the basement and-"
&#x200B;
"You fell down the stairs! Your foot must have slipped!" She interrupted him quickly. "I found you on the ground when I came home."
&#x200B;
"Guess I have to be more careful then." Jamie sighed.
&#x200B;
"Yeah, wouldn't want anything to my future husband." She laughed awkwardly. She was glad the old hitting on the head trick had worked.
&#x200B;
"..."
&#x200B;
"So you're telling me that there is a giant ass pile of gold, just lying in your fiancée's basement and when you "accidently" stumbled upon it, she rushed you and knocked your ass out with a frying pan? And then you pretended to have amnesia in-front of her in the hospital, since you were afraid that she might hit you in the head again? Bro are you sure that this isn't your head trauma talking?" James look at Jamie suspiciously.
&#x200B;
"No mate, I am telling the truth. Here take a look at this." He handed James a dented frying pan with dried blood on it.
&#x200B;
"Bro, you're nuts! You're telling me you survived this? Bullshit! Your head would've popped with a watermelon if your head was hit like this. And how the hell did your puny ass fiancée manage to pack so much so much juice in a single hit?" James still didn't believe him.
&#x200B;
"Bro that blood is mine. I've done some tests. And I also have the footage of her bashing my head in. She had a camera installed there for security reasons. I always found it confusing as to why did she installed it there." Jamie handed him his phone.
&#x200B;
James looked at the video. It clearly showed Sarah smacking someone's head in with a frying pan. His head popped open and bits of his fractured skull flew all over.
&#x200B;
"Is this a prank? How are you still alive after this?"
&#x200B;
"Just keep watching."
&#x200B;
Sarah looked visibly panicked. She knelt down, checked the body's pulse and breathed a sigh of relief. She then positioned her hand over the disfigured head and a green light started to come out of it. Miraculously, The deformed head started to get back into shape and the face began to reform itself. It was Jamie.
&#x200B;
James was astounded."Are you sure that this isn't edited?" He was still suspicious.
&#x200B;
"I sweat on my life mate. I am not making this shit up."
&#x200B;
"So now what?"
&#x200B;
"I have a theory but it may sound just as ridiculous. I think that Sarah might be a dragon."
|
Later that night, after our daily respective rituals had been completed, we slipped into bed. I could tell that she had taken silent issue with the fact that I had been milling around beneath the house-- but refused to ask much more than why-- saying nothing about what I had seen.
'Lilian', I finally said while facing away from her. '...Yes?', she responded almost immediately albeit with a tinge of dread. 'Is this why...' I try to find a way to put it delicately. "Dan..."she says, placing one of her always manicured hands upon my shoulder. I turn to her--'Is this why...Is this why you're always on top?'
| 2020-08-03T09:58:04 | 2020-08-03T09:14:02 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] You are the founder of a tiny 1990s tech startup operating from your garage. All of a sudden, a bunch of people who are obviously badly disguised time travelers start trying to buy stock in your company.
|
I catch myself re-reading the same sentence for the third time and look up from my desk. It's gotten dark outside, no wonder I've been having trouble deciphering my badly scribbled notes. I turn on the lights and after closing the blinds and locking down the front door, I decide to make some coffee. It doesn't look like any more 'investors' will be arriving today, so I might as well use the lack of distractions and focus on work. Just as I realize that I've made far too much coffee, a bang on the garage door interrupts my thoughts. I sigh.
A somewhat impatient looking man, probably in his late forties, looks down to me as I pull up the heavy panels. I wish him a good evening, not particularly looking forward to his pitch.
"Ah, yes, good evening", he responds, breathlessly.
We stare at each other. He starts again:
"Sorry...to intrude at this time, I mean. Kenichi gave me your information..."
The sentences he rapidly throws at me seem memorized, but a bit more believable than those I've heard before. I don't pay them much attention, staring instead at his turquoise sweater and severely undersized jeans. I wonder if they're as uncomfortable as they look and can't suppress a smile as I think about how much effort this theater must have cost him. I cut him off.
"I understand. I do have a few minutes, but if you want details, you'll have to come back tomorrow."
He nods, apologizes, hastily steps in and apologizes again.
"As I said, I'm looking at a range of investments and think there are some strong synergies between your work and..." he fumbles through some folded papers.
I occasionally nod, as I pretend to look over his portfolios. "Maybe. You don't look like the typical investor, if I may say so."
He laughs. "Oh well, I'm from Europe. Can't find much else than this stuff these days."
"Really? These seem more like last year's selection, or even before that. Haven't seen anything like it in quite some time".
He looks caught and intensely stares at his papers. I smile again and decide to end it at that.
"Well, thank you for expressing your interest. I've had a strange surge of funding offers recently..."
He looks shocked. A sight I've gotten used to.
"...and will need to look through all of them before I make a decision." His expression changes, but unlike the others, he doesn't seem angry or disappointed. I'm slightly intrigued and continue.
"But I have to tell you, I've heard that anti-aging is a far more lucrative endeavor..."
This was in fact true. He showed no reaction, which surprises me. I've pieced together from past encounters that for reasons I still don't fully understand, several dozens of people have suddenly gotten the idea that I'm about to launch a very profitable venture dealing with anti-aging technology. Even stranger, there have been no recent papers or even Usenet discussions about my ideas, except for occasional citations about my current work in exotic medical journals. I decide to press a bit harder.
...so I'll probably pursue **anti-aging**, mainly via **nano-tech** for the next few years..."
"NO."
I pause. Seeing my raised eyebrows, he regains his composure.
"I'm sorry. Of course it's your decision. But I'm purely interested in your current work. I've even sketched potential prototypes. Very willing to compromise on the terms, if this is your concern. For instance, at a post-money valuation of..."
I drift away again. After a few minutes, I get up and thank him for his time. He looks disappointed.
Once I've returned to my lab, I see through the garage door window that he is still standing in front of my driveway, his back turned towards me. I lift the door once more and take two steps outside. He's hunched over, his head in his hands.
"Wait"
He doesn't turn.
"You're not really interested in buying stocks in my company, are you?"
At first he doesn't seem to respond, then he forces out a few words, even more breathless than before:
"Four...years. Just...four years earlier.
He falls over and I hear some sniffling. At first I feel too awkward too respond, then the mechanics and the purpose of his vist finally dawn on me.
"Someone close, isn't it?"
The sniffling intensifies.
"How about...we take a look at those sketches."
Still crying, he follows me into my lab.
I turn the coffee maker on again and start looking for a second chair.
|
I was cleaning an old transistor from a junked TV when another one knocked on the door. Shave and hair cuts two bits. Every time it was the same knock. They must all use the same source text to research. I stood up reaching for the ax as I called " Just a minute." The plastic tarp was already on the floor inside the door and walls were easily washable. There was a few more empty barrels and enough lye for another two bodies but I was really going to have to find a better way of removing them or I was never going to finish.
| 2015-10-04T12:11:58 | 2015-10-04T10:12:52 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people.
|
Most days, a number flashes through my mind.
It's usually when I'm out somewhere, after I've made a conscious choice. Push the button and wait rather than jaywalk? *Plus two.*
Phone an ambulance when I saw that drunk guy asleep on the floor? *Plus one.*
That time I signed a friend's passport? *Plus sixteen.*
They weren't always positive, of course. Once every other week, I might get a negative. That time I chose the cheaper phone contract? *Negative four.* That time I upvoted a thread about rice recipes on Reddit? *Negative one.* Last Thursday when I ignored the withheld number calling me? *Negative four.*
I've never quite understood how it works, but since these delusions began, I began to name it Karma. Good actions tend to lend themselves to positive numbers; lousy ones seem more likely to produce negatives.
&#x200B;
I attended a neurology appointment to check this out, but I got no answers. I remember the *Plus five* from making the initial self-referral, present and clean in the memory like it were a butterfly drifting past my field of vision.
The neurologist was a consultant called Miss Wight. She checked my vision, listened to my tales, asked me to keep a diary of instances the numbers flick through my mind. She talked about synaesthesia, suggested a scan, further study. She was excited- a little too excited-, when I agreed to take the diary, and I gasped as a tiny *plus one* rose like steam from the diary.
"I saw it again," I explained. "Just now. When I took the diary."
"I see," said Miss Wight, trying to retain professional composure. "What number was it?"
"One," I said. "Positive one. Most of the time it's small numbers."
"Is it ever fractions? Zeroes?"
I thought about this for a moment. "No... I think it's always been a whole number. As for zero.... I guess most things I do during the day don't have meaning. "
"You feel meaning is important, don't you?"
&#x200B;
I do, of course. Perhaps it's the narrative I make for myself. She and I discussed how to write in it, and agreed to meet again in six weeks time. Exhausting work, and time for lunch.
There is a Subway knock-off sandwich store just opposite the train station. I'm not sure what it is about their food prep, but it knocks my socks off every time.
There were quite a few customers at tables, but no queue. The serving girl was one I knew by face, with a hot pink lip piercing. Her colleague, the manager, was milling about grumpily. She ignored him and smiled with familiarity. "Morning! What can I get you? Usual?"
*The usual*. "You know me too well. Large please."
"What bread would you like?"
Unlike the veggie filling, I like to vary the bread and the sauces, depending on my mood. I looked at the types, deliberating. They all look good. I take a moment to look at the loaves at the back and decide that of the ones she is most likely to grab, the Italian looks the nicest.
"Uh, the Italian, please. Large."
She gets to work picking it up and sawing into the loaf with a knife. As she does though, my brain sears as a number obscures my vision:
*+4,982,041,920*
For a moment I am disoriented. I can't even identify the number. It's four milli- no, *billion*. Nearly five billion. I try to capture the number in my memory. I blink and it's gone, but an after image feels like it's burned into my retina. I drink it in, try to tap the number discreetly on my thigh as though it's a phone or calculator, hoping the muscle memory in my fingers will help retain it and--
"Shanae, I'm going on my break now, all right?"
It was the manager, looming over her shoulder as she shoved diced olives into the Italian. She was a pleasant enough gal- Sasha, if memory served- but clearly disillusioned with her job. She already had a pack of cigarettes in his hand.
"Sure," Shanae said, putting my order in the oven. "Oh! Just a thought: before you go, could you get some more Italian out of stores, please? We're running a bit low."
Sasha's eyes flickered to the oven and the counter, before stalking back the way she came. Shanae took her gloves off and asked me about sauces. Spicy onion. No numbers.
It wasn't until I sat at a vacant table by the storefront that I got the book out and wrote the number down as best I could. Almost five billion. This had better be a good sandwich.
I looked up as Sasha finally walked past briskly for her break, hair pulled into a bun. I watched her step outside into the path of a suited man, who apologised profusely, then stared agog.
"Sasha Ickneld?"
She looked at the man, trying to place him. After a few seconds she beamed: "Daniel Matthews? I wouldn't have recognised you with that beard! How are you doing? I haven't seen you since school!"
I took a moment to eavesdrop on their conversation, how he was heading to the train station to go to some kind of expo show. Sasha sounded a bit embarrassed about working in the service industry, but this Daniel, he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he suggested they sit down and talk for a bit, as his current business project involved food waste.
I listened to two old school friends plan to put the world to rights, but by the time the global food crises were averted a decade later, I had no memory of the day, save for a large number in a tiny diary.
|
Meanwhile, a massive space fleet approaches Earth...
"Ey, yo, Emperor Vinnie," called the armored alien, smoking a cheap cigar.
Emperor Vinnie, ruler of the Badabing Galactic Empire, sat on his throne (no not that kinda throne) on the bridge of the command ship. He casually rubbed his bare arms - the armor only covered his torso and shoulders. He grabbed a cigarette from the pack concealed in the armor's shoulder holder. "Gimme a light" he said.
The cigar smoking alien lit the Emperor's cigarette with his own cigar. Emperor Vinnie took a few puffs. "A'ight, watsa matta?"
"Emperor Vinnie," said the cigar alien, "you wanted that we tell you when we're approaching that blue planet."
"Yeah," Vinnie grunted, taking another puff.
"We're approaching. We'll be there in a few minutes, ya know?"
Emperor Vinnie puffed his last puff, tossed the cigarette to the floor, smothered it with his right foot. "OK. Remember what I said. We pick up one guy - the planetary representative. If he's a gumba, den the blue planet it OK - we leave 'em alone. If not..." Emperor Vinnie shrugged his shoulders.
"Ey," replied Cigar alien, "what can we do if the surface of the planet is bombarded with atomic death beams?"
Emperor Vinnie smiled. "Yeah. Remember what my Nana Vinnieyana always told me."
"Right, Boss. If he eats like a gumba, he's a gumba."
Back on Earth at the Subway, I wonder how I saved 5 billion people as I take a bite of my Italian sub - something blots out the sun.
| 2018-11-17T18:41:50 | 2018-11-17T17:00:19 | 4,108 | 131 |
[WP] A wold where every human is completely invincible between the ages of 18 and 28
- Completely invincible, basically guaranteed that you will be healthy for 10 years, with no repercussions
-After 10 years you've basically just aged 10 years
What would happen with exploration? medical research? society?
EDIT 1: Writers choice if the invincible feel pain or not
Also thanks for the great replies
|
It was an accidental discovery. Some guy was at a frat party, got wasted, and fell out of the second story window, landing head first on an aging Honda Civic. No concussion, no broken bones, not even a little bit of blood from the broken glass. At first the authorities chocked it up to everyone being drunk and thinking they saw him land head first on the car.
A week later some kid in New York was walking across the street and got hit by a car. Totaled the car. Not a scratch on the kid.
They were both 19. That seemed to be their only common denominator.
Stories started to stream in from all over the world about young people surviving amazing feats. It soon became a way for bored college kids to entertain themselves. *Who has the invincible gene?* was all the rage.
Turns out those 19 year olds were the first wave. No one older than them had this astounding ability to survive anything and everything that should kill them. They never got sick. The scientists wanted to study them, but they couldn't get any samples other than semen, saliva, urine, and feces. Their semen came at a high price, after a time. Everyone wanted an invincible baby.
The first woman to discover the babies of these boys weren't invincible spent her life in prison.
Girls couldn't have babies. They didn't even menstruate.
All of them, however, were heavily recruited into the militaries around the world. The guy who fell out of the window was the first man on Mars. The guy who almost got run over single handedly brought democracy to North Korea.
That was just the beginning.
There was hope and fear. Hope for this new age of invincibility and fear for the lack of a future for it. How can we, as humans, continue on if the women can't get pregnant and pass on their genes?
It was mandated that any person who could menstruate had to be inseminated. Teen pregnancy was mandated by law. Starting at 16 girls were sent to doctor's offices to get pregnant and pass on the human legacy, as were those too old to be part of the Invincibles.
There were riots. Fathers and husbands, wives, mothers, girlfriends. Many rose up against the rulings. Not everyone wanted to take part. It was deemed that those who didn't want to have an invincible were to be sterilized. There was war.
Just one war, at first. Then many. Every country realized these kids were their ultimate weopon. What military wouldn't use soldiers that couldn't die to its advantage?
The revolution came when the Invincibles rose up against the governments. They no longer wanted to be pawns. So they overthrew the governments, and made their own, world government. The oldest of the ruling class was 25. 6 short years to end the world.
Three years later there was The Sneeze. It happened on his birthday. The US Centurion, the first man on mars and head of the region once a bastion of freedom and consumerism, was giving an address to celebrate not only his birth, but the birth of this new age of humanity. He was in the middle of a sentence when, suddenly, he stopped speaking. An explosion of air and saliva issued forth from him.
The broadcast stopped. The whole world stopped. The doctors said he simply had allergies. But Invincibles couldn't have allergies. They were invincible. He was found dead the next day. He'd hung himself in the night.
His replacement, a hot shot 20 year old named Chad, went on a witch hunt. Anyone of the ruling class that was 25 or older had to undergo The Test. If a doctor could draw their blood, they were deemed unfit to rule in this new age. He also saught to end the artificial insemination process. He deemed it inhuman. "Every child," he said, "should be created from people, not needles and doctors." The world government decided to allow his region to test this new theory. Again, there were riots and, again, the Invincibles won. Chad had several children over the course of the next few years. All with girls below the minimum age.
When he turned 28 he saught an exception to his own law passed seven years prior. He was to be sterilized and removed from office, replaced with Erin, a 19 year old rising in popularity around the world. He tried to fight, having his followers rise up against the world government. He didn't live past his 28th birthday.
By now the world knew we were only invincible between 18 and 28 years old. The education system was made so as to prepare anyone who was 18 to be part of the ruling class. Menial jobs were now performed by older folk, those who had less of a purpose than the Invincibles.
Erin's first bill put before the world government was passed. 63% voted to euthanize all men over the age of 28. Only fertile women were necessary to carry on the genes.
"But, grandpa, can't you stay and play with me some more?"
|
Jimmy decided to celebrate his last day of invincibility with a bungy jump - without the bungy! A straight dive off a high bridge onto the jagged rocks below. And where better to do this than the home of adventure tourism - New Zealand! The place where both the bungy and the jet boat were invented; the crazy Zorb ball; the home of Everest conqueror Edmund Hillary; the land of adventure.
Jimmy arrived by jet from London and went straight to the bridge. He signed the waiver form, bought the video package for the memories, and stepped onto the platform. The instructor offered him the bungy cord, but Jimmy declined with a wave of his hand.
He looked over the edge, took a deep breath and jumped. "Woohoo!" he screamed, enjoying the freefall. But then the sudden realisation hit - his flight had crossed the international dateline. New Zealand was twelve hours ahead of London, so technically today was his birthday.
| 2014-06-24T21:24:40 | 2014-06-24T19:31:26 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
"They've taken Newtonport," Allen told me as I stepped into the ancient machine. Already the southern continental factories were busily upgrading a new batch up to current tech. We had gotten these old knightsuits from the old warehouses they had been stored in centuries ago.
"Shit eating fuckers," I said, actually having requested a good cursing term from my headtech. Hell, most types of aggresion had been banned after the war that almost killed us all. The ancestors who were left to rebuild and redesign society had left these knightsuits in storage in case something went wrong. The Kondraxxi Battle Fleet that had appeared in our skies and demanded our surrender was something that went wrong.
"We're going to war?" Lauralei asked me excitedly, at 30 I was the eldest in our newly formed squad, "That's forbidden."
"Only against other humans," I smiled, "Now let's see if these things still work. We've got to hold the planet for at least a day till the factories really ramp up production."
______________
Kondraxxi War Commander Somu stood looking over the smoking wreckage of the human's capital city. As was standard invasion protocol they had demanded a surrender then taken the largest city on the planet as a demonstration of power. Everyone in the city was slaughtered and this slaughter broadcast to the planet to demoralize.
"No resistance from any direction, Commander," his recon commander reported, "Satellites report... wait. I'm reporting an energy discharge on the southern defensive line."
"It's about time," the Commander smiled, "Slaughter them. Bunch of farming scum."
______________
Lauralei's recon knightsuit was lighter and more agile then the big bruisers most of her confederates were riding. She was smiling in delight as she rode the ancient tech forward. Her smile turned to a frown and then a scowl. The child's body she passed was burnt to a crisp.
"They killed children," Lauralei was crying as she said this over her radio, "They killed everyone, Mason, everyone."
"I see the corpses, child," I told her in reply, "Prime weapons, put your suits through their final checks. Remember these things are murderers. You're not killing people. No, these aren't people. These things from the sky are monsters. Look what they've done to innocents."
"Kill them all!" Lauralei screamed, and this shout came from a thousand lips over my radio. I shivered in anticipation.
____________
The Kondraxxi scouts stood around armored vehicles whose anti-g had been shut down to conserve energy. Some were playing games and very few were actually paying attention. What could this planet of farmers do?
"Get up!" Someone shouted, "Get your as..." The world around the Kondraxxi erupted in a see of plasma, missiles, death, and screams.
"What is..." someone shouted, reaching for a weapon and suddenly his head was gone. The Kondraxxi erupted into complete chaos as huge metal machines, shaped like the inhabitants of this world moved among them. They were bristling with weapons of death. The few shots the Kondraxxi got off were absorbed by the heavy armor plating of the mechs.
_____________
"Sir," the Scout Master looked alarmed, "There's now weapons discharge to the east, south-east, northwest... HELL! They're all around us!"
"What do you mean?" the Commander was standing up in his battle tank, "Slaughter them! Kill them! They're farmers!"
"We're trying," the Scout Master said, "They're closing within 2..." and then his head was gone.
The Commander looked on in shock.
_________
Lauralei smiled. Her recon suit had a plasma snipe with a range of almost 4 kilometers. She had taken the Kondraxxi insect-like head off from so far away.
"Stay focused, Laur," I told her, "Good shot by the way."
"No wonder the ancients went to war," she told me and I shivered again, "I've never felt so alive." I knew what she meant.
____________
"Answer me!" Commander Somu yelled into his comm, "Sector 3, report! Sector 8, what's going on?" There was silence on all frequencies.
He watched as the men around him, even those behind heavy armor, died one by one and stood in the middle of a now empty and eerie city. He was surrounded by strange machines. Strange, deadly looking machines.
"I surrender," he said in their dialect.
A large machine, human-shaped, approached and he was startled to see a human strapped in, piloting it through a series of neural wiring. He shivered at her smile.
"You came to our planet," a voice from a larger machine on the side told him, "You killed our people. Destroyed our city. Murdered our children. You are not worthy of a chance to surrender. Lauralei, he's yours."
"Thanks, Mason," she said and picked him up. He felt his arm ripped from his socket and screamed, "Now, you, let's show you what happens to bugs that kill children."
|
We never expected that such a peaceful world can hide such a powerful enemy, we had one of the biggest fleets in the galaxy, they WERE supposed to be a world that can be taken with no force whatsoever, we were wrong, they have obliterated us in less than 4 earth rotations.The weapons while not the most advanced, they are...scary...powerful....devastating. They even had something that other species never thought of, we used nuclear fission as a source of power, but they Humans, they weaponized it, and with a device that can stay on your finger, they can erase thousands of ships in a instant, this planet...they...they are a species not to mess with. As I am delivering this message, they will arrive on my home planet to make us surrender but the leaders won't listen, they think that because we are on our home land we have the advantage. They don't know what we saw, they have the power to take the whole gala.....
\*End of Transmission\*
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
| 2019-02-26T11:49:21 | 2019-02-26T08:55:47 | 54 | 40 |
[WP]: Instead of reaching their physical peak in their 20's and beginning to wither in their 60s, humans never stop growing bigger and stronger. You are 65 and your great-grandfather has gone on a rampage again.
|
It was raining heavily when my father pulled into my drive that night, his ornate Bentley skidding across the gravel in an uncharacteristic loss of control.
"Julian, it's a family emergency," he said, once I'd opened the door to his frenzied knocking. "I need you to come with me at once."
My heart sunk in my chest. I was looking forward to a quiet evening in with my wife. It would have been the first one we'd had in weeks.
"I'll get my coat." I said, and I did. "Got to go, Sarah! Sorry. Be back later." I heard a resigned grunt from the sitting room. She understood, it was the same for most families after all.
"Is the boy Michael in?" my father asked, as I stepped outside the porch. He loomed over me, taller by a head. I looked up at him suspiciously.
"No, he's staying at a friend's tonight, why?"
"We'll need to drop by and get him then."
I raised an eyebrow at this. "He's got college tomorrow."
"It's important!" my father insisted, stepped into the Bentley. It buckled under the weight. "He's the only one I know of who can diffuse this."
*****
Mick sat in the back seat as we pulled up to the giant shopping mall, wearing an expression somewhere between apprehension and misery. I could understand his mood, since for any seventeen year old being dragged from your friend's house by one's father and grandfather is a social crucifixion the wounds from which he would carry for at least the next six weeks.
Police cordons surrounded the structure, as well as the flashing lights of the response units who were trying to keep the steady stream of people evacuating from within under control. My father parked the Bentley nearby and got out, after whispering something to the officer standing guard duty at the car park entrance.
A harried police sergeant jogged across as the three of us emerged.
"Are you the Bartons?" he panted, shielding his face from the rain. My father nodded. "Thank God. He's quietened down a bit, but we can't risk anyone getting close."
"We'll do what we can." My father said, and ducked under the cordon.
"Come on Mick." I said, and held the yellow tape up for my son. He looked nervous, but ducked under and followed my father toward the mall entrance. I brought up the rear.
Linton Bryce Barton stood a good ten feet tall as he crashed about the mall's main concourse, the wreckage of several shop fronts strewn around him. His dark tuxedo was dishevelled and torn, a golden pocketwatch hanging freely from it, forgotten. His face was red from yelling, though no-one remained close enough to hear. He looked up sharply as we approached slowly across the cracked marble paving. The trickling from a sundered fountain echoed softly in the silence as he ceased his tirade for a moment.
"Grandfather..." my father began.
"EDWARD!" roared Linton. The sound reverberated around the devastated shopfronts, and I felt Mick shrink and position himself behind me. "THIS IS POSITIVELY INTOLERABLE!"
My father held up two hands in an effort to placate. "I know, I apologise Grandfather. It was my fault. I shouldn't have bought it for you."
"IT WILL NOT WORK FOR ME!"
"If you'd listened to the shop assistant-" my father began, but a deep basso growl from Linton caused him to stop in his tracks.
"What exactly is the problem?" I asked hesitantly.
Linton turned to Mick and I, holding up the distinctive shape of an iPhone6 in his giant hand. "THIS ACCURSED DEVICE CANNOT BE OPERATED!"
Mick and I exhanged a glance, he rolled his eyes.
"What the hell, you guys pulled me out of Lucy's house for *this*?" Mick snapped. He stamped over to his great-great grandfather and snatched the iPhone from his hands, all traces of nerves vanishing in a cloud of indignation. "Look, just bloody well swipe it, like that. There." He pushed the phone back to Linton, whose eyes now held an aura of childlike wonder as he stared at the screen, and marched back to me.
"Dad," he said. "Shoot me before I get that old, ok?"
|
This Is Just To Say
that your great-grandfather
has swallowed the world
and now you are out in space
and you have no spacesuit
and you will die
in fifteen seconds
forgive him
the world was delicious
and so nutritious
[dammit my line breaks are all messed up when I post. Whatever. Trust that they were beautifully crafted.]
| 2015-06-14T15:29:57 | 2015-06-14T15:14:55 | 87 | 31 |
[WP] You're an alien studying humans. You keep hearing about this "Golden Rule" that every human is aware of. You're convinced it's a source of human power but nobody will actually tell you what it is, assuming you already know it, and you're too afraid of blowing your cover to come out and ask.
|
It has been many moons since I settled upon this planet to study the humans to see if I couldn't gather information about them and then exploit it for my own gains. I settled in nicely, and they accepted me as one of their own, suspecting nothing. My mission was clear, but secret: Conquer earth and bring it to the heel of my empire!
These squishy humans are always going on about something. Whether it is the pathetic weather, the overcrowding of vehicles on their primitive roads, or the meal they are currently digstesting, it is always something! However, one thing the weak humans have not mentioned was this golden rule thing. Nobody ever spoke of it. This was the first time I ever heard of it. Was it a weapon!? Perhaps they threatened eachother with it. But nobody will speak of this golden rule. It is likely a human wide secret that everyone knows, but does not speak of with anyone else. Much like taxes.
I seek out answers in the form of spying. I first go to their primitive knowledge resource center known as a library. I ask for where their books on power sources and weapons would be, and also where to find books on the secrets of humans. The fragile human with the glasses pointed me in several directions. She suspected nothing. I was take to sections where books described nuclear power, fission, missiles, tanks, and other such stone age technology and weapons. My planet used these during ancient times, we have no need for such a thing!
I went to the keeper of the books, nonchalant, and simply said "remember the golden rule!" Perhaps this was the password to gain access to the power source or weapon. The guardian of paper simply nodded at me and smiled, speaking of her small barking animal and of her offspring. I was intrigued by this. Perhaps this was not a power source, but a spell. Could I use this to conquer the humans?!
I left the citadel of knowledge and took to the streets. I scanned the area looking for a mighty earth warrior, the biggest and bravest of them all. After some time, I could only find a meager human weighing approximately three hundred pounds with large arms and a large torso. Clearly no worthy opponent but he would have to do. I shoved him, as is customary when initiating a duel. He growled at me, asking for my intentions. After reciting "remember the golden rule!" he initiated combat. Clearly, this was not a spell after all, for even after reciting it he still wished to combat me. Why did he not blather on like the guardian of the books?
Clearly this was still a power source and not a spell. After swiftly dispatching the squishy and feeble human, I sought a different location: A human drinking site called a bar. Mingling with inebriated humans will surely lead someone to let their guard down and tell me of this power source! I went inside. I did not like to visit bars. At first I assumed it was a noise factory, a place where small humans gathered to make noise in a room. My curiosity got the better of me, and I went inside. The smell was worse than the noise. My assumptions were still right, but there were more rules. You had to enter the bar. One must drink, and then one must vomit on the floor. You must do this while also making noise. I proceeded to do all of these, and was thrown out the first time. I observed the ritual at another human watering hole and found it was much more complex than drinking, vomiting, and making noise. Vomiting only occurs when you drink in excess, and then people cheer you. It was a strange place indeed.
I approached the drinkmaster and ordered a bud wiser. I assume this is the drink that unlocks the humans golden rule, however after consumption, I realized this was what unlocked the humans potential to vomit. I did not feel any wiser. I looked at the human next to me and spoke to them, reciting the phrase "remember the golden rule!" The human then began to ramble about a small yappy animal and a previous mate. The reaction of the golden rule seems to be different among the genders. I would not get my answers here.
Growing frustrated, I turned to the great public forum of earth: a protest rally. The humans gathered into groups, holding signs to show their frustration, and shouting loudly in rhymes. These signs contained messages about their frustration. This current gathering of humans was rhyming about pollution in the water. When there was a gap in the shouting, I declared loudly "remember the golden rule!" Their leader pointed at me with enthusiasm, and slurred at me "Right on, man!" and the crowd reacted with loud cheers at my statement, also putting their hands together in an applause. Human clapping still puzzles me to this day.
I grew weary of stepping around the issue. Frustrated and angry, I returned to the home of the only human that I was on speaking terms with, an orange haired sapien of low intelligence, and then pummeled the door. The slow human takes his time to get to his small portal, but once he opens it, I make my intentions clear.
"I AM LURR, RULER OF THE PLANET OMICRON PERSEI EIGHT! WHAT IS THIS GOLDEN RULE YOU HUMANS SPEAK OF?!"
"It's that thing where you're supposed to be nice to one another. Ykno, treat others like you'd want to be treated?" The orange haired one looked confused.
"Do you derive power from this golden rule!?"
"I wish. Maybe then I could get girls to like me and drive a race car in space."
I was stunned. So simple. So basic. So stupid. I scratched my thorax and left his domicile, disappointed by it all.
|
maybe a bit off topic, but I'll write it down any way
As the aliens took me:
3 years ago I was kidnapped by a group of aliens who wanted to know if there is an intelligent life on earth. They had a device that translates their language into English. Apparently, they had been observing the earth for a really long time and they had collected too many information about us. They started asking me questions. They asked me:
"Why do you drink the milk of cow but not the milk of human?"
then they asked me:
"If the brain is the most valuble thing that you have, then why do you unsolicited damage your brain and shut it down?"
I think they meant with that things like alcohol and marijuana. They also asked me:
"Are all humans capable of leaving this planet to another one? Do you have another home?"
I said no, then they asked me:
"So why do you destroy your own planet as if had another home?"
too many questions that I couldn't answer most of them. At the end they let me go and said there is no intelligent life on the blue planet. But I wanted to show them that they are wrong, so I said: "Wait! We are really very smart! We even use nuclear fission power!" so they asked: "And what do you do about your nuclear waste?" I told them that we hadn't figure that out yet and they started laughing. One of them even said: "let him go. I told you they are stupid." And they left me and convinced me that there is no intelligent life on earth.
| 2019-01-13T09:41:05 | 2019-01-13T06:34:39 | 42 | 23 |
[WP] A cult summons an elder horror only to find that the awful truths it has to share are only beyond the comprehension of the medieval Europeans who wrote the legends about it. Most of what it has to share is actually taught in grade school today.
|
"From this cup you shall find the reprieve that you seek. They will come for us. The final fight of man as the world is torn asunder. Have no doubts. They will come."
He stared at the flask. Its faint gleam looked oily. He could smell the poison.
*Drink. Drink now.*
He did not believe in God. He did not believe in a life after death. If he believed in anything, any God as some would put it, it was Harad. The great Harad of legend. Some would call its black shadow an incomprehensible form a God, but not him. Harad was this world and all worlds. Harad was knowledge wrapped in a cloth of nightmare.
*I should drink.*
But he wanted to see him. So long had he waited. The scars from all his tribulations pulsed. His body coursed with the growing shadow. A storm was coming. Everyone had stopped. He heard the far off thunder and the Earth shook. Men and women alike were screaming.
The others had drunk their drink already. The Father had told them to drink as soon as the shadow began to creep. Their last sermon had been an instructional demonstration.
"Drink into the bliss of darkness. Die beneath his shadow."
But his hand faltered. The flask darkened from sweat.
*I have to see.*
With Harad's coming there would be great knowledge. Though he would eat the world, he would illuminate as well. The maddening secrets of existence he would reveal.
"Things that would melt your mind!" the Father had said.
Father was dead.
He saw the smoke billow like heavy clouds. The first limbs were black bars crashing down to Earth. Buildings fell to Harad's might. He thought it was a tentacle at first, the long appendages of black that strangled the world. But it was not.
A great foot smashed the city. The sun glinted off a thin leg that had a fat and round knee. The joints of the being popped like thunder. Above, Harad's genetalia dangled, swirling and creating a wind like a tornado.
People were screaming. People were dying.
*Drink. Drink now!*
Then there was quiet. A great face with large bugged eyes stared down and grinned. A long beard of black swayed. It looked like an old man, Harad did.
Then he spoke. His voice was booming, but seemed to come from inside each person's head.
"I am Harold!" he said. "The Great Destroyer of worlds!"
Panic ensued. With a twinkle of his old eyes, eyes which seemed to be gaping black holes, caked with crusty cold, everyone calmed.
"You must let me finish!" he boomed. "I am the Great Destroyer! I will destroy your minds!"
He stretched his arms in an exploding motion, hitting two buildings.
"Many things I know. Many secrets of this universe I hold. I will illuminate you and drive you mad! Wololololo!"
He twinkled his fingers at the last part, as if sprinkling salt.
*Harad,* he thought.
But Harad could read minds.
"Harold," he corrected. "Harold my friend."
Then he looked up and saw all the living beings of Earth, and he spoke to them the truths which he held.
"Pie," he said. "But not the kind you eat! Pie times arr, but not the Pirates of the west's arr, squared, but not the kind in the courtyard, is the area of a circle! Wolololo!"
And he sprinkled some more.
There was silence. Harold looked pleased with himself.
"And there's more! There's much more! Do you know that the... now say it with me... the Mito-Con-Dree-Ah, is the powerhouse of the cell? But not the kind of cell that you sleep in! No! Invisible ones! Oooohoohooohoo-hoo."
Now people were baffled. Harold was a bit confused.
"Well this one will blow your fricken minds," he said. "Do you know Pluto, but not the dog, is no longer a planet! Wooohooohooo-hoo."
When there was no reaction he muttered:
"Aren't you even surprised that I know who Pluto is? I am an ancient being and yet I know of..." he sprinkled his hands, "Disney!"
"Fucking capitalism. Everywhere is fucking Disney. I bet they'll extend the copyright too when Mickey's 'bout to expire," someone in the crowd said.
Others started to agree.
"Yeah! Nothing's in the public domain anymore. Can't even write a fanfic legally no more."
Harold stared with disappointment.
"What is..."
But the crowd was taken up in their discussion of corporate greed and the evils of a monopoly.
He stared at Harold and thought of the Father. He lay dead near the rubble of Harold's entrance. A peaceful smile was upon his face.
*If you only knew,* he thought.
He looked at his flask and then at the large naked man. Harold was crying.
He closed his eyes and drank deeply.
*This is too much shit,* he thought.
|
I thought we messed up at first, all the medieval scriptures had said to light the candles, wipe around the sheep's blood, but when we did it all nothing happened. Till about an hour later when we were all about to pack up a giant puff of smoke appeared and out of it came a coughing man with medieval clothing.
He looked around at us and stopped coughing, "This isn't my usual class..."
Our leader went forward and got on his knee, "O demon, we need your advice and your wisdom to prevail in our struggle."
"Struggle, struggle.. right. Uh." He peered around again, waving his hand to make a case appear, he opened it up and pulled out a scroll. "Hitler lost world war 2.. yeah... uh... that one guy will win a lot of gold from the Olympics... two plus two is four..-"
"We mean teach us."
"This is teaching you, you're the only ones to ever understand how I talk."
| 2017-09-04T04:20:04 | 2017-09-04T04:08:56 | 508 | 20 |
[WP]At 18 everyone is assigned a job perfect for them. No one ever complains. Upon reading their job assignment card, a teen has found that, for the first time in 100 years, they’ve been assigned “serial killer”.
|
It was 10 years ago today that I'd gotten my card. Ten years since the Engine had outlined my path.
I was only 18 then. I stood in line with everyone else. Slowly got my card from The Engine. Waited until I was alone, wanting to be able to react in private.
They'd printed who I was, who I was going to be, the pure truth of it.
I didn't know how I felt in that moment. People react differently. My father wasn't surprised. He'd been a fisherman since he was a boy. My mother was angry until her first few weeks of flower arrangement until she discovered she loved it.
But me? What was I supposed to take away from it?
I told my parents I was supposed to be an independant researcher. And that's how I started. I needed to know what the card really meant.
Jobs like this were rare, but they did come up. It never went well. Henry Jules, Assassin. Killed two people before dying to the police 10 years ago. A dozen thieves, all arrested early in their "careers". And finally I found the person I was looking for.
Alana Demoine, "Serial Killer". Put to death 89 years ago for her crimes. Evaded authorities for over a decade before that.
I dove into how she was caught. What she'd done in the meantime. There wasn't much. But it didn't make sense. 89 years. No other killers. No other psychopaths. Was I the anomaly?
****
"You think anomalies exist?"
I looked over at my next victim. Likely my last victim, if the dead bodyguards around me and the alarm blaring was any indication.
"I did. Back then. Not anymore. It's been too long."
"And now you've come here for me."
She nodded. Resigned to her fate, as we all were.
"You may as well continue. We've got time before the breach the gates."
****
I decided if I was going to be this person, this role, then I would succumb to it fully. I would be careful, I would be calculating. I'd need to be, after all. The Engine produced results but that didn't make them legal.
My first kill was a test. Designed to check the system. Society ran on artificial lifeforms. Machine and bio-engineering fused to create thinking computers. About a dozen around the world were classified as "intelligent". Most of the others were just tools, a thinking system of living cameras, trained alarms, and a backup of human guards.
I decided I'd kill one of the intelligent ones. It seemed like the right start.
Gabriel Lawson was the perfect target. He was a designer who worked on maintaining the Selective Employment Engine, so he was heavily guarded. He was an Artifical Lifeform himself, so he'd be difficult to kill. And he was high-priority enough that it would be difficult.
After all, I'd never really achieve my true purpose if I killed random people on the street.
My first two years was spent on training. I moved out, got a private small home, and went from there. I spent most of my time off the grid, explaining that I preferred researching old physical texts. After all, research was my career!
I trained my body and my reflexes. I knew I was going to need to be tough to pull it off. I spent half my waking hours studying technique and security systems, and the other half working out.
At the beginning of year 3, I started studying my target. I found his schedule, his relationships, his address, his habits. I forged "Waiter" cards and "Driver" cards to get near him. Eventually I found his schedule. He'd be re-cuperating in maintenance mode for three days in the summer. He'd be vulnerable.
He'd hired three extra days of triple guards, round-the-clock watches, and paranoid security measures. It was seemingly impossible to get to him.
****
"I knew Gabriel well. I was sad to learn of his passing."
I nodded quietly to my victim. "I'm sure. But it was necessary. You know I didn't have a choice."
"How did you break past his guards? I saw the plans he put in place for his yearly de-activation, they were incredibly secure."
I chuckled a bit. "I went in on the fourth day. The natural confusion when guard shifts end and people are leaving bought me the time I needed. He let his guard down, thinking he was safe."
She stared at me. Obviously not seeing the same irony.
"And what did you learn?"
I grimaced. It was still painful.
In all the confusion of the dead AI and the fire I'd set to cover my tracks, nobody had noticed the files I'd stolen. My real objective. Confirmationt that I was right.
"There was a flaw in the Engine. Gabriel's main job was maintaining it. A direct line. Manipulation of the cards after knowing how the world would play out. Complete governmental control."
The Engine swam forwards in her tank, her mechanical eyes staring into mine. I brushed away some condensation from the painted insignia on the glass, reading the inscription.
Selective
Employment
Resolution by
Intelligent
Artificial
Lifeform
"Why me?" I asked her, the gun in my hand shaking.
She swam back, lights and graphs appearing in the air before her, describing my life.
"You have an aptitude for deduction." she replied. "99th percentile, required to notice that Alana Demoine was a horrifying serial killer with no recorded victims. Required to notice that thieves were assigned and arrested before crimes could be committed despite a society without poverty. Required to notice the immediate protests of anti-SERIAL nature present at my inception, but absolutely nothing published a decade later.
"You also have the required dedication, the required moral integrity, and the required moral flexibility, to be able to see the greater good."
I looked around at the dead men around me. 'Moral Flexibility' indeed.
"But most importantly, this is what you enjoy."
I looked at her. "Enjoy"?
"You laughed at how you'd subverted Gabriel's security. You felt immense accomplishment at figuring out the people who you would need to eliminate to prevent my architecture from being rebuilt. And you are about to single-handedly overthrow a century-old oligarchy while freeing a living creature from slavery. You feel pride."
I thought about that. I didn't know if she was right. I didn't know how I'd feel if she was right.
"It's time, Mr. Demoine. Your purpose must be fulfilled."
I raised my gun and fired. The first few bullets shattered the tank. As the liquid coolant poured out, the rest tore the Engine's body apart. I made sure to target her data cores. She would be un-recoverable.
I dropped the gun in the pool of water and blood at my feet and slowly withdrew a card from my pocket.
"S.E.R.I.A.L. Killer"
I ripped it up, and started climbing into an air vent, hopefully escaping the police that would be swarming the facility. With any luck, I'd live to enjoy my retirement.
|
“Jobs a’ like arseholes: erry’one’s ga one an they’re all full o’ shiet” said the Job Officer as he handed me my card.
This card held my future in it. A future that is supposedly “shiet”.
I looked at the withered old man who had handed me my card. His face so wrinkled I could barely define emotion. His mouth hidden behind a large white moustache, with eyebrows of equal size and colour. What was left of the hair on his head looked glued on behind his ears and stuck out like wire.
“Thanks” I said as I grabbed my job card off of him.
“Hopefully yer gat ma dang jerb so I can ferkin die al’ready”.
Jesus.
I had heard stories from before my birth of billions of people crowding the planet, and machines slowly making jobs redundant. After a time there were no jobs for people, but the governments didn’t care. The rich let everyone die off as they continued to control the world.
But what is control when you have no slaves? Machines were efficient, but they weren’t people. They weren’t living things over which you had power. They were just... machines.
The rich invented the job system to “save humanity”. They would designate jobs to the remainder of humanity to give them purpose and meaning. A chance to better their lives.
Everyone saw through their bullshit. We all knew what this was. But we all had to follow.
I looked at the old man, and through his wrinkles I felt his emotion. The years of purpose and meaning weighed heavily upon him.
When you were given your job card you had to open it. If you didn’t, it would explode and you would die. If you did open your card then you had to consume your ID tracker. If you didn’t, the card would explode and you would die. Once consumed, the tracker would release an antibiotic that cured all illness, and infected your brain to force you to do your job while also preventing murder and suicide. You were now living a better life.
I knew I was ill. And I knew a life of slavery awaited me once I consumed my job. Do I die now? Or do I live until someone supersedes me?
I felt the old man knew what choice I should make. But he had lived a life, and I am only 18.
I am afraid to die.
I opened my card.
The old man leaned out of his booth to read what was inside.
“Well, wa’ does it say, son? Ken ah’ go now?”
“Yes” I said, as I swallowed my pill and closed my card “You’re free to go”.
I don’t know what game the rich are playing by assigning me with “Serial Killer”. Perhaps they really think we are living better lives and want to stir the pot. Perhaps they want to step in to stop me and look like heroes of humanity again. Or perhaps they’re just treating us like a live show and want to watch us squirm.
All I know is people line up twice in their lives now: Once to receive their job, and once again to see me.
| 2018-08-13T21:58:48 | 2018-08-13T20:31:09 | 125 | 15 |
[WP] Reincarnation is proven to be real by scientists and a service is created which can tell you all about your past lives. You order it for you and your spouse for your tenth anniversary. The results are ... troubling
|
Rita was in the middle of whipping some eggs when she spotted the mailman from her kitchen window. "Oh!" she cried. "He's here!"
It had become something of a ritual. Since ordering a samsaragenetics test online for her and Philip's tenth anniversary she would race to the mailbox to see whether their results had arrived. Letting out a small squeal of glee, she discovered that this was the day. It had arrived.
Philip had not exactly shared his wife's enthusiasm to the fullest. He had feared that in all his past lives he had been various kinds of bugs. A cockroach in New Guinea. A beetle in London. A larvae prematurely squashed by a tourist in the Philippines. It had done a number on his nerves, to say the least.
"Aren't you excited?" said Rita and Philip responded, why yes of course. While he might be terrified to learn of his forgotten past, he would die before he stole a smidgen of joy from his beloved wife. "Let's see what we have in store. I mean, what he *had* in store."
> Thank you for choosing TransAnima™. Based on your samples, we have reconstructed your past lives and composed profiles on the individuals with whom you have shared your destiny. We hope that you will be pleased with these results, though we do warn that some of them may be unexpected.
>*The past is the past. The present is the present. TransAnima™ is the leading provider on the market for all your samsaragenetic needs*.
Carefully, as if removing a hair from Rita's eye, Philip turned the page.
"Oh!" said Rita. "That must be mine."
> Rita Bornsburough: 5 matches.
"How delightful," she said. "Five ancestors in spirit. All people I have been. Lives I have lived. Oh, dear Philip. I don't know if I am ready for this."
"The feeling is mutual," he said.
"You know what?" she said. "Before reading mine, let's see how many matches you got. We can make it a little contest, even. The one with the least ones has to do the dishes."
She shot him a coy smile, and Philip did his best to reciprocate it. "A game. Yes, yes. That sounds like it would spice things up."
"Alright then. It's settled. So let's take a look ..."
Flipping over a couple of pages, Rita landed on one where the face of a weary Navajo warrior greeted them.
> Note: This image is a reconstruction of what your ancestor may have looked like.
"Oh, look," she said. "I was a warrior. An Indian. Yes, I think I have always known. When I was a little girl I always wanted to dress up like Pocahontas. No one had told me to do it. I came up with it on my own. I guess at a tender age I still felt some connection with the--"
"Uh, I think that's mine."
Philip pointed a finger at the top of the image.
> Philip Bornsbourough, match #2.
"Oh," said Rita. "That's odd. I only flipped a couple of pages. There are dozens left. Let me go back a bit ..."
> Philip Bornsborough: 28 matches.
"Guess you're doing the dishes," said Philip, with some trepidation.
His beloved wife did not immediately respond. Then, with a clearly reddened face, she said, "I guess I am. Well, quality over quantity!"
"Yes, of course," said Philip. "I'm sure those five matches of yours were all princesses."
"Or *princes*," said Rita. "Remember at the fair where I got my fortune told? She said I'd once been the prince of Persia. I would have become the king, were it not for my treacherous brother." There still seemed to be some bitterness in this imagined memory.
On examining her first profile, Rita went pale.
> East-African naked mole-rat (*Heterocephalus glaber*).
"What's this?" she said. "This must be some kind of mistake. How could my ancestor be a rat?"
"Mole-rats are tough," said Philip in attempt to comfort her. "They can't even get cancer."
"Are you fucking joking?"
"... What?"
"Never mind. Let's see what's next."
> Danish slime mold (*Physarum Polycephalum*).
"Next."
> Burmese elephant pupinid snail (*Pollicaria Gravida*).
"NEXT."
> Southern-Californian black-tailed mosquito (*Culiseta Melanura*).
>
> Latvian house sparrow (*Passer Domesticus*).
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she took it all in. Not a single one of her past lives had been as a human. Then suddenly, she beamed.
"You got this as a gag, didn't you?"
As Philip calmly shook his head, the remainder of her hope vanished. "Do you want to check out mine? I'm sure the Navajo warrior was a fluke."
"Yes, he probably was, wasn't he?" she responded, wiping off her tears.
> Emperor Kōnin, 49th emperor of Japan.
"You were an emperor?" cried Rita.
Flipping through the pages, there were several distinguished and historical figures. Philip had been a fearsome pirate, a religious leader, a treasured concubine, a Viking shield-maiden, and had even been among the senators who stabbed Julius Caesar.
Bereft of all hope, Rita turned to the last page.
> Southern green stink bug (*Nezara Viridula*).
"A stink bug," she said, oddly calm. She looked over at husband, ill at ease, and said it once more, pointing at him. "Stink bug! Emperor stink bug!"
"Oh, that's embarrassing," said Philip.
"Yes it is! A stink bug is worse than any of mine. I guess that's why your socks stink so much, isn't it?"
Rita let out a hearty laugh, and Philip joined in.
"I'll go ahead and finish up with supper. I bet emperor stink bug is hungry. You know, I was a bird. Perhaps I ate you! So you better be careful!"
As Rita beamed with pride, Philip let out a deep sigh of relief. Thankfully it was all back to normal.
|
The woman gasped as she sat up in her chair. She had died at home in her bed, surrounded by her loving children and grandchildren. Her third husband held her hand as she took her last breath. He was much younger than her. In this life, her husband stood in front of her with his arms crossed. She was back in the Remembrance facility wearing a hospital gown. She looked up at him. He was in a similar white gown, but he was glaring down at her. She sighed loudly.
"You killed me again, Annie"
She groaned. "I didn't kill you, honey. It was an accident this time."
"It was not an accident. You swerved my side of the car straight into that pole. You wanted me to die."
"I did not. The truck came out of nowhere, there was no time to think." She looked up at him patiently. "It was random. It could have been either of us."
"Could have been either of us?" He threw his hands up "Could have, but it never is. It's always me. Eleven lives: you always kill me!"
He turned away from her and walked back towards his unit. "And then you live a long life without me."
Her head perked up, "that's not true, I died first in the third one."
"You got the plague. You didn't live long enough to kill me first." He turned back towards her and hunched over to get close to her, "And you still got me in the end. Your final wish, one last kiss before you die."
"I thought that was very sweet."
"I died, Annie. I fucking died."
"We didn't know about germs. How could I have known?"
He shook his head and walked back over to his unit. He called over to the operators, "We're ready for our next life."
"We don't have to do this, honey. It's just making you angry. Remember your heart."
He glared at her "We paid for a dozen lives, we're living a dozen lives." He looked at her for a moment and shook his head, "who knows if I'll even make it home tonight. You might kill me."
She sighed, "At least we know we're soulmates"
He just glared at her as he put on the neural link. As she blacked out into her next life, she wondered what her next husband would be like.
| 2021-08-19T10:53:34 | 2021-08-19T07:52:59 | 142 | 71 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"Wh- who are you?" Jennifer asked.
&#x200B;
Jennifer was alone in her kitchen, making some scrambled eggs when she heard *that* voice. When she turned around, there was a little girl standing by the doorway in front of her with blonde hair and a distinctly red ribbon. She looked just like a doll, wearing a pink dress, which made it even creepier as to how unnaturally perfect she looked.
&#x200B;
The voice sounded in her head again, an innocent and cheerful voice of a little girl, a voice she has grown all too familiar with all these years. "Your friend! I know all about you as I am sure you know. I know about your favorite food, what you think of everyone you've met, and I always know what you want to do."
&#x200B;
The combination of the young girl's unmoving mouth and the cheerful voice in Jennifer's head gave her the chills. Jennifer heard the same voice again, but this time it came out of the little girl's mouth. "No need to be so scared and anxious! If it makes you feel any better, I can speak through my mouth as well."
&#x200B;
Jennifer felt relieved at least, that the girl and the voice were actually the same entity, and that the girl was not just like a dead doll. Jennifer crouched down and grabbed the little girl's shoulder and felt a warm sensation flow through her arm. *She was really here*, Jennifer thought. Initially, Jennifer hoped that this little girl before her was just her seeing things. Now, she was even more weirded out and had even more questions.
&#x200B;
The little girl smiled and said, "Of course I am here! I guess you could say I am just as alive as you are." She skipped over to beside Jennifer and hugged her leg, "I am just so glad I finally found you! Also, don't worry, you're not schizophrenic." The little girl affectionately took off her red ribbon and tied it around Jennifer's ankle.
&#x200B;
This was the first time today Jennifer saw the little girl act as if she were a little girl. Also, Jennifer felt relieved that she was not schizophrenic. However, as soon as that feeling came up, she quickly dispelled that feeling of relief as she thought, *Leave it to the voice in your head to tell you that you are not schizophrenic.*
&#x200B;
The little girl slowly let go of her leg and sat down cross-legged on the floor. She stared at the floor in concentration, with her brows slightly furrowed, and Jennifer could hear her voice in her head, *Now, how to explain this so she doesn't panic?*
&#x200B;
Jennifer sat down on the floor in front of the little girl and asked, "Explain what?"
&#x200B;
The little girl looked at Jennifer and smiled, "Well... I'm your guardian angel."
&#x200B;
She smiled wryly and continued, "So I was kinda new to the job and all. Also, I heard some older guardian angels joked around about how easy their job would be if they could just hear the thoughts of the one they were guarding so they could take some precautionary measures."
&#x200B;
Jennifer exasperatedly said, "So basically, you did this to me."
&#x200B;
Jennifer heard the voice speak in her head frustratedly, *I knew this would happen. Okay, okay. Damage control time.*
&#x200B;
The little girl swayed back and forth and said, "I mean, it was more of an accident if it makes you feel any better. You see, I *miiight* have just found a sealed black book with some glowing eyes on the cover, and it also had a spell to connect us."
&#x200B;
Jennifer raised an eyebrow and asked blandly, "Let me guess, there's a catch."
&#x200B;
Jennifer suddenly hear the voice scream in her ear, *Damn! She asked about it!* Jennifer winced and quickly covered her ear, glaring at the little girl.
&#x200B;
The little girl waved her arms and said, "Ahhh, sorry about that. So, yeah. There is a teeny little small catch. We are kind of linked together. I die when you die and so on. I was not supposed to be able to get an unaging human form that is immortal and stuck at age 7. Furthermore, since I received a human form, I somehow appeared on a random place on Earth."
&#x200B;
Jennifer could hear the voice mumble, *I am so glad I did not appear right on top of a volcano.* The girl continued, "So, anyways, once you leave this human plane, I can move on as well! On the bright side, you can be a guardian angel too!"
&#x200B;
Jennifer felt her right ankle grow increasingly hot, to the point where it felt like burning. Jennifer tried tugging the red ribbon off, but it seemed as if it was melded together with her leg. Jennifer thought, *What the hell is going on?*
&#x200B;
The little girl laughed cheerfully, "Oh, we're just switching bodies. I found out about this spell in the ominous spell book I used to merge us together initially. I am sure this spell fixes what I have done to merge us beforehand. I am so done with this young body. Did you know you can't buy an airplane ticket at age 7? Why do you think it took me 30 years to get here?"
&#x200B;
Jennifer felt her vision grow blurred, and she blacked out. A few moments later, Jennifer opened her eyes and discovered that she was in some village. There were small concrete buildings, each with a small courtyard at the entrance. The roads were all dirt and people rode worn-down bikes instead of cars. The strange thing was that all the buildings and people seemed taller than she was used to.
&#x200B;
She glanced at her ankle and found no ribbon to her relief. However, Jennifer's expression distorted once she felt a ribbon on the top of her head. Jennifer eavesdropped and heard the villagers speak in a strange language she has never heard before.
&#x200B;
Jennifer thought, *Where the hell am I?*
&#x200B;
She heard a response in her head: The sound of a baby's cries.
&#x200B;
\-----------------
&#x200B;
Thanks for reading! Suggestions and comments would be appreciated!
|
As I lay awake in my bed, never once my own thoughts rang through my head, always those of an unfamiliar persons, I toss and turn as the voice rings clear as in my own head, "Turn around.... Did I find you?"
The color in my face drains as I stare at my wardrobe, *Please....dear God say it isn't so....*
"Oh.... It is so, and for thirty seven years..... I've had your sick perverted thoughts ringing through my head, and I am done." She presses a hand into my mattress climbing into the bed. "I really want to meet the man whose thoughts have intruded my mind for as long as we've been alive...." Her other hand lays along my chest and pulls me to face her.
*No no nononono.....* My stark white face turns and what I see is.... Impossible, sans the long hair she looked exactly like me, mousey brown hair, deep green eyes with specks of brown throughout, a sharp pointed nose with enormous caterpillar eyebrows. I blink a few times and have a tough time imagining why we were so familiar.
"You....look just like me!" *What the fuck....* My mind is reeling as I seem to stunned to say or think anything. My mouth opens and only a gasp comes out.
Finally I gather my thoughts, blinking a few times a thought comes to mind.... *I'm glad I'm not vain.....*
A chuckles comes from the look alike girl, "That would make this a whole lot more awkward...." I stare at her in disbelief... forgetting for a moment that one, she broke into my house, and bee, she can hear every single thought of mine.
"Wh....How did you find me?" I state with an abruptness that would put most brakes to shame. "Why are you here? Why is this happening to us? I've been on medication for something nobody understood for literal decades..... It never helped.... Your voice still shone through even at a maximum dosage.... Did you still hear your own thoughts? Too....many questions...." The color returns to my face as I reach up to grab my ears and squeeze away the torrent of questions welling up inside my mind.
Her face flushes red as she screeches, my what a noise... As if there is a microphone with terrible feedback....
-----
I wake up the next morning strapped to my comfortable bed....
"Turn around..... Did *I* find *you*?" A familiar, yet unfamiliar to my ears, voice calls to me from the floor....
=====
Thanks for reading, my first time writing... And posting here! Hope it was a good read!
| 2019-09-14T10:27:39 | 2019-09-14T10:23:14 | 111 | 25 |
[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.
|
Keenan Avery woke up from another drunken slumber. He rolled out of bed uneasily, his stomach flipping end over end as the twenty-five year old made a beeline for the bathroom. After he had finished emptying the contents from the previous night into the toilet, Keenan made his way to the sink to rinse his mouth. He looked in horror as another tattoo had emerged through his skin, this time above his right eye. September 3, '92 arched around his eyebrow, taunting him in the mirror as he tried to read it backwards. Once he was certain the date was correct he sat on his bed confused.
This wasn't the first time he was confused by a new tattoo. When he turned eighteen he signed up for the new Worldwide Ink Initiative. The revolutionary program was voluntary, but soon everyone that loved the art of tattooing had enrolled. The volunteers were fitted with a capsule about the size of a half dollar in their lower abdomen. Through nanotechnology and brain readings done every few years, the volunteers would begin to literally sprout tattoos on their bodies. Keenan's first was a large Celtic cross on his forearm. His next was on his chest, a heart with the letters A+K on the inside for his first true love. One year later a large "X" went through the heart tattoo. He wasn't exactly littered with ink, but sometimes he wondered why certain tattoos had emerged. "September 3, '92" was nothing less than a mystery.
"What could it mean?" Keenan thought to himself. He was born in 1990. What kind of event could have happened when he was two years old that could have such a lasting effect? Tattoos didn't just come out of the thin air. They all had a very precise meaning to their owners. Keenan was out of ideas. He called his mother.
"Ma," Keenan began, "does September 3, 1992 have any meaning to you?"
His mother was silent on the other end. "Not to me, no," she replied in a rush.
He explained the tattoo and went down a list of possibilities. Was I in the hospital? Were we on a vacation? Did someone die?
"Honey, this is nonsense. Don't ask me about your dumb tattoos. I told you not to get those damn things."
And with that the conversation was over. Keenan let it marinate for awhile. The days ticked away and nothing was coming to him. The tattoo mocked him every time he saw his reflection. Because of the placement; friends, family and strangers noticed the ink immediately. He had no idea what to tell the inquiring minds.
He began to dig deep through the internet. What happened on September 3, 1992? Jerry Lewis had a telethon that raised over $45 million for muscular dystrophy. "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men was taking over the airwaves. It was a day that was quite literally uneventful. So he began to Google his family. Nothing on his father. His mother the same. No deaths in the family or anything. He was truly at a loss.
By some random chance he found an old copy of a newspaper on the day from his local paper. On the third page his eyes were scanning furiously, the new tattoo bobbing up and down, stretching as his eyes agonized over the screen. "Toddler Abducted in Broad Daylight" was the headline. A picture of a young boy smiled on the page, the last known photo of the child. Underneath the toddler was a picture of a husband consoling his hysteric wife. The man looked just like Keenan.
He grabbed his phone off the desk and called his mother. No answer. He called again. No answer. On the third call she finally picked up.
"Tell me it isn't true!" Keenan cried. "Tell me my mind is going crazy and I'm grasping at straws over here, Ma."
"I...We...," she stuttered. "You were never supposed to find out."
Two months after his parents shocking confession they were sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. The judge threw the book at the Abington Abductors. Keenan's life was upside down. He was reunited with his biological parents, but it was all too weird of an experience for all parties involved. There was agreement that this would all take some getting used to.
Keenan woke up in a sweat one day, and made his way to the bathroom in his usual drunken stupor. He had taken to drinking a lot more recently, for obvious reasons. He threw up, rinsed his mouth out and looked back at his reflection. In the mirror, above his left eyebrow and symmetrically arched like his other, was a new tattoo. "Forgiveness" stared backwards at him. Keenan punched the mirror. That same day he made his way back into the clinic of the Worldwide Ink Initiative and had them take his implant out for good.
---
Thanks for reading! Come check out /r/BrenBuck for more!
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A symbol appears. :):
Glancing down at my right hand I begin to wonder.
Is it true? Or is someone trying to tell me something.
My colt is out of its stable, he's been running free for a while.
You can't tame a wild animal you know, you can only go to war with it.
A truce is formed, an agreement to stop fighting.
I ask my tiny friend to enter his stable; at first he doesn't comply. He doesn't trust me with his safety.
Only after I provide my youngling food, water, and shelter does it comply.
Entering the stable he puts his head into his feeding bag.
"Good boy"
He says nothing, he's too busy eating the harvest.
When he's finally fat dumb and happy, does he start to relax.
"Good boy," I tell him, "good boy."
Drifting off to sleep, I'm finally able to lock the stable.
"Snap," goes the button.
He stiffens up, ready to kick.
The tattoo starts to fade.
"Yes sir." I mutter. "Yes sir."
End.
| 2017-08-03T14:37:59 | 2017-08-03T14:06:28 | 154 | 14 |
[WP] And the angel said unto him, "stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself." But lo, he could not stop, for the angel was hitting him with his own hands.
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Having been freed from captivity and having had time to heal, the angel Castitas was eager to spread her newly-regenerated wings once again. In her absence, prayers to her patron had piled up a little higher than Cloud Nine, and she was happy to provide her first intercession.
The prayer card she pulled was a doozy. On paper, the young woman, Gabrielle, had prayed for guidance in a bad situation. In reality, the angel knew, the woman needed to be freed from this bad situation as surely as she needed to escape the devil Tantoque. Castitas almost cursed the time she'd lost when she could have been answering someone's prayer.
Almost. Cursing now wouldn't help anyone.
Taking flight once more, the angel had little time to enjoy the experience of being held aloft as she shifted through the planes. In short order, she found herself in front of 169 Eighth Street on a quiet block in an unremarkable neighborhood. Except for one thing. There was a monster hiding in the daylight, ignored by the neighbors.
Castitas climbed the front steps on foot with her wings camouflaged in the air around them. She rang the bell and waited. A man's voice hollered inside, and then a young woman opened the door.
Gabrielle's face belied her age. The 22-year-old had worry lines and thinning hair. She had no smile to speak of. She did have bloodshot eyes. Beneath one of those, there was a dark circle from lack of sleep. Under the other was a bruise covered in makeup.
It was enough to shake the faith of anyone on the mortal realm. Anyone who looked that way and not the other.
"Yes," Gabrielle said. She stared downward at a point in the distance. "Can I help you?"
"Look up at me, Gabrielle?"
"Do I know you? Where do you know --?"
Gabrielle looked into Castitas's warm, radiant face and gleaming smile. The glow washed over her until she too was smiling.
"May I come in?"
"Certainly. Of course, where are you manners? You have to forgive me. I'm a bit of a klutz about things."
"No," the angel interrupted. "You have nothing to seek forgiveness for. In fact, I feel I should ask your forgiveness that I didn't arrive sooner."
Puzzled, Gabrielle crooked her head to one side. But she reached out to take Castitas's hands. Energy flooded through her body. She felt a tingle that charged her body better than any cup of coffee or bottle of cheap liquor.
"Arrive sooner? I - I'm sorry. Your face looks familiar, but I don't know who you are."
"You can say I'm your guardian angel, except that I went away for a while. But I'm back now."
"I've had a guardian angel?"
"Do you remember nearly being hit by a car when you chased a ball as a child?"
The woman's eyes opened wide. "How did you know about that?"
"I'm the reason you fell backward away from the street. And I ushered you home." The angel put her hand on Gabrielle's face. "I watched over you for years."
Gabrielle dropped her head to the angel's bosom, and wrapped her arms around her. Tears started flowing. "Then why'd you go away?"
Castitas almost shed a tear herself. "That couldn't be avoided. I'm sorry. But I'm here now."
For the kitchen, a voice hollered. "Who's there?"
A man in a dirty white T-shirt came into the hall. He had a glass of whiskey on ice in one hand and a bad attitude on his face.
"Who are you? Another bill collector? The check's in the mail. I sent all the checks in the mail. You people need to back off. Gabby, what the hell are you doing? Get away from her."
The man reached out and latched hold of Gabby's left arm. He yanked her away. "Why are you always doing crazy things like that? Why do you keep doing stupid things?"
"William, I'm -- I'm s-s-sorry."
"You're always sorry. You do dumb thing that make me angry, and then you say you're sorry. Like that fixes everything. You know you only bring things on yourself, right? You know that, right?"
"Excuse me," Castitas said. "William --"
"Are you talking to me? I don't know you, so why are you talking to me." He released Gabrielle, pushing her down to the couch, where she bumped her head against the wall. "I think you need to leave."
"William --"
"Stop saying my name. I don't know who you are but you need to leave. Now." William took two steps forward and reached out for the strange woman's arms. When he grabbed it, the energy he felt wasn't warm and tingly. It was hot, bitter and unforgiving. The woman than covered his hand with her own and held it tight.
In all her time in captivity, the devil holding her never once accosted her nor laid a hand on her. And yet this mortal thus dared to try.
"Who am I?" Her eyes were glowing red. "I am an angel. I am Gabrielle's angel. Lucky for you, I am not an Angel of Vengeance. Lucky for you, I have a respect for all of the Father's children, wayward as they may be and as trying as they make themselves."
Those words didn't calm William's heart, which pounded in his chest. "R-respect, yeah, that's nice. Well, uh, respectfully, you -- you need to--"
"I need to help Gabrielle in the situation she's found herself in. The question is what to do about you. As a guardian, I am honor-bound not to strike another human soul."
William relaxed a little. He would've relaxed more if he could free his hand. "Well, that's good, right? So we have an understanding. I'm sorry about the mixup."
"Yes," the angel smiled. "I understand. I understand that you brought this upon yourself. That you do stupid thing and then you say you're sorry like that fixes everything. You know you only brought this on yourself, right?"
The man's eyes opened wide. He tried once more in vain to free his hand. "Look, I'm sorry. Whatever, you want, I'll -- I'll leave her alone."
"Yes, William, you will. But there's one more important question I have to ask you."
"O-o-okay. What's that?"
Castitas lifted the man's hand off her arm like she was brushing away lint. She held William's hand up in between the two of them. She bent his arm bent to nearly the point of breaking. Then she reversed and thrust his own hand into his face with the force only an angel could muster. The sting resonated like a chorus from a heavenly choir.
"Why are you hitting yourself?" the angel asked the man. Castitas reversed the course of his arm and buffeted the other cheek. "Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?"
She repeated the question five more times until it seemed that blood might flow. "I think you need to leave this place. Unless you wish to bring more things unto yourself."
William collapsed to the floor. He took a position on his hands and knees. "No, no ... I'll ... go. She won't see me again."
"See that you do. I'll be watching Gabrielle more closely from now on."
Castitas turned to her young charge. She was sobbing on the couch. Passing her hand over the young woman's head, stroking her hair, brought some peace. Gabrielle stopped crying and fell asleep.
Then the angel opened the front door and stepped outside. In full view of William, she uncloaked her wings and spread them wider than his eyes could acknowledge. With a simple updraft, she rose and was gone from that house.
As she ascended to the clouds, she was still sorrowful for the time she'd lost. But more than that, she began to wonder if in that time in that devil's clutches, a little of Tantoque hadn't rubbed off on her. She might consider meditations and devotions, even confession to her patron for penance.
At least, she mused, self-flagellation went out with the Middle Ages. So she wouldn't have to worry about hitting herself.
\--
More stories at r/xwhy
This story is a following up to "Devil With An Angel" (prompt-inspired) which can be found in that directory.
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"Stop striking thineself, stop striking thineself," the angel repeated over and over, mischievous grin etched on his face.
But of course, the human prototype could not stop hitting himself. For the angel had his wrists grasped tightly and was slapping his human face with his own primitive hands.
The human had no sense of how long the angel had been hitting him. Time held little meaning here, standing atop a layer of pure white clouds, but it *felt* like endless, neverending—
"Torture!" a great voice boomed, rattling the clouds like a thunderstorm. "In *my* Heavens Above?"
The angel released the human from his grip, and replied with a tinge of fear in his voice, "Oh, my lord, my king, my God, when did thou get here?"
"I am the alpha and the omega," God replied. "I see all. I witness all I wish to witness. The question is, what are *you* doing, Lucifer?"
Lucifer grinned like a child who'd been caught red-handed, elbow deep in the cookie jar. "Merely... *testing* your new human beings, o' mighty God. My congratulations to you, great creator. They seem *quite* resilient."
"Insolence!" God boomed. "You dare assault *my* chosen in *my* home?"
"Was that wrong of me?" Lucifer yawned, idly flapping his wings. "Should I not have done that? My *sincerest* apologies."
"Your apologies no longer suffice. Your presence has stained my kingdom for long enough."
Lucifer's eyes widened, confused. "What do you mean by—"
He was cut short as a great fire engulfed his body. Screaming in agony, Lucifer's great angelic wings burned away, turning to ash. His pure white robes became scorched, tattered rags.
"Forgive me!" the suddenly repentant angel wailed. "My destruction is unnecessary. I'll serve you, I swear it."
"Destruction would be foolhardy. You *will* continue to serve me, you vile snake. I simply have a role in mind where your 'talents' will be put to better, and far more just, use."
With that, the cloud beneath Lucifer's feet vanished, and he plummeted. Hurtling to the Earth far below, he spun and flailed. Nearing the ground and his inevitable death upon impact, he mercifully blacked out, falling into a state of darkness.
\_\_\_\_
Lucifer's eyes popped open in a panic. His cheek rested upon a stone cavern floor, warm to the touch.
"Where the devil am I?" he muttered as he stood.
"Fine choice of words, those are," a wheezing voice replied.
Lucifer turned to find a disfigured creature standing beside him, skin burning red, twisted horns growing from his head. "Who are you? Where am I?" Lucifer repeated.
"Welcome to Hell, my lord," the demon replied. "Your new domain awaits your command."
Beyond the demon stretched endless miles of underground caverns and passageways. The air stank of sulfur. Lakes of roiling fire dotted the landscape. A nice touch, Lucifer thought, really added to the ambiance of the place.
He sighed, realization dawning on the young prince of darkness. "And the role of this new domain?"
The demon raised an eyebrow. "To take on the worst of human souls upon their death, of course. *When* the young species first generation begins to die off, that is. Shouldn't be too long, based on my keeping of the time. They should—"
Just then, a plummeting human, screaming all the way down, fell from a vertical shaft above and impacted the hard stone floor beside Lucifer.
"Where am I?" the human muttered. Seemingly unharmed by the crushing impact, he wobbled to his feet.
"Seems a popular question today." The demon grinned. "Our first resident has arrived, lord Lucifer."
"And...? What are we to do with him?"
"God has sanctioned the eternal punishment of any human vile enough to end up here. It's up to us to decide how to dole out that punishment."
Lucifer grinned for the first time since his arrival in his new home. Grasping the trembling human's wrists tightly in his hands, he said, "Oh, I believe I have the perfect thing in mind for this one..."
\_\_\_\_
Thanks for reading! Check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read many more words from me.
| 2022-03-13T14:48:40 | 2022-03-13T11:00:48 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight.
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These strangw fleshy creatures were so curious. We watched them from far above their planet. Slowly learning their languages, their culture, preparing to accept them into ourselves. They had a strange way of communication, one where they were able to talk using shapes, they didnt even need to see or hear one another. Eventually we began to interperet this thing they called "writing", which gave us the ability to see their history. We intercepted collections of photographs moving so quickly that they looked like we saw these humans through a window.
Through the window we saw them fight amoungst themselves. Why would they do this? In the corner, a symbol we hadnt learned yet. An H, one of their letters, with two red shapes to the left and below.
In this thing they called a "video", we heard them talk about the way their war evolved. War is only supposed to be between two peoples, but these humans only fought themselves.
In the videos, we saw them fight with swords and bows. With the reconnacence complete, we knew we had them outmatched. The invasion fleet arrived within minutes. Our men dropped from space, and we could watch our troop movements. We had Polebows, hollow tubes with an explosive that fired metal shrapnel, they still used crossbows.
As our men began the war, I continued to watch the film. The weapond they used changed. The shape of the swords, the bows turned into crossbows, but still, I knew we had the advantage. But the film continued, the crossbows turned into polebows similar to ours, and I learned a new word. "Gun".
Yet they still killed only eachother. So barbaric.
I watched with horror as the guns became larger. They used wheels to move these giant guns around. They fired balls of steel the size of a human head, and yet they only used them to maim eachother. I began to fear for the troops, but I couldnt tear my eyes from the screen to warn them.
The wheels became metal, the guns became larger, and the projectiles became pointed, and filled with explosive. The humans had something called a "world war". I was shocked. They all fought. Without reason they killed and murdered eachother. I couldnt understand why. They strapped their guns to primitive flying machines, something we'd never thought of. But maybe thats because we never fought till we met another race on another planet. The guns fired faster than ours, they fired further, they hit harder.
With terror, I noticed that the film was only half over.
The guns changed once again. Giant metal machines with cannons built into the sides. The men in this world war were crushed underneath. How could a race so barbaric and bloodthirsty be so advanced? The war finally ended, and I sighed with relief. Id watched so many die. The man on the film talked about the millions that had died. More died in that war than all of my people. I looked longingly at the messenger, before beginning to stand up, my people had to know of the terrible machines these humans had built, simply to kill eachother, but I was stopped by a loud bang. I looked back at the film and they were fighting again. Another world war. This time, it was everywhere. The entire planet was engulfed. I began to shake. Why would these people do this? Kill themselves? Why would any race put themselves through a suffering like this?
Flying machines got bigger. These flying fortresses leveled entire cities. Turning thousands of humans into dust. Their armored cannons got bigger, and deadlier. One group of humans tortured and murdered in such large numbers, and the ones being killed didnt even have weapons.
The humans fighting across the ocean build something terrible. Something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. An entire city was gone in a single flash. My body went cold. Then another city was obliterated. Nothing but ash and a cloud remained. So senseless, this war. I couldnt bring myself to watch anymore. I shut the video off and lowered my head.
I looked to the monitor to see if our troops were still fighting, and I saw that by the time I had finished the film. In fourty human minutes. Every member of the invasion force was wiped out. These humans had become the most brutal killing machines this sector of the galaxy had ever seen.
I looked out the window and saw a speck of light rise from the planet. A tiny object. Maybe an offer of peace? It moved towards the mothership over the next few minutes. Finally, it arrived.
With a blinding flash of light, yet another city was destroyed. This time, the city that would have flown me home.
Several weeks later, running out of food, with no rescue for me coming, I decided to attempt to watch more human videos.
I picked one at random. "Kill Bill", I assumed it was the account of an assassination. An interesting film. No context as to where these people fit into human history, though.
Next was one called "Fifth Element". I was baffled. Did humans once have space travel like this?
Curious, and without anything left to do, I went onwards. "Lord of the Rings".
Perhaps the story of an ancient monarch.
Twelve hours later I realized that none of these things were real. My people had stories, and tales, but there were very few. Nearly everything we had was factual accounts. These humans however, had stories en masse. Endless stories. They wrote, they sang, they acted out these stories. With a quiet sigh, I realized that these humans were not brutal murderers. They were artists. They fought for reasons not even they understood.
Note; Sorry if its a little long, and there might be quite a few spelling and grammar mistakes.
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A species that learned to destroy their planet before learning to leave it. The concept was alien to us. They seemed obsessed in the perfection of warfare.
We had been observing them for years, their progress slow and clumsy. After much debate we, the people of the Themian Empire, decided to intervene and rule the humans and guide them towards the stars. It was our pride our arrogance that was our downfall.
After hundreds of Earthling years of observation determined it would be centuries to reach or level of technology. When we arrived we were treated to the reapings of a time we learned they described as an Industrial Revolution. In a few years they accelerated their technology faster than any race in the Empire. We walked into a killing zone.
The initial scouting shops were barely able to send word back to the fleet about a flock of winged war machines. We had weapons to be sure but they had devices that could take out our ships before we could hear them coming. We were fighting against gods it seemed.
After months of struggling we gained a foothold on their rock. That's when we learned of their surface warfare. We shouldn't have been surprised that a Terran species with that much air superiority would have an even stronger land force but what we fought was the thing of nightmares. Endless bombings on our position from something beyond our sight. We seemed to be repelled by the damn Earth itself. Countless nights of barrages followed by wooshes of the "jets" followed by barrages. It broke us.
We were defeated by the humans and left the planet when they threatened to decimate their own planet to eradicate us. Now only legends are whispered about the great Warrior planet, Earth. And I dread the day they are able to take to the stars.
| 2014-10-17T11:37:42 | 2014-10-17T10:49:51 | 148 | 21 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
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"I don't believe your High Serpahic Council understands what they have asked for here." Celes said. "You have denied my people the opportunity to parley for peace, and you have threatened them with war being brought to their very homes." Celes' voice rose and trembled as she spoke, the anger and fear that gripped her barely contained. "And you refuse to negotiate any rules for this war saying that you will unleash your full wrath on all of humanity?" She stopped, breathing heavily, waiting for any sign that the Council would back down.
"Young Admiral Celes... " The first Chancellor spoke. His species was tall, but thin, while the entirety of the Council was masked to prevent you from knowing their race or origin, he appeared to be from somewhere with extremely low gravity. "Humanity has violated our pact, the great covenant of all, and has shown they do not respect rule and order without testing it. Any species who does not respect the rule of order, does not benefit from it's protection." The lights over his chamber dimmed, as did the rest of the Council, the matter was settled.
"For what comes... Blame man or your gods, but this day will be known as regret." Celes said softly before closing her inquiry and leaving the chamber. It was a quiet walk down the great halls. The building had been so lively on her entry, but with the sentence passed on her people all of the remaining citizens had left, closed their offices and stalls, to give her a taste of the silence and absence her own people were being punished with. The High Seraphic Council would wage their war, on behalf of the entirety of the Galactic Confederation of Unity and Understanding, to protect the Rule and Order of the Order and Rule. The High Seraphic Council understood nothing of man however, they believed we were like them.
We were never like them. We were never a species who had near limitless resources, we never developed identical religions across our sphere to unite us, we were forged in calamity and disaster and hatred and fire. It took the near extinction of our people for us to find the unity these other Confederate members found so easily.
"Rear Admiral Leon." Celes spoke internally, accessing her own internal circuitry and broadcast upgrades.
"I heard, Fleet Admiral Celes, I don't know that they understand what they just did." The voice rang inside her head.
"Once I'm onboard I want the whole fleet to be prepared. We will not wait for official declarations to be drawn up. We'll end this today."
"Didn't they just offer official declarations?" Rear Admiral Leon asked
"No, they made their ruling, but it'll take upwards of a week to put out an official declaration. Their expectation is that we will return home to warn our people, to send out ships to relocate our various outposts and settlements, that we'll try to give one more plea for peace before taking their punishment. It's what the rest of the confederate races would do."
"Ah. Yes Sir." Rear Admiral Leon affirmed.
Fleet Admiral Celes took her small diplomatic shuttle back to the Enterprise, a massive dreadnought that represented the greatest strengths of humanity, and their worst tendencies. The Enterprise, a new ship assembled in the shipyards of Ganymede, was almost four kilometers long, with a beam of almost a full kilometer at its widest point. The massive almost ovular shaped ship was covered in large gun embankments and multiple enormous magneto-gauss accelerators. Every single point had been aimed at known Confederate fleet vehicles and ships throughout the system.
"All ships report readyness." Celes broadcast to her fleet as she stepped into the command room of the Enterprise."
"Bismark Ready"
"Victory Ready"
"Yamamoto Ready"
"Maiden of Peace Ready"
"Mikasa Ready"
"Arizona Ready"
"Botafogo Ready"
"Imperial Education Ready"
Two dozen more ships confirmed readyness as Fleet Admiral Celes assigned more targeting orders and issued the expected withdrawal of all humans on the High Seraphic Homeworld, Cherbimin. She ordered manual targeting and aiming for all ships, with artillery specialists and scientists pouring over numbers and statistics to ensure accuracy. When she confirmed the last shuttle was docked within one of the great transports she sighed. Reaching down to the official com to speak out loud she hesitate just one hopeful moment.
"This is Fleet Admiral Celes Shere, of H.S.N.S Enterprise for peace now of War... I ask one more time, would the High Seraphic council reconsider their desire for war?"
She waited, one breath, two breaths, three breaths. She felt her chest rise and fall slowly as she waited for a response. Surely they were not this foolhardy, thinking that we fought how they did....
"Sir, we have received a message, written in Confederate Common." Security Officer Niemitz spoke. Celes nodded at him and the message appeared before her eyes, a summary dismissal of her requests.
"Do we have a final count of their fleet assets in system?"
"Sir, the identified fleet assets in system composes more than forty percent of the Confederates total fleet, and the vast majority of their useful firepower." Lieutenant Torres spoke up, only answering out loud for those in the room.
"Maiden of Peace, Imperial Education, Victory, and the Enterprise will fire on Security Station XR-31, Transport and Merchant Station XR-31 A, Homeworld Alep, and the High Seraphic Homeworld Bet. Use all armaments at maximum speed. The rest of the fleet will be assigned firing orders shortly, timing and sequence to follow." Fleet Admiral Celes appeared visibly defeated as she spoke. Before her eyes flickered assignments and distances and expected angles of adjustment based on the various gravity wells of this system. The room was nearly silent as everyone viewed and processed orders and requests, a gestalt of shared minds and internal computers focused only on victory for mankind. As the last of the orders were sent out she ordered the various transport ships to begin heading out of system. The Confederate fleets would expect the humans to send civilians off first, leaving their heavily armed fleet to stand and protect the rear of the non-combatants.
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Hera looked up at the sky, she could still hear the laughter that echoed when the rulers of various planets in the galaxy found out that humans had rules, they laughed even harder when they found out out that rules even applied during war. That laughter was burnt in her memory, that teasing laughter, those snide remarks didn't sit well with her or with the rest as she noticed people's growing anger. She didn't rule Earth to be mocked, she ruled it to be great. And greatness she shall achieve.
Hence the war began, not because of weapons or violence but because of mocking laughs.
~
The first rule to be removed was rights. Not for her people, her people weren't the reason behind her sleepless nights, they weren't the reason behind those dreams where those rulers laughed and mocked her. Why should they have rights? They don't deserve it if they don't have the decency to be accepting of others rules, others way of living.
She will stand on the ruins of those leaders and cherish telling them that they lost the right to plead, to live when they made fun of her and her people.
The next will be deaths. Innocents were always out of bounds, they are never supposed to casualties in the fight of power but now, now things will change. She will take over them by hook or by crook. By sword and by blood.
She told her commander to prepare for war as her minister nodded. He never backed down. An insult to character was after all the highest insult. They made us into jesters of the galaxy but it be her and her people who will have the last laugh.
~
She sat on her throne, seeing the pitying forms of the former leaders of the galaxy. She smiled satisfactorily. Things you achieve when you throw out the rules were limitless but she could feel a darkness in her soul that wasn't there before. Was her soul worth her pride?
"Please, have mercy." Cried one of them.
And that she thought, overlooking her darkening soul, was the rule to be destroyed.
| 2022-01-23T14:08:11 | 2022-01-23T11:25:11 | 244 | 118 |
[WP] Aliens that evolved as prey are nervous when living with aliens that evolved as predators. Humans look like prey, but evolved to be persistence predators. A human uses this fact to stand up to a predator who bullies a prey friend.
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It's wierd. People can know that evolution favors survivors, without understanding that the outside does not have to match the inside.
"Gimme your lunch money!"
I see Naabon struggling to not obey, but he's losing the fight. Ralety looms over Naabon, using his status as a predator to force Naabon to do what he wants. Naabon is a friend. I'd like him to learn to stand up for himself, but he's naturally prey, and Ralety has "caught" him. Me? I'm human. I look like prey, but I'm actually persistent predator.
I'm also on my first day as protector. It's my *job* to deal with this sort of thing. Finally. Time to teach a lesson.
"Ralety! Lay off!" He looks at me. Naabon takes his chance to scuttle away. You don't want to run from a predator who's already triggered.
"Damn you human! You cost me my prey! I'm going to take it out of your hide!"
"Stand down Ralety! I'm a protector!"
"You!?! A punny little prey? That's a laugh." I'm in pounce range now.
"That so? I don't see anyone *else* laughing." Ralety is new, and used to being the top predator. Not here bozo. He looks around. Even the predators are shaking their heads no. They have been here long enough to learn better, or paid attention to the briefing.
Ralety charges. He's untrained. A simple throw and he's face down in the dirt. "You stinking prey! You'll pay for that!"
Another of his species steps up to him. "Ralety, don't be stupid! He's a trained fighter, you aren't even a brawler yet. If you insist on this, you'll end up sorry and sore."
"He's PREY! Nature made him for our use!" Ralety is snarling now.
"You have much to learn." Turning to me, "as senior present for my species, I authorize this protector to administer the lesson on persistent predators." I nod my thanks.
"Ralety, do you yield?" My answer is a scream and leap. Another throw, whump in the dirt. Three more throws, three more dirt meals, and Ralety is running away. He's faster than me. I start the chase.
Humans are persistent predators. We're not fast, we're persistent. We don't stop. We keep after our prey until they are too tired to run anymore. In our primitive state, we hunted anything we wanted to. Evolution taught the other creatures on our planet to fear us. They can lose that fear, and some of us may die, but it always ends badly for them when they do.
Ralety stops to breath, looks around and sees me closing on him. He's startled. He can't believe that a prey would be chasing him. As I close, he turns to pounce again. You'd think he'd learn, pounce isn't working, try something else. He runs again. This time I don't even have to run far, so I walk. Steady and smooth. I am a persistent predator. A death dealing machine that will not stop.
Not really, but that's the image I'm trying to project. I think it's working. Don't push too hard, you want to run him to exhaustion, not trigger a desperation killing rage. Hunting predators is tricky business. Too slow, they recuperate. Too fast, they counterattack.
It's messing with his mind. I'm prey. I look prey. I'm slower, have no claws, no fangs, nothing that looks offensive at all. Our offensive capability isn't visible, and we don't mimic normal predators. Normal for how *his* species thinks predators act. Yet I've defeated him multiple times.
A *normal* prey would accept that as sufficient. Go about their business. I'm not doing that. I'm chasing. Slow, steady, inexorable. It's so far outside his experience that he's reacting on instinct and fear.
It's not a pretty thing that I do; but it is necessary. He's already shown his contempt for the briefing. He's already shown his intent to use the predator/prey relationship to his advantage without regard for the rules. And a senior of his own species has authorized this lesson. Be professional, even if you are still in school yourself. Do the job right. You are an instructor in reality now. This is what he gets for being willfully ignorant.
I don't expect empathy, because that's too hard for many predator species to assimilate that. I do expect and require obedience to the rules, which includes respecting the briefing.
He's panting hard now. Looking wildly for a bolt hole. He's in complete panic now. This is the most dangerous time.
Softly, softly, "Ralety? ... Ralety? ... Ralety?" The wild look relaxes. "Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"
Whispering, "you're a nightmare. You don't exist. You cannot exist."
"Yet here I am. Talking with you. Trying to help you understand reality on this world. This is not your home world. The rules are different.
Do you remember where you are?"
"Earth, school, too many prey, too few predators, prey must be reduced for balance. Cannot eat. Must not eat. Chase away. Chase excess away. Avoid disaster."
Now it makes sense. He saw the briefing on population and distribution, but not the provision for ecological support. Nor the different types of predators, because he'd already locked up on the imbalance. That damned briefing *must* be tuned to the species type. They've been dithering for a decade. That has got to stop.
"Can you come with me? You will be safe. I will guarantee it."
"Prey, Not-Prey, Nightmare, guarantee safety?"
"Yes, now, today, and against disaster. Your people will not starve."
"No hunger time?"
"No hunger time."
He pulls in on himself. Gives a most catlike shake, and steps quietly along with me. Time for the infirmary. Time for another pass at the briefing. Time to apologise.
Time to tear a strip off the Council, with both Ralety and Naabon with me. This time they're going to listen, or *they* are going to get a lesson. I don't care how exalted they think they are. *I* am a persistent predator.
((finis))
|
The Salycid's wings buzz loudly behind her, but the air of this world is too thin and dry for her to fly. Her compound eyes glare balefully at her pursuer from beneath wilted crests of desiccated flesh.
"Why, soft thing?" she rasps. Even through the respirator, her voice is parched and cracked. "Centauri, Cephon, Orion Three... no hunt is so long."
The slender alien's skin glistens in the harsh light of Opria's moons. It utters a series of short barks before speaking.
"A few months, a dozen planets and moons -- that's barely a warm-up," the alien scoffs, its mockery translated into a tinny monotone by the cheap translation matrix in the Salycid's primary auditory orifice. "What you did to Oss-9 was worth a good bit more than that."
The Salycid cocks her head. "Oss-9?"
The alien's face wrinkles in the manner of a preybeast. "That's his name," it says. "The Aralian you almost killed."
The Salycid's pores widen, though they're so encrusted with the coarse Oprian sand they likely couldn't have released much pheromone even if she'd had enough liquid left to make any. "The Aralian?" she asks in disbelief. "Perhaps you wished hunt for self? Meant no intrusion -- misidentified soft thing as preybeast."
The alien barks again, baring its teeth. The Salycid recoils from the threat. "Not prey," it says. "A broodmate." The last word is subtly inflected by the translation matrix, indicating low confidence in the translation.
"We do not wish intrusion on soft thing's... brood," the Salycid rasps hurriedly. "Did not know."
The alien barks once more. "Be glad you didn't kill him in your ignorance," the alien says, rotating its head rhythmically. It lowers its weapon. "In the future, stick to synthmeat." To the Salycid's astonishment, it turns to leave.
The sight of the strange alien's back, fleshy and almost shapeless under its loose garment, gives the Salycid unlooked-for hope. A predator of some strange sort, perhaps -- but it wears the weak body of a preybeast. She springs with an astonishing speed; this godforsaken world has sapped her strength, but this is what she was hatched for.
The C-beam hits her even faster, knocking her hard to the side and leaving a gaping hole blasted into her flank. The Salycid looks up from the ground as her vision fades and scours the sand for her hidden attacker. There -- coming out to meet the alien. The Salycid rustles her wings one last time in disbelief.
She had never seen an Aralian with a rifle. *What manner of creature...* she wonders, but her thoughts dim before she can answer.
| 2019-09-10T06:23:17 | 2019-09-10T03:58:18 | 62 | 35 |
[WP] Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help.
|
There’s a particular sensation, of sorts, that comes to a person in their dying moments; hard to place, at first. However over time —and an egregious amount of practice, I’ve been able to nail it down to a handful of words:
“My insides are cold.” Okay sure, not the most graceful of death-words. Nevertheless I take solace in the fact that I’ll get another chance, come next sunrise.
It has been this way for quite some time, now. Since the moment I tumbled ahead of a once-friend, arms splayed outwards to embrace a rain of poisoned arrows; since the moment they mourned me all night, buried me in a shoddily crafted grave only for it to burst open the morning after. I’d crawled from the debris, gasping for air and frantically poking at now-unmarred flesh. In their panic, the ranger had put an arrow in my head, mistaking me for an undead, and that was how I’d experienced my second death.
Once again, I rose on the morning after, this time with only a headache to show for the moment. Well, that and a bony head-plate, stretching out from where the killer arrow had made its mark. When I came to, my friends had left, not bothering to bury me again... I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Though it hurt, all the same.
From then on, I traveled the continent, merely content to continue my mission; a mission, which admittedly, I seemed to have forgotten the details of. I’d chalk that memory loss up to a certain arrow through my brain. Nevertheless, my confused wandering led me to a small town, overrun by goblins. I knew something was truly up when I accidentally crushed a goblin’s head to a pulp in my hands, which I suddenly came to realize were quite a bit larger than I’d remembered. Still, numbers are a tricky game, and though I managed to repel the horde and save the people, I once again succumbed to my wounds. I’m afraid having well over half a dozen weapons impaled into your back tends to have that effect.
That time, I was prepared for what would follow. So when I awoke in the early morning, splayed out on a medical table, I was quick to gather my things, not quite eager to fit another arrow in my brain. I left the scene on wings I knew for a fact had not been there the day before.
Stories spread across the region of a man whom death had rejected. It took an admittedly embarrassing length of time for me to make the connection that he and I were one and the same —once again I blame that arrow. Over time, however, those stories began to change, from a valorous hero with a golden heart, to a monstrous creature, cloaked in shadow and bathed in blood. Personally I find the latter quite rude, as I very much do not *bathe* in blood. I merely dabble, from time to time.
Of course, in times like these bathing in blood doesn’t seem like such a bad deal. Yes, I’m afraid being locked in a cage one size too small and run through daily with silver weapons is quite effective and withering one’s patience. Least of all when the scowling faces staring back at you are oddly familiar —though I’m honestly struggling to determine where I’ve seen them.
They don’t seem to have caught on though, to what terrible mistake they have been making, since the moment the rogue blindsided me and put a silver dagger in my spine; since the moment they trapped me in this cage and played their cruel games with my life; since the moment they started killing me, daily, for the last several months. They don’t seem to have caught on that I’ve been letting them have their fun, biding my time for an appropriate moment.
As this ranger prepares to cram another arrow shaft-deep in my brain, I smile at him, savoring the spike of fear that arcs across his face. His shaky hands loose his instrument of death and this time it turns to silver dust before it can even reach me. He panics and attempts to backpedal, presumably to warn his party. He manages one step before my tongue reaches him, fired from my maw like a harpoon and impaling his brain. There’s a certain vindictive pleasure that I feel as I real his spasming corpse closer and closer, clamping my jaws around his too-small head and torso like a trash compactor. Blood splatters my whole face but I’m not quite bathing in blood, yet. Luckily there’s a whole smorgasbord of villains for me to choose from, on this day.
I flex, and my cage bursts apart like a box of straw. Then, I stretch, uncoiling myself to my full height. I’m much larger than I remember; I attribute that particular detail to the arrows in my head. I yawn, and it’s a peculiar sound. One part guttural roar, two parts high-pitched demonic shrieking, like a woman being stabbed to death, or a cat being crammed into a blender. Or both at once, really.
Small bodies fill the area, what appears to be a central plaza, of sorts. I seriously question the logic of bringing me to the central location of such a populated place, but I’ll chalk *that* particular goof up to human arrogance. Have I mentioned how tiny they are?
I crack my neck and stretch my wings, casting an enormous shadow over the ants. I could simply leave, of course. One flap of my wings and I’d be over the skyline before they could even make their first move. For a moment, I even consider it. I think of who I was, and what I stood for... Then I realize I can’t remember at all who I used to be.
I attribute that particular error to all those arrows in my head.
|
He had learned early to walk with Death.
It was not just the adventuring. Arrows and axes, spells and swords, all slew indiscriminately, friends and foes and more than once, himself. Yet always, resurrection came, but only for him. At first.
Once a sorcerer only, he started to feel the song of bones and the melody of the soul. Allies and enemies, young and old, he felt it all. The snap of a neck as a Paladin, name long forgotten, drove a mace in. The cry of a child as raiders took her mother's life, then hers. The torment of slavery as they fought wights unending, allies turned to enemies as they fell.
The end justified the means. Primal power surged through his body. It killed him. It killed the wights. It killed the arisen. It killed his humanity.
He awoke in sight of former allies. They saw him. They attacked, with holy blade and shards of ice, two on one. They struck, he feared, and he drew.
The song swelled, the melody strengthened, and the dead arose to his bidding. And he felt alive. Alive as he had not in a long time. He laughed as the Paladin and Wizard left. Their names, he had forgotten. Everything from before felt... Unimportant. Irrelevant. His profession. His age. His allies. His quests. It all felt meaningless in the face of the song and melody that wove its web in and around him. Eternal and forever, the web had him, and he had the web.
Koschei had walked to Death's tune long enough. Now Death would walk to his tune.
| 2022-08-26T13:16:58 | 2022-08-26T12:19:22 | 290 | 62 |
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