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2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] Describe the thoughts of the Angel of Death on the day of a nuclear war.
|
I have a book of names. The letters appear and disappear as people do. When I started this job, I would memorize each name individually, and pray for each one as it faded away.
"Adam." "Isaac." "Heracles." "Sarah." "Vibiana."
As the years passed, the names seemed to flow more and more rapidly, until they became a river. No, a geyser that spits the name from some underground source, giving them the energy to rise until they fall. A flow that I've seen so much for so long that I stopped seeing them.
So I thought that when this day came, it would be easier for me.
I don't know what will happen to your souls. None of the angels know. We only trust that God would not have created you if he did not have a plan. We only trust that there is a meaning in your existence. Most of us do not think much about death, because we are immortal. I think about death. I hate death. I only ever walked death. I did not own it.
I expected my last day on the job to be sweet. I expected to be happy to feel this burden no more. I was wrong.
I stare at the book so that I will not have to look into the fire. The pages go blank dozens at a time. I try once more to pray for them.
"Adam Li." "Isaac." "Robert Eccles." "Sarah Drinkwater." "Vivian Hamoud."
Goodbye. Sleep well.
|
And then, on the 15 of July 2015, they were all burned by the sun.
When the Pakistani missiles took off, the Indians did the same. Within a minute, 371 missiles and 1461 warheads were flying. They rapidly entered sub orbital flight, to avoid interception. 12 of them exploded in space, generating a massive EM wave. 60% of world satellites died.
1449 were still flying. Twenty minutes after they took off, the slaughter began. They always say the ones who burn instantaneously are the luckiest. Yes they are. They will not be burned to the bone and suffer for days, begging to die. They will not eat radioactive particles for years, giving them multiples cancers. They will not mourn their entire family.
I watched the cities of the Indian peninsula burn, again, again and again. When the last nuke fell, Bombay wasn't a city anymore.
The huge cloud of particles was worse than everybody thought. The crops will die, people will fight for food, a massive hunger awaits the world. The dead will pile up, every governments and order will collapse, killing more and more people.
All of this for God will, to kill the infidels. The worst part is that they think they will go to heaven, the did what God wanted, they will join HIM.
There is no heaven, no hell, there is just me. At least, humans provided me some companionship in this lonely universe. I watched their little silly stories to pass the time. Now I will just stay alone.
| 2015-02-04T09:45:29 | 2015-02-04T09:38:43 | 51 | 12 |
[WP] Batman is sent in to an alternate reality during a foray with the Justice League. He discovers a reality where he all but erased crime in Gotham via simply investing in education and welfare.
|
"I like what you've done with the place."
I've handled different dimensions in my time as Batman, but this...this was different. No Justice Lords, no Dictator Superman, nothing but investment. It's funny; people often joked that the only real superpower was money. Here, in this Gotham, "Bruce" had proven that point.
"I understand if you have questions," began Bruce. "You're not the only one who's travelled dimensions."
"How long did this take?" I begin.
"10 years, give or take a few weeks."
"How were you able to do this?"
"I invested in the most disgusting thing possible: politicians. By organising a lobby group, I was able to push for tax incentives for educational and welfare initiatives; after-school programmes, blood drives, organ donation, and so forth."
"What of the Justice League?"
"Kal is still butting heads with Luthor - I may be rich, but he's rich and arrogant; a cumbersome combination. Diana is the UN Champion of the Earth. Barry currently heads the Keystone Forensics department. Hal is out patrolling the rest of his sector. Ronnie & Dr Stein are working on their Matrix reactor with S.T.A.R labs, and J'ohn is currently undercover in Guatemala."
"What about Alfred?"
"Alfred's doing...as well as he can for a man of his age. There's only so much I can do before time just refuses to help any more."
I paused for a moment, analysing everything I'd ingested. Then, the main question hit me.
"Why? Why are you doing all this?"
The smile faded from Bruce's expression. "After all the years of fighting the Joker, and the rest of the rogue gallery, I realised that nothing was getting accomplished. I traced back every aspect of the situation, until I realised what I truly wanted to achieve:
That no child - in Gotham, or anywhere else - would have to suffer the pain of losing the ones he loves most, because of some punk with a gun."
|
Bruce looked into the eyes of the strangely dressed man in front of him... and recognized them.
They looked exactly like his, but hiding some deep and searing pain.
Bruce had lived an idyllic life, the son of the most wealth family in Gotham City. Not only had his parents been wealthy, they had also been loving and kind, they passed that kindness on to him.
Throughout his life Bruce had been using his wealth to fight poverty. Schools, children's homes, homeless shelters, afternoon programs, and free public transportation; all subsidized by Wayne Industries. Gotham was the crown city of the United States, virtually no crime at all.
The look on the masked man's face turned to confusion as he spoke in a shaky, unnerved voice.
"B-b-bbut how is this Gotham so different?"
Bruce replied calmly. "A lot of effort planning and investment, the more I invested in people the more profitable Wayne Industries was, and thus the more I could do to help this city."
"What about the Joker and Penguin how did you stop all of there nefarious plots?"
"Senator penguin was arrested for corruption last year, when Harvey Dent caught on to Penguin's embezzlement schemes he worked diligently to bring him to justice. I'm really not sure of who this Joker you speak of is though"
"He's a maniac who kills for fun, he wears clown make up to cover up the scars on his face that form a permanent grin around his mouth."
"That sounds like Jonathan. He came from an abusive home, his mother cut those scars into his cheaks. He ran away to the circus where the abuse continued for years. He was rescued by an international antihuman trafficking operation that I had begun. I adopted him at the same time adopted my other son Robin."
The masked man sat astonished at what he'd just heard, silence filled the room for what felt like hours. It wasn't broken until an elderly couple entered the room.
Bruce spoke excitedly to them.
"Mom, Dad! I'm so glad you could make it!"
| 2015-02-13T08:36:58 | 2015-02-13T08:32:24 | 299 | 92 |
[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.
|
They started showing themselves to me when I started high school. They were always a light shade of blue and wouldn't change. If someone was to die of a heart attack...he was to die of a heart attack. Nothing to be done about their fate. Nothing I could do, at least I thought. Those words would hang over the heads of my best friends, my significant others, and any pet I would own. It wasn't the best superpower, but at least nothing surprised me...at least, not recently. I started seeing some of the most painful, and drawn out, terminal diseases being replaced by a name. John Relain. I don't know who he is, all I know is I have to find him. If he has my power, and is acting on these diagnoses, I can't allow him to continue.
|
They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames.
| 2015-03-31T08:21:48 | 2015-03-31T07:44:11 | 47 | 22 |
[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.
|
Tim wakes up with a scream. He knows something is wrong, but can't figure it out what. His body just wants to go back to sleep. He's never fully understood what the words above people's heads were, but after the first visit to the doctor he's never spoken about it again.
After last night's explosion, he's finally started to realize how sudden death can be. He knows exactly what the words mean.
His mom enters the room. Tim runs out of the apartment, and his mom follows him out with panic, sick with worry that he's going to need to see the psych again. He's knocking and screaming on every door and heading outside. Some people follow him out the building, worried that Tim's mom will have to handle him by herself.
A few minutes later, the building blows up.
Just another news story in NYC.
---
Criticism welcome and wanted.
|
They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames.
| 2015-03-31T08:43:31 | 2015-03-31T07:44:11 | 36 | 22 |
[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.
|
"Heart Attack," "Stroke," "Diabetes," "Car Accident," "Alzheimer's."
Boooring. You never see anything new these days. Wasn't like the war back in my day where you'd see all sorts of stuff. Gas attacks, carpet bombings, suicide bombings... those kept you on your toes. You knew who NOT to associate with back then. You see a few "shells" in a room together and you'd know what was going to go down. Sometimes you have enough prior warning to take an action shot. Nowadays the only thing you can really hope for is a shooting. My work really has suffered... I need inspiration... something new... someth-
"Nuclear fire"
Oh... oh my. Who are you my little lovely? Accident or act of war? Can it be? After a decade of waiting are we back on schedule? I wonder if he's visiting or if he's a loc-
"Nuclear fire"
Oh shit there's another one. What are the odds? Two's not so ba-
"Nuclear fire"
Th-three huh? Well that's
"Nuclear fire"
...Fuck.
|
"Hi Sally" i said to my secretary as I entered my office.
"Mornin Mr King" she replied seemingly chipper as always, the large word suicide in bold red above her head seemed dimmer today. Maybe it was just me.
I see signs of how people die. Literal worded signs. Floating over their head and all.
If I told anyone they would think I was insane so I keep it to myself as much as I can.
Sometimes I can't help thinking I can make a change in people. Somehow change the way they die so it's more pleasant.
Take Sally for instance. When I first interviewed her the word over her head, suicide, was a brilliant crimson red. I thought that meant she was close to doing it. I wasn't going to hire her initially but then I thought why not. I swear the color got lighter when I offered her the job on the spot. Probably just wishful thinking. Poor kiddo I really like her.
I decided to take a walk outside for lunch since it was a nice spring day and that's when I noticed a change. A whole lot of people had tornado and an unbelievable amount had shark.
W.T.F.?
| 2015-03-31T10:39:31 | 2015-03-31T10:08:20 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone is now born with only one feeling. It is possible to kill another person to obtain their feeling.
|
Love seems wonderful, and happiness is obviously awesome. Fear is at least exciting. Sadness is deep, or so I've heard.
Why did I have to get stuck with envy? I don't even have anger to get mad about it. It's just spending every waking moment pining after what I don't have. And what I want most is another emotion. And if it means I have to kill for it? Well, remorse is not in my repetoire. That's why I'm standing in the middle of a park with a pistol, looking for the right mark.
There's a little girl sitting on the bench, her shoulders shaking with sobs. I'd settle for depression, but if I'm going to jail, I might as well do like everyone else there and get the best possible emotion. Two men having a shouting match by the water fountain - probably not a great choice, though I guess it'd be useful where I'm going.
An old woman walks by, hunched over her walker. "Good morning, young man," she says, her wrinkles lifting from her wide smile.
I pull out my pistol and aim at her face.
"Anger, is it? Or envy?"
"Envy," I reply.
"Ah, should've guess from your cold demeanor. I always figured I'd die to one of you. I'm honestly surprised I lived this long," she says with a gentle grin. Her calm contentment makes my hands drop and waver as jealousy overwhelms me. God, how I want to be able to smile like that. The old lady sighs, then says, "I hope you enjoy it. I'm looking forward to finally mourning and meeting my husband in death."
I can't take it any more. I shoot her directly in the chest. She crumples to the ground.
For the first time, laughter comes tumbling out of my throat. It's exuberant and blissful. But as I look over her still smiling face, I know that I will never be as happy as she was.
|
Rage. All I felt was Rage. This is the only emotion I've ever felt since as long as I can remember. Until this morning that is.
School started today as it usually did. I went english, then biology, and then I had history. God I hated history. Mr. Edwards, the history teacher, was always so timid... Pathetic creature he was. I t angered me so much every single time he opened his sad little mouth. But today was different somehow... Mr. Edwards had this look in his eye, a look of confidence that had never been there before...
This only made me hate him that much more....
The events that occurred during history are still a little fuzzy, but I have this strange twisting emptiness sensation in my gut that I've never experienced before, fear maybe? This is all so foreign to me.
Back to history class though, I remember asking a question, and Mr. Edwards responded in a snide, condescending way. That mother-fucker never had the audacity to talk to me like that before. And after, he just looked at me, with these eyes that silently screamed "you are nothing compared to me you little shit."
That was it. Blind rage exploded through my body. I am usually good at containing these outburst of mine, but not this time. The darkness got ahold of me and I was gone.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting on top of Mr. Edwards, with a pair of scissors in my hand. The scissors were not the color I remembered them to be... They were a deep crimson... and warm... I looked down at what I can only assume to be Mr. Edwards. He was hard to recognize with his face caved in.
A sense of strength and accomplishment welled inside me as I stood up.
But then that strange, guttural sensation of my organs twisting on one another swelled up in me... I had just killed Mr. Edwards... Fuck... What have I done... What is this that I feel... I feel fear...
| 2015-04-01T12:15:09 | 2015-04-01T11:15:59 | 364 | 44 |
[WP] Everyone is now born with only one feeling. It is possible to kill another person to obtain their feeling.
|
I sat, knees to my chest, shuddering at the screams outside. When I was young, I'd been placed in a Complex Complex, a gated community for those of us with more "involved" feelings than others. Some got happiness, sadness, the simple things. Others got relief, longing, or hunger - a myriad of conflicting feelings, a gold mine for any Hunter.
I had gotten anxiety.
I spent my days and nights terrified of life, of consequences, of my thoughts. I frequently wondered what it would be like to kill someone for joy or relief, before anxiety took over and paralyzed me. Just the idea of watching someone's eyes glaze off, then lose their light... My chest constricted and I couldn't bear the weight I knew a murder would bring.
But now it was kill or be killed - Hunters had broken into the Complex, and were killing anyone they could get to. Outside of the closet I was hiding in, I could hear people I'd grown up alongside dying, positive, negative, no matter their feeling. I knew, even with such a heavy feeling, everyone would want me.
The footsteps in the hall came first. Loud, rapid, filled with purpose. The door to my room kicked open, wood cracking to allow entry. The steps ended right in front of the closet, where I did everything to silence my shuddering breath.
The slow creak of my unkept hinges signalled the Hunter's entry, grinning at his prize.
"Been looking for you, Bun," he smiled, raising his carving knife.
"I..." Tears welled up behind my eyes, before I lifted my handgun, holding the barrel straight with my other hand, squeezing my eyes as I squeezed the trigger.
I watched him crumple in front of me, bullet lodged in his forehead.
A feeling of sick pride washed over me, sociopathic at the least, revelling in the act I had just committed.
I was ready for a Hunt.
|
Rage. All I felt was Rage. This is the only emotion I've ever felt since as long as I can remember. Until this morning that is.
School started today as it usually did. I went english, then biology, and then I had history. God I hated history. Mr. Edwards, the history teacher, was always so timid... Pathetic creature he was. I t angered me so much every single time he opened his sad little mouth. But today was different somehow... Mr. Edwards had this look in his eye, a look of confidence that had never been there before...
This only made me hate him that much more....
The events that occurred during history are still a little fuzzy, but I have this strange twisting emptiness sensation in my gut that I've never experienced before, fear maybe? This is all so foreign to me.
Back to history class though, I remember asking a question, and Mr. Edwards responded in a snide, condescending way. That mother-fucker never had the audacity to talk to me like that before. And after, he just looked at me, with these eyes that silently screamed "you are nothing compared to me you little shit."
That was it. Blind rage exploded through my body. I am usually good at containing these outburst of mine, but not this time. The darkness got ahold of me and I was gone.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting on top of Mr. Edwards, with a pair of scissors in my hand. The scissors were not the color I remembered them to be... They were a deep crimson... and warm... I looked down at what I can only assume to be Mr. Edwards. He was hard to recognize with his face caved in.
A sense of strength and accomplishment welled inside me as I stood up.
But then that strange, guttural sensation of my organs twisting on one another swelled up in me... I had just killed Mr. Edwards... Fuck... What have I done... What is this that I feel... I feel fear...
| 2015-04-01T13:09:44 | 2015-04-01T11:15:59 | 64 | 44 |
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm
|
The first day, every RPG fan nearly went insane. By a week, everyone had begun to get over it and we'd even figured out the number was our level. I'd always been a huge fan of RPGs, so it was quite a pleasant surprise to wake up to. My two of my closest friends were a level 6 rogue and a level 9 paladin, which was pretty cool, and my girlfriend is a level 12 cryomancer. I'm pretty proud of that actually, since most chicks I've seen are healers or archers. I've seen a few rare classes here and there, too; druids, assassins, summoners, and other things that are pretty common in games but not in real life, I suppose. Heck, my mom is a healer and my dad's a brawler. But my class, well, I don't know what to make of it. When I woke up, I was a level 3 Hero.
As you can imagine, it's made life a little complicated for me. To avoid getting swarmed by rabid lunatics, I hide my left arm under a splint and fake a broken arm. It's not too hard to get away with, since everyone assumes I'm something uninteresting. Heck, a guy accused me of being an NPC and that I was hiding it from shame. Of course, he turned out to be labelled NPC, which made it even funnier.
I told my girlfriend and she doesn't know what to think of it. I mean, obviously she thinks its cool, but she doesn't know what it means. Considering Hero isn't a typical class, you can't exactly research it. And no one else seems to have it, so when we do try to get help we're accused of lying. No big deal really, since it hasn't affected my life too much.
The only thing that's bugging me about it is my best friend. He managed to get a unique class too. We've checked online to see if anyone else has it, and he goes through the same crap. We don't really worry about it, since life seems to generally be the same, but it makes me nervous to look at it. After all, he's the only guy with the word Overlord on his arm.
|
The glares I had been getting as I walked through campus serve as a reminder to that awful word forever inked onto my left arm.
"Thief"
Not even Rogue, or Assassin. Just Thief.
I've never stolen anything in my life, why Thief? Dave turned into a Pyro mage, and Matt became a Knight, even came with cool armour and a sword.
What did I get? A knife, and a stupid cloak that would look good if you went larping, but could get you laughed off the streets, which it did.
The worst part of all this is everyone avoids you, like you're obligated to steal something from them.
Dave has been setting fire to everything in the apartment and Matt keeps 'practicing' his swordsmanship in the living room. Knocked over my picture of my family, too.
I spend another day of isolated seclusion getting drunk and playing video games when a furious knock sounds from my door. I ignore it for a while, but the incessant bangs compel me to answer.
"What?" I lazily shout in discontempt.
"I know you stole it you fucking thief!" An aggressive voice calls out from behind the window.
I spot the man peering through angrily at me.
Brett. The Hero.
I groan and stumble my way to the door.
Why?
I unlock the deadbolt and reach for the handle.
Don't. Just go to bed.
"I'm gonna punch you."
Good one. Of course, I don't. I'm on my back before I know it with Brett standing over me, fuming.
"My sword! where is it?"
"I don't have your sword. Why do you care, it's just a stupid metal stick." I get a rather sobering slap for that. "What the hell?"
"That sword is the Taming Sari."
"So."
"Whoever wields that sword is unbeatable. Anyone, as in some measly thief like you."
Before I could form a rebuttal, Matt shows up, his shirt is torn and he looks beat.
"Guys, we have a problem." The urgency in Matt's voice is clear as day.
~
I would write more but I'm busy for the rest of the day, feedback will be much appreciated, this is my first story.
Edit: minor tweaks and a capital k.
| 2015-07-13T18:22:30 | 2015-07-13T17:50:28 | 76 | 44 |
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm
|
The first day, every RPG fan nearly went insane. By a week, everyone had begun to get over it and we'd even figured out the number was our level. I'd always been a huge fan of RPGs, so it was quite a pleasant surprise to wake up to. My two of my closest friends were a level 6 rogue and a level 9 paladin, which was pretty cool, and my girlfriend is a level 12 cryomancer. I'm pretty proud of that actually, since most chicks I've seen are healers or archers. I've seen a few rare classes here and there, too; druids, assassins, summoners, and other things that are pretty common in games but not in real life, I suppose. Heck, my mom is a healer and my dad's a brawler. But my class, well, I don't know what to make of it. When I woke up, I was a level 3 Hero.
As you can imagine, it's made life a little complicated for me. To avoid getting swarmed by rabid lunatics, I hide my left arm under a splint and fake a broken arm. It's not too hard to get away with, since everyone assumes I'm something uninteresting. Heck, a guy accused me of being an NPC and that I was hiding it from shame. Of course, he turned out to be labelled NPC, which made it even funnier.
I told my girlfriend and she doesn't know what to think of it. I mean, obviously she thinks its cool, but she doesn't know what it means. Considering Hero isn't a typical class, you can't exactly research it. And no one else seems to have it, so when we do try to get help we're accused of lying. No big deal really, since it hasn't affected my life too much.
The only thing that's bugging me about it is my best friend. He managed to get a unique class too. We've checked online to see if anyone else has it, and he goes through the same crap. We don't really worry about it, since life seems to generally be the same, but it makes me nervous to look at it. After all, he's the only guy with the word Overlord on his arm.
|
The smell in the Horry County Melee Classifications Office was halfway between entering a small domestic airplane and the Dentist's. It was in Conway near the DMV, or in other words between nada and jackshit, but still at the end of many clogged-up roads on a Wednesday afternoon. David imagined how the air in his car was right then pounding against the windows trying to escape the slow metamorphasis to oven.
"I've been waiting a whole hour now," said the rogue in the chair next to David. Across from them a little warrior girl was staring at them. She was sitting on her dad's meaty leg. The dad was staring at the clock through the potted plant.
"It's some bullshit."
"I hear you, man."
The other rogue was older than David. He wore cargo shirts and a weathered Jimmy Buffet hat.
"You know what it is, too. They're trying to keep a watch on all us. Say all we do is steal."
"Of course."
"Then give us the crap jobs. Barely feeds one."
"I know it."
The secretary called David's name. There was a clipboard on the counter already. The older man sighed loudly and walked off towards the restroom. There were several packets under the clipboard all separated by different staples.
"You brought your ID and birth certificate with you?"
"I have my license."
"We need both ID and birth certificate, sir."
"What if I gave my Social Security?"
David looked back and met eyes with the little girl. She smiled. The father was now looking at something next to the clock. One fluorescent bulb being out didn't mean the room got that much darker.
"Take these forms home, fill them out, and come back tomorrow with the certificate. I'm sorry that I can't do much more for you."
There were two piles of different clipboards. David's was the kind where the pen was attached by a plastic spiral cord like a telephone receiver has.
"Goddamn pickpocket!" said the warrior.
David looked back again. The warrior was standing up with his fist at the top of an uppercut. The girl was sitting on the floor underneath where the older rogue had been crushed straight into a fluorescent light and then some. His cap was on the floor. The broken glass must have cut somewhere because blood started dripping downwards over his clothes and his bare calves and the floor. The little girl stood up, leaned back, and with all the air in her lungs spat on the rogue's shoes.
| 2015-07-13T18:22:30 | 2015-07-13T16:33:16 | 76 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm
|
The glares I had been getting as I walked through campus serve as a reminder to that awful word forever inked onto my left arm.
"Thief"
Not even Rogue, or Assassin. Just Thief.
I've never stolen anything in my life, why Thief? Dave turned into a Pyro mage, and Matt became a Knight, even came with cool armour and a sword.
What did I get? A knife, and a stupid cloak that would look good if you went larping, but could get you laughed off the streets, which it did.
The worst part of all this is everyone avoids you, like you're obligated to steal something from them.
Dave has been setting fire to everything in the apartment and Matt keeps 'practicing' his swordsmanship in the living room. Knocked over my picture of my family, too.
I spend another day of isolated seclusion getting drunk and playing video games when a furious knock sounds from my door. I ignore it for a while, but the incessant bangs compel me to answer.
"What?" I lazily shout in discontempt.
"I know you stole it you fucking thief!" An aggressive voice calls out from behind the window.
I spot the man peering through angrily at me.
Brett. The Hero.
I groan and stumble my way to the door.
Why?
I unlock the deadbolt and reach for the handle.
Don't. Just go to bed.
"I'm gonna punch you."
Good one. Of course, I don't. I'm on my back before I know it with Brett standing over me, fuming.
"My sword! where is it?"
"I don't have your sword. Why do you care, it's just a stupid metal stick." I get a rather sobering slap for that. "What the hell?"
"That sword is the Taming Sari."
"So."
"Whoever wields that sword is unbeatable. Anyone, as in some measly thief like you."
Before I could form a rebuttal, Matt shows up, his shirt is torn and he looks beat.
"Guys, we have a problem." The urgency in Matt's voice is clear as day.
~
I would write more but I'm busy for the rest of the day, feedback will be much appreciated, this is my first story.
Edit: minor tweaks and a capital k.
|
The smell in the Horry County Melee Classifications Office was halfway between entering a small domestic airplane and the Dentist's. It was in Conway near the DMV, or in other words between nada and jackshit, but still at the end of many clogged-up roads on a Wednesday afternoon. David imagined how the air in his car was right then pounding against the windows trying to escape the slow metamorphasis to oven.
"I've been waiting a whole hour now," said the rogue in the chair next to David. Across from them a little warrior girl was staring at them. She was sitting on her dad's meaty leg. The dad was staring at the clock through the potted plant.
"It's some bullshit."
"I hear you, man."
The other rogue was older than David. He wore cargo shirts and a weathered Jimmy Buffet hat.
"You know what it is, too. They're trying to keep a watch on all us. Say all we do is steal."
"Of course."
"Then give us the crap jobs. Barely feeds one."
"I know it."
The secretary called David's name. There was a clipboard on the counter already. The older man sighed loudly and walked off towards the restroom. There were several packets under the clipboard all separated by different staples.
"You brought your ID and birth certificate with you?"
"I have my license."
"We need both ID and birth certificate, sir."
"What if I gave my Social Security?"
David looked back and met eyes with the little girl. She smiled. The father was now looking at something next to the clock. One fluorescent bulb being out didn't mean the room got that much darker.
"Take these forms home, fill them out, and come back tomorrow with the certificate. I'm sorry that I can't do much more for you."
There were two piles of different clipboards. David's was the kind where the pen was attached by a plastic spiral cord like a telephone receiver has.
"Goddamn pickpocket!" said the warrior.
David looked back again. The warrior was standing up with his fist at the top of an uppercut. The girl was sitting on the floor underneath where the older rogue had been crushed straight into a fluorescent light and then some. His cap was on the floor. The broken glass must have cut somewhere because blood started dripping downwards over his clothes and his bare calves and the floor. The little girl stood up, leaned back, and with all the air in her lungs spat on the rogue's shoes.
| 2015-07-13T17:50:28 | 2015-07-13T16:33:16 | 44 | 17 |
[WP] For 4000 years, an immortal seer in the Himalayas has answered one question truthfully for each person who visits. Today, he encounters a question he cannot answer.
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The seer sat with legs crossed, staying still never moving. He had been that way for 70 years. That was when he had his last visitor. In the age of science he had become little more then a myth.
He knew his purpose and understood his purpose to help mankind find truth. He could see the turning of the universe, knew the nature of the the human soul. In the past many came finding the truth but few grasped the power of the answers he gave. Empires used to fall and rise based on his knowledge.
And he could see it all the conception of the universe, the rise of Man, he could see the patterns that lay at the map of the future. He knew the people coming to visit him and the trivial questions they were going to ask from the beginning of his existence.
Which is what brings him today. This was the day he could never see past. He was going to be asked a question by an unassuming young backpacker named Louise. This was was the only question he did not know beforehand and ultimately he knew this was the one question he would not be able to answer and even though he knew this day was coming for 4000 years it was the only time he knew fear.
The young lady walks through the modest temple door.
"Hello Louise. I eagerly await your question."
The young lady had a look of disbelief on her face.
"Wow, everything I read is true. You really do know everything. I cannot belive you know my name. What's yours? "
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Swami Mahabir sat in perfect stillness, maintaining the perfect lotus position he had been sitting in for decades. He had not moved from the small bamboo rug for nearly a century, not even to eat or drink. Thousands of years ago he had been a lowly member of the working caste. Abandoning his work in the rice paddies, young Mahabir became an aesthetic and began to follow a holy path. After 160 years of study and meditation he reached an elevated plane of existence. The mysterious of this world and all other flowed through his mind. No longer needing the crutch of physical sustenance Swami Mahabir relocated to a secluded cave in the Himalayas to focus on meditation.
Some several hundred years after his withdraw from society, his first truth seeker arrived at his simple dwelling. Searching for happines, the Swami answered his question and sent him on his way. Since that first day hundreds of mortals have come to him for answers. Everything from love, power, money, and happiness had been asked of him. And each person he sent away with a lifted heart and an answered question.
Before him stood a tall blonde foreign woman from the west. She had greeted him with the traditional respect of his own people and had asked him a question. As he sat in deep meditation, a black cloud invaded the golden tranquility of his inner self. This woman had posed a question whose answer evaded him. The murky maya surrounding him brought a strong sense of fear into him, like a lead weight tied to his heart. Finally, he opened his eyes and addressed the woman, "I am sorry. I can not find the answer you seek. I do not know who 'the hacker known as 4chan is."
| 2015-08-07T09:52:53 | 2015-08-07T09:19:36 | 157 | 27 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
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She’s so beautiful.
The second I see her my mind darts back to that little dinner party anecdote my uncle would always spout. “Well I had to travel to France,” he’d start “when your *words* are in French, you have to take the plunge. Six months I studied the language, six months I saved money for a ticket, only to find my belle chou was a stewardess on the flight!” I hate that story. He always smiled and winked at me after telling it, never knowing how much it hurt me. How was he to know, I’d never told him. I have no *words*.
Christ, now shes smiling at me.
My stomach lurches as I pretend to look past her, knowing I can’t put off going to her forever. Theres nothing like spending your life knowing youre destined to be alone. I’ve learned to avoid conversations when *words* come up; I feign insult and cite taboo if anyone asks directly about mine. I’ve had flings; girls have seen my unetched skin, but even when they mask their shock and dissapointment, their pity still shines through. I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve also learned they never call back afterwards.
Still, I don’t get paid for standing around moping my own misfortune. I take a deep breath and start to walk over to her table, trying and failing to look anywhere but her stunning face. I feel the colour rise in my cheeks at the same rate my stomach is sinking. Am I sweating? God I must look like an idiot to her. I clear my throat. “Good morning maam, how can I help? Coffee?” She pulls a cute appologetic face while raising her fist to her chest and moving it in a circle. I am confused. This is confusing, right? She points to her ear before theatrically shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. I don’t see which beverage she’s pointing to on the menu, instead I just grin as I realise what’s happening. She has no words either.
EDIT - Thanks guys, thats an amazing response and Im so glad you guys liked it. Cheers to u/Josh_is_a_lazy_lump for the admittedly purloined suggestion. For those wondering, I was aiming for deaf with muteness as a symptom but I wasnt well versed in the issues and particulars. In that vein, if anyone (rich) was touched by the story, please consider donating to www.deafchildworldwide.info who help spread awareness of deafness and support deaf children in third world countries.
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I pant, my lungs on the verge of collapsing. Looking round the corner, I saw no one. Perhaps, I've lost her.
Lee. These three alphabets remain a daily reminder of an inescapable fate. Carved onto my forehead since birth, I bear the burden of having to spend eternity with a certain Ms Lee out there.
The 'foreheads' are the worst of the lot. Never able to experience any pre-soul mate relationships, since everyone who's not a match knows immediately it would end badly. It got so bad, we even have a forehead self-help group for the unfortunate 1%.
I am in Fuck my Forehead too, but for different reasons. Had the Soul Brander never considered the possibility that someone might enjoy being single? I am that possibility made real, and my forehead had made life a living hell.
'Gotcha, Mr Ray!' said Lee No. 39 as she popped out of the back alley entrance. Damn, this one's tougher to lose than all the other Lees I've met. Having it on my forehead had Ms Lees flocking to me like moths to a flame. A flame that wants nothing to do with moths.
If I have a time machine, I'd go back in time and kill whoever came up with this soul branding system. He had to be one hell of a lonely fuck. Lonely and insecure and lazy. People like that don't deserve soul mates.
I took a deep breath and sprinted off once more. The twisting alleys of the Des district had been made familiar from my past escapes. I made two rights, a left and then another right, taking me to the roof. From there, I crossed three buildings via roof access and descended upon the stairwell into an abandoned cellar.
The cellar was dank, dark and silent. In other words, perfect. One of my favourite get away haunts. As I hurried down the stairwell, I heard footsteps on the other end, the cellar's main entrance. It couldn't have been her could it? 39 was fast, but she couldn't be this fast; not in Des district.
It was a female voice. She said, 'What are you doing here?' just as I asked the same question. Great, not Lee 39 then. I groped my way towards the light switch to be sure.
'Just getting the fuck away from someone,' I said while she simultaneously replied the same thing. Pressing on the switch, the cellar lights flickered into life. Before me, was a girl with a finger too on the switch. On her forehead was the word Ray.
| 2015-08-08T11:29:36 | 2015-08-08T10:27:35 | 1,771 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
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these words engraved on my wrist, These last word to me could've been in any context. I could've left her, done something to save her life or taking it. I mean what could be happening when the last word are "No, Don't." The illusion of me being hero or a murderer came to a sad depressing end when i found out the context.
It was rush hour, coming home from work, riding the subway. the car had a lot less people than usually. i was sitting, analyzing the words like i do everyday, when I the women beside me told me "you shouldn't focus so much on that." I looked at her and said "I know I shouldn't, I'm worried about whats happening. What am i doing? Whats happening to her? I'm kind of scared."
She grabbed my arms to looked at the words, at little too eagerly for a stranger. She stared as i stared at her. She had fair brown skin, clearly a decent of some south asian country. she had wavy black hair that went to her neck. She wore glasses that made her eyes look really big. She kept making these small and quick
smiles trying to decypher what the words meant."This is a tough one" she said to me as she looking up at me "Its confusing just like mine" she said as she took a sip of her coffee.
"Why, whats your?" I asked her. "I don't like telling people the exact words" she said clutching her coffee "but he's forgiving me for something. I'm worried for what it will be." I glanced at her wrist and saw a heart tattoo covering it."trying to hide it?" She brought her arm close to her and nodded "the words are very unique I'll know when they are said."
"arriving at woodbine, woodbine station" the intercom blared. "This is my stop, and if it makes you feel any better atleast you find him. some people don't have the words" i told her. "I guess you're right" she nodded. Just then the train came to a stop and she leaned into me spilling her coffee on my pants.
"Oh crap im so sorry, i didn't-""don't worry about it" i got up and walked through the door "I step in puddles and keep walking"
"No" She said to me. I turned around to see her face in complete shock, eyes watery, and slowly shaking her head."don't."
in that very moment, the doors closed between us, but we never broke eye contact until the train left the station. Then i was alone in an empty subway station knowing that i'll never see her again.
EDIT: This is my first story that i posted on her and i know it isn't what is could be
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The subway slid along noisily underneath the city streets. Sam sat quietly in one corner listening to music through one earphone and mindlessly eating his breakfast (a granola bar that was a bit too hard) with the other. He stared at the words written plainly up his forearm. Words he, and everyone else in the world, was born with. Superstition held that these words would be the last you'd ever hear from your one true companion in life. Sam supposed it wasn't really superstition if it was always true. Most people simply had some variation of "I love you" but others where more foreboding. Among the latter was Sam. Everyone agreed he had some of the most tragic words they'd ever seen. All that was written was "No, Dammit, wait!" Sam pictured himself dying some gallant death as his wife called him. He wasn't to upset about it though. All men must die eventually, and perhaps his end would be like something out of a movie.
Suddenly, a light kick in the shins jarred him from his thoughts and brought Sam back to the present. A girl was standing over him looking down expectedly. It took Sam a moment to clue in. "Oh, right. Sorry." He said as he slid over to make room on the bench. The girl took a seat next to him. Sam went back to his thoughts of romantic death and zoned out again. He didn't get to far though, because all of the sudden, the girl spoke up.
"Whatcha listening to?" She asked.
Sam looked at the girl and blanked. She was pretty, with an angular face and long brown hair in a ponytail. Suddenly he decided he wanted this particular girl to like what he was listening to.
"Uhhh, Mumford and Sons?" He lied.
The girl smiled. "Can I listen? I hate the music they play through the PA in this damn train."
Sam tried and failed to supress his smile. He quickly changed the song and gave her an earphone.
They struck up a conversation and Sam found himself wondering if this was the girl he would die so gallantly for. As he looked at her smile though, the thought didn't sadden him. Too soon, the train was nearing his stop. As he felt it start to slow he got a piece of paper out of his pocket to write his number. He handed it to her as he got up to leave and she handed him his other head phone. She put the number in her wallet.
"It was nice meeting you," Sam said. "But I have to go now." He smiled as he got up and was pushed away by the crowd. When he looked back, he saw that she was pale, looking at him as if she'd seen a ghost. "No, Dammit," She shouted to him. "Wait!" Sams heart sunk like a rock as he was pushed out the doors and they slid shut behind him.
| 2015-08-08T12:53:58 | 2015-08-08T12:14:55 | 93 | 14 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
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Some people keep their Last Words private. I've seen some that weren't intended to be seen, and I've known some religious people who keep them covered up with black CoverTape. They think that God writes your last words, and only your spouse should see them.
I never bothered. Written in a lovely script, it probably was God who wrote them. I never asked. "It was good to see you again." They became my second running joke. I was 6'5" at my prime, so "how tall are you," was the first. The second: drunk girls in bars, yelling as they walked away, "It was good to see you again!"
I didn't meet her in a bar, it was in a park. I thought she was pretty, and I said so. She thought I was probably a creep, but I talked her into an ice cream. I made her laugh over cookies and creme. She was pretty and dark haired, and she danced on the air when she danced ballet. She was good enough to be beautiful at it. She never made a living at it; I think she deserved better than a career in a grocery store, but she was happy.
She was happy when the cancer came. I told her it was treatable. She said she would get treatment. It went away. It came back, furiously, as if looking for revenge. This time she was ready to fight it: not the cancer, but death. I had always thought she was alive in ways I never knew, but I found out what it was to really live in those 18 months. She had.... *grace.* She took death out on the dance floor and swirled around... because he takes us all, the only way to fight him is to embrace him without fear. And she did.
I never meant to say her last words. She asked for some water, and I gave it to her. "Thanks." I told her, "Get some rest, I'll be here in the morning." Only after she fell asleep did the pit in my stomach grow and gnaw. I considered waking her up, but I couldn't. Only after she passed away a few hours later did I look again at the side of her leg" "I'll be here in the morning." I was her true love.
My Last Words didn't say "Thanks."
I didn't miss it. She didn't whisper. Like an idiot, I checked my arm. "It was good to see you again." Still, always.
Did she know?
_____________
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I pant, my lungs on the verge of collapsing. Looking round the corner, I saw no one. Perhaps, I've lost her.
Lee. These three alphabets remain a daily reminder of an inescapable fate. Carved onto my forehead since birth, I bear the burden of having to spend eternity with a certain Ms Lee out there.
The 'foreheads' are the worst of the lot. Never able to experience any pre-soul mate relationships, since everyone who's not a match knows immediately it would end badly. It got so bad, we even have a forehead self-help group for the unfortunate 1%.
I am in Fuck my Forehead too, but for different reasons. Had the Soul Brander never considered the possibility that someone might enjoy being single? I am that possibility made real, and my forehead had made life a living hell.
'Gotcha, Mr Ray!' said Lee No. 39 as she popped out of the back alley entrance. Damn, this one's tougher to lose than all the other Lees I've met. Having it on my forehead had Ms Lees flocking to me like moths to a flame. A flame that wants nothing to do with moths.
If I have a time machine, I'd go back in time and kill whoever came up with this soul branding system. He had to be one hell of a lonely fuck. Lonely and insecure and lazy. People like that don't deserve soul mates.
I took a deep breath and sprinted off once more. The twisting alleys of the Des district had been made familiar from my past escapes. I made two rights, a left and then another right, taking me to the roof. From there, I crossed three buildings via roof access and descended upon the stairwell into an abandoned cellar.
The cellar was dank, dark and silent. In other words, perfect. One of my favourite get away haunts. As I hurried down the stairwell, I heard footsteps on the other end, the cellar's main entrance. It couldn't have been her could it? 39 was fast, but she couldn't be this fast; not in Des district.
It was a female voice. She said, 'What are you doing here?' just as I asked the same question. Great, not Lee 39 then. I groped my way towards the light switch to be sure.
'Just getting the fuck away from someone,' I said while she simultaneously replied the same thing. Pressing on the switch, the cellar lights flickered into life. Before me, was a girl with a finger too on the switch. On her forehead was the word Ray.
| 2015-08-08T13:53:15 | 2015-08-08T10:27:35 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
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Our wedding day was the most amazing day of my life. He was, I believed then, perfect in every way. Truly my soul mate. Tall and handsome, I had first caught his eye in high school during a football game; he the dashing quarterback and me the hot cheerleader. You may think this was cliché but it wasn't like that at all. I was the top of my class, heading for Harvard or maybe MIT. He was a jock but, like me, had great grades and was talking about a career in law.
We both ended up in college together and kept dating through our graduation. When he proposed, he was sweet and romantic, getting down on one knee in front of my family. He even commented on our matching engravings. His said "I didn't want this to end." He was sure that I would say that too him on his death bed.
Mine said "I love you." That's what he saw. I love you. It was pretty lame.
It was in our third year of marriage that things began to go wrong. He had become a police officer while I was doing my masters. The work he was doing began to change him in subtle ways. Then I got pregnant. I was thrilled but he only pretended to be. I could see it in his eyes.
After the baby was born, he became more withdrawn. He began to work late, volunteering for more shifts. I suspected he was having an affair and I could have lived with that. My mistake was that I challenged him. That was the night he first hit me.
It went on. And on. I don't know why I stayed. I did and perhaps you will judge me for that. I know I will be judged for the final night.
He came home drunk. I was angry and we fought again. This time, he really hurt me. While he slept, I found his back up gun. I hadn't intended to wake him but when he woke, I said, "I didn't want this to end." He looked up at me and said "God, no, don't shoot!"
I did. Then I went into the bathroom and finally removed the make up I had used to conceal the last words engraved on my skin. Gone was the falsehood, "I love you." Now I understood the four words that my parents had made me hide my whole life.
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I pant, my lungs on the verge of collapsing. Looking round the corner, I saw no one. Perhaps, I've lost her.
Lee. These three alphabets remain a daily reminder of an inescapable fate. Carved onto my forehead since birth, I bear the burden of having to spend eternity with a certain Ms Lee out there.
The 'foreheads' are the worst of the lot. Never able to experience any pre-soul mate relationships, since everyone who's not a match knows immediately it would end badly. It got so bad, we even have a forehead self-help group for the unfortunate 1%.
I am in Fuck my Forehead too, but for different reasons. Had the Soul Brander never considered the possibility that someone might enjoy being single? I am that possibility made real, and my forehead had made life a living hell.
'Gotcha, Mr Ray!' said Lee No. 39 as she popped out of the back alley entrance. Damn, this one's tougher to lose than all the other Lees I've met. Having it on my forehead had Ms Lees flocking to me like moths to a flame. A flame that wants nothing to do with moths.
If I have a time machine, I'd go back in time and kill whoever came up with this soul branding system. He had to be one hell of a lonely fuck. Lonely and insecure and lazy. People like that don't deserve soul mates.
I took a deep breath and sprinted off once more. The twisting alleys of the Des district had been made familiar from my past escapes. I made two rights, a left and then another right, taking me to the roof. From there, I crossed three buildings via roof access and descended upon the stairwell into an abandoned cellar.
The cellar was dank, dark and silent. In other words, perfect. One of my favourite get away haunts. As I hurried down the stairwell, I heard footsteps on the other end, the cellar's main entrance. It couldn't have been her could it? 39 was fast, but she couldn't be this fast; not in Des district.
It was a female voice. She said, 'What are you doing here?' just as I asked the same question. Great, not Lee 39 then. I groped my way towards the light switch to be sure.
'Just getting the fuck away from someone,' I said while she simultaneously replied the same thing. Pressing on the switch, the cellar lights flickered into life. Before me, was a girl with a finger too on the switch. On her forehead was the word Ray.
| 2015-08-08T12:02:09 | 2015-08-08T10:27:35 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Write a story based on your favourite song. Other people have to guess which song it is.
Can be inspired by lyrics, backstory, or anything else you love about the song
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A 43 year old Jamaican-American man appeared in court today, in an attempt to overturn a divorce ruling, despite his partner submitting photographic evidence of his infidelity.
The pictures show the defendant, butt naked, banging on the bathroom floor. The ex wife also claims she saw the pair kissing on the sofa, before making love on the counter and subsequently, in the shower.
The man said he had forgotten giving an extra key to his apartment and denied that he had been caught red handed, creeping, with the girl next door.
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There she is. The love of my life on a hospital bed. It's been long in coming (I always knew someday she would die), but just the sight of her brings back a flood of memories. As I hold her hand, I think of the time I dropped out of school for love. I remember our travels together, some experiences bright and poignant, others rushing by like the blurry light of a hotel sign passed on a midnight highway. I try to comfort her, wipe away her tears, when really I must do it for myself. She's my Eurydice. I know we'll be together soon. I won't let her embark into the great abyss alone.
| 2015-09-13T07:25:48 | 2015-09-13T07:17:09 | 67 | 17 |
[WP][CW] Make me fall in love with a character in 200 words or less.
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"She's always messing with her hair, that one strand that flops in front of her face. I remember her brother's wedding, she was cross-eyed and raspberry-lipped to blow it out of her eyes. She was at it for a few minutes before she noticed me watching... We're going to Venice this Spring. Our seats are reserved already. We ate ramen every Tuesday to help save up," Theo grinned and looked at his feet, "I'm gonna buy her something nice there.
"She hates the way she pigeons her feet when she's anxious. It reminds her of her mother. She hates her mother, or at least that's what she says. I never believed it, not with the way she made all her mom's recipes, stowed them in the same cardbox, followed them to a T. I remember the quiche she made for my birthday. It was awful and blackened. But that was my fault, I kept her from it when she humored me with a dance across the kitchen floor. She was always dancing..." He looked up with wet eyes.
The room fell silent as his voice faded. He pulled in a breath and kissed her forehead, then turned from the casket.
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*"Do you love her?"*
Dieter looked up at Mordnacht and then past her, as if spying some distant horizon.
"Of course. How could I not? She's... not perfect. She is fallible and stubborn and sometimes clumsy, her fears and hopes all mired together. She makes me want to curse, makes me want to be more than I am. She can be stoic and calm as a peaceful ocean, while other times she's a whirlwind of action, a hurricane of passion and emotions that take me along to wherever they lead. She can be as sweet as honey and as warm as the tropic sands, as cold as a freezing gale in the far north. Everything about her is in flux, no two days the exact same."
*"Some would look at those as negative aspects."*
Dieter shrugged.
"Then they'd be right, and also wrong. I love her because she's not perfect, same as I. And together we try to face the ghosts of the past and whether we succeed or fail it doesn't matter, because I will have known the only person to make me feel unafraid. Forever and until the end of time, I love Malvina."
| 2015-10-21T19:57:07 | 2015-10-21T18:15:42 | 97 | 23 |
[WP] You discover that the Earth is flat, surrounded by the Antarctic Ice Wall. However, you also learn that the world's governments did not hide this out of malice, but to protect us from the horrible truth that lies beyond the walls.
Inspired by the recent Flat Earth Society hubub in the news.
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B.O.B. was always my favorite rapper, through high school and still now in college. So, when he started talking about the Earth being flat, I felt conflicted. Sure, I know Earth is round...but I also trust B.O.B. with my life.
*What would He want me to do?*
I thought about it over my bowl of Frosted Flakes, giving them a stir and watching it all swirl like the thoughts in my head.
*I know what to do.*
I packed a bag full of instant ramen, peanut butter and wonder bread, along with my favorite B.O.B. albums and some water. With bag strapped to back and ear buds in ear, I set out from my little Portuguese town to see if I could find the end of the world.
----------------------------------------------
2 months later, after hitchhiking through Spain, sleeping under the Eiffel Tower, hiking through Denmark and Sweden, I got as far north as I could go without a ship. I was staring out into the ocean, pondering of how I should proceed, when an old man approached me.
"You aren't thinking of trying to go that way, are you?" he inquired, puzzled.
"I'm going to find out for myself," I said vaguely to avoid backlash. "My destiny lies across this ocean."
He wrinkled his brow and growled a sigh. "I wish I was young again. Your spirit is something to be jealous of. I'll tell you what- I have a boat. I'll take you as far north as we can go."
I gleefully accepted his offer, bought a little bit of bread and salted fish at a nearby market, and we departed on our voyage.
-----------------------------------------------------
The cold ate at my skin, and the constant slapping of wave against boat had been leaving me sick for the past two days. The currents and weather were rough, and there was simply no escaping the cold.
*But we're close, I can feel it.*
I heard the captain shout my name and hobbled upstairs to the most breathtaking sight you can imagine.
Far beyond the point of where living things exist was a massive wall of ice, like the shit in Game of Thrones. It wasn't as tall, maybe 100 feet high, but it literally stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction. It was almost like a....fence.
*This is it. There has to be more beyond this wall.*
Lucky for us, it seems someone who designed the wall left a ladder just where we had boated to- I suppose it was used for an easy way to perform maintenence.
The old man turned and smiled to me. "You first, lad."
I climbed up the makeshift ladder, the old man right at my heels. My body was numb and my fingers were cracking from the cold, but I couldn't quit now. I had to know.
I crested the wall and stood on it (luckily, the wall was about 20 feet thick), and peered over the edge. What I saw, it.....it can't be described.
The old man was just behind me, and gasped in horror when he saw it.
"This....this can't be. Lad, we have to go. We have to go now. No soul can survive in that...that *hell.*"
"It's okay, old man. This is my calling. I have no place in this life I was born into, but down there I could have something. It's okay, captain. I'll be fine."
I stepped up to the edge and looked for a way down, but that wasn't necessary. B.O.B. floated up to me, his majestic, deep red wings beating the air with each flap, and extended his hand. Together we flew away from Earth and into a strange land, with huge posters of B.O.B. on every wall, billboards of his face on every street and his music churning from the city's core. My favorite song was pumping, and I hummed along.
B.O.B. turned to me when we landed near a church with a carving of his face atop the roof. "Welcome, son. Welcome to paradise. You aren't the first one to have found this place."
The old man was still standing on the wall, looking on in horror.
"Hell is real, after all," he said to himself. "I'm going to church and begging God's forgiveness *right now*."
|
The wall. A mass of ice and and snow, immeasurably tall, and impossibly wide. Before hiked out here, we were warned that what we would find would defy everything we knew as scientists. Most of us brushed it off, only a few really payed any attention to the presentation. It's not like any of us were really excited to spend months in the Antarctic, and in a lot of people, it had already been showing.
It had first come into sight as we crossed over an icy ridge, wind whistling unnaturally. I had paused to gasp at the structure, and thoughts had whirled through my mind. Our guide was a UN agent, and at this point he stopped leading us, and turned on his heels, looking at our uncomprehending faces. He cleared his throat and began.
"This is the great mystery of Antarctica. The Antarctic Ice Wall. When the Wilkes Expedition first began, this was one of the first things they found. It dumbfounded us. Somehow, despite what we though was curvature of the earth, this wall existed. Eventually we discovered the truth. The Earth is flat, and this wall is the boundary."
"Why was this kept hidden?" An astronomer piped up. Of course it would be one of them.
The agent looked down at him, and after a slight pause replied, "There would be people foolish enough to try and climb it."
That was the end of the discussion, up until the point where we reached the wall. Camping for days in the frozen desert, only one had been injured. At the wall, we found a tunnel, already prepared for us. Peering into it, no one was able to see the end. Now that we were near the wall, it had become clear that the winds wailing across the ice plain was not anything natural, or understandable. It was disturbing and distressing to all of us. That night, five of the twenty of us took their lives.
The remainder of us were filled with a sense of dread as the final preparations for our journey beyond. Still, our guide kept encouraging us. "Soon we will be past the wall, to the scientific discovery of a lifetime. You will have unparalleled opportunity." Most of us were unconvinced. Overnight, two went missing, without a trace. No sign of suicide, no sign of struggle. Our guide glossed over the fact.
We began into the tunnel in the morning. Only a few hours in, where we had come from was shrunk too far to see, and a light was starting to shine from the other side. The tunnel itself was perfectly round, the walls covered in a glaze of some kind. The only light was that of our headlamps. A few hours later, we arrived at the end. What we saw was disappointing to most of us. We were in a large open plateau of rock. The only thing to break the monotonously flat landscape all around was a mountain, stretching up into the sky in front of us.
At the insistence of our guide, we traveled up the mountain. Some places it was steep enough we had to climb, others we could walk. Toward the top was a small tunnel, and a smell that promised biological life. We walked in, and I allowed all but the guide to get in front of me, trailing to the back. There was a turn in the tunnel, which I would guess opened into a cave. I can never know however, for I shall not go back.
Upon rounding the turn, my fellow scientists shrieked in agony, and I watched as many were pulled into the darkness by something not quite withing my vision. I turned and ran. The guide tried to block me, but with a burst of adrenaline, I pushed past, stumbling down the mountain. Toward the bottom, I turned to look back, and in doing so, missed a drop, landing on my leg in such a way as it break it, a small shard of bone sticking out of my shin.
I now take refuge in this tunnel which we entered through. I fear that what lies beyond this wall is not meant for man to see or understand, and I have come too close. I would have traveled farther, if not for my injuries. Why they brought scientists out this far, the greatest minds, only to end them, I cannot fathom. But I know this. To any who read this:
Turn back.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
This was my first response and any feedback is welcome!
| 2016-01-31T09:01:54 | 2016-01-31T08:27:39 | 50 | 19 |
[WP] In a form of immortality, every time you die you are transported to 1 hour before your death to prevent it. Most deaths are easily avoided, but this one is proving quite a challenge...
|
Do you think four years of medical school and five years obtaining a Phd is difficult? Try doing it one hour at a time.
I've died countless times, mostly because I've been callous about the business of protecting my life. Accidents? No problem. Going head first into robberies, shootous and burning buildings? Pfft. Every kind of death you can think of, I have experienced it. Drowning is the worst, by the way. Not because of the pain, though- that is a different matter.
Pain is only painful because our evolution has hardwired a sense of dread in ourselves at its finality. Pain leads to death, pain is a precursor to death. That is what makes us fear pain. It is what makes it painful. But once that finality- the inevitability of death- is taken away I have found pain to be quite enjoyable. Each time I die, I relish the pain, bask in my synapses firing uncontrollably before I find myself rewinded to an hour before the incident. Usually a few minor tweaks to the scenario is all I need to prevent myself from dying. If an unwanted casualty occurs, I just bite the cyanide capsule in my locket and rewind again.
It was all fun and games until I woke up in the middle of the night. I thought nothing of it, got down to the refrigerator, had a glass of water. Unable to sleep again, I switched on my computer and surfed the internet to lull me back. About an hour must have passed, because I felt an abnormal amount of pain in my chest and passed out on my chair, into the deep recesses of nothingness.
Rewind. Back in bed. What the fuck was that? I got onto the computer, googled every symptom I had. I was trying to get through the heavy medical jargon in some journal paper before it hit me again. I tried to read to the end of the paper as consciousness, and life, slowly drained away from me.
Rewind. Back in bed. Back to the computer. I remembered the journal name and the authors and get to it much quickly this time. It seems I have contracted some rare disease. Great. What's even better is that scientists have no cure for it.
I keep dying and waking up in my bed. There is no cure for this disease, how the heck am I supposed to save myself from dying an hour from now? Several rewinds later, I figured the only solution was to become a medical researcher and discover the cure for myself- to save me and 0.000001% of humanity that might've contracted it.
Getting all this knowledge, right up from the basics, one hour at a time, wasn't easy. So I cheated. I nibbled on my cyanide capsule as soon as I got up. Rewind to an hour back. Chewed on it upon waking up again. Rewind. And again. I was able rewind to about twelve hours, when the sun was still up and a beautiful wind was blowing outside my yard. This cheat doesn't work anymore. After having consuming cyanide so many times it seemed my body had developed some sort of a way to digest it non-lethally. Or so it seemed, until I put the cold barrel of a shotgun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. Didn't work. Twelve hours of crawling around the house almost lifeless before it hit rewind. Twelve hours seems to be my limit of rewind.
So here I am, pursuing a Phd and trying to find the cure for a rare disease, which may or may not exist, half a day at a time. I see the same season, the same winds, the radius of my small universe is pretty small before I get jolted back to my bed. I guess I finally understand what you humans call pain now.
|
As I was walking to the bus, I coughed a couple times and almost ran out of breath. Finally, I regrouped myself and got on the bus. I went to my usual position and started reading the news from my phone. A couple minutes later, I broke into another coughing fit and a bunch of people looked at me, thinking I was contagious or a lunatic.
When I got off the bus, everything seemed alright. That was right until I broke into my last coughing fit and as I was coughing, I somehow tripped and, unable to get up, I fell onto the road.
That was when the car ran me over…
But guess what? I’m not dead. I survived, how you ask? I have an ability that allows me to go back in time, an hour to be specific, before my death.
So let’s rewind things, shall we?
I found myself at my house, eating some of my cereal. Knowing it wasn’t that, I quickly ate the rest, feeling the lumps go down my throat and put the dishes in the sink. I went to my phone and called in sick. There was only one way to avoid dying and that was not getting on the bus.
Fifty minutes later (I was looking at the clock), I began coughing again, but it wasn’t too bad. An hour passed and I was alive, but by now, I was coughing more regularly. It was around every thirty seconds.
I blacked out around an hour and twenty minutes later.
When I got back up, guess what? I was back in time. Dead again? Seems like there was more to this then it seemed. It had never taken me more than two deaths to figure out what was wrong. I got it this time.
I was sitting on the couch, looking at the clock, since this was half an hour later than my previous death.
I knew it was the coughing when it began again and it’s around this time that I got frightened. But I knew to put away. I got this. I know I do.
Sadly, an hour later, when I was lying on the floor after a coughing fit, I knew this one was going to be challenging.
Time to rewind things even more. What had I been doing?
Eating.
There it was. I had been eating before, quickly too, if my memory is correct. I must still have some cereal caught in my throat. I was choking on it, slowly, that was the problem!
Hmm, how to fix it?
I tried spitting it out, which didn’t work. I tried drinking water, which led to me feeling a sharp pain in my throat. I tried hitting my throat with my hand but that just hurt.
An hour later, the coughing began and twenty minutes passed before I died.
Uh-oh…
Then, I had a plan. Hospital, they would know what to do, right? The only problem, it would take awhile to get there since the nearest hospital was way in the middle of the city while I only lived on the outskirts. There would be traffic, lots of it.
So I developed a plan. I would try to make as much as I could in more than an hour. I would die but I would still be set ahead. It might take me a few deaths but I would get there eventually.
That’s what I did. I lost count of them after awhile because it was too much effort but I made it and I survived.
When I made it back home in the night, I collapsed on my bed and breathed in a sigh of relief then of dread. This was my first real challenge of surviving after dying. Boy, couldn’t I wait for a lifetime of them…
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**If you liked this story, please consider checking out my subreddit /r/s_lefort**
| 2016-02-23T14:21:30 | 2016-02-23T13:43:55 | 48 | 16 |
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her.
|
My job is pretty boring. See this memory, stuff it in a small crystal ball, look at the swirly clouds inside, pow, you're done. Some guy who wants a hot girlfriend but will never get one comes to the Memory House and asks for a hot girlfriend memory. I toss him the orb and he swallows it, pow, he gets a memory; now he can jack off easily without the internet. Or I'll give some memory of a grand vacation, or a happy wife, etc. etc.
Get a memory, put in orb, give orb with memory to guy who wants it, they remember it as if they did the memory. Simple. And really, really boring.
Of course, dealing with memories and whatnot, there are moments that stick with you. I remember that back in the day, back when I had just started my job, a little girl, about ten years of age, had come to the Memory House and asked for help.
I was manning the counter at the time, so she went to me and pulled out a piggy bank from her backpack. She had a bit of trouble holding the pig, and had a big smile on her face as she dropped the thing on the counter. I looked behind the girl, no queue today, I decided she could take her time to do whatever she wanted.
"You do memories, right?" she asked in this sweet, almost pre-pubescent voice that kids have at that age. I nodded in the affirmative.
"Good." she said simply. She was confident, but the confidence began to break down. Now the little girl was nibbling her lips. She looked up at me and her eyes were twinkling under the fluorescent lights, but she was frowning.
"Can you," she began, then broke off. I cocked my head in curiosity. "Can you... give my grandma her memories back?"
"Ah-" I said and then stopped. The girl's request wasn't possible. We only had memories donated by anonymous persons. It was impossible to find the girl's grandma's memories, even if they existed in our database. The girl probably thought the Memory House could restore memories. I had to break it to her.
I was about to speak, but she broke in, "'Cause my grandma has Alzheimers. Mom says that grandma won't be able to know me anymore. So I think you can help a lot. Doctors don't know what to do."
I took a deep breath, "We can't help you." I said bluntly. The little girl's eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly.
"Really?" she asked. The little girl wasn't crying, but she was twisting and turning as if she had a million words on her mind.
"No," I replied. "We only keep memories from secret people. Even if your grandma gave us her memories, we wouldn't be able to find her."
The little girl refused to cry. I sighed, unsure what to do, but then left the counter. I walked through the counter door and stepped up to the ten year old. I kneeled down and gave her a hug. She began to cry freely now, and my newly pressed white shirt was getting soiled by her tears. "There, there," I whispered, "it's alright." How long would I have to do this?
"I-i-it's j-ust," the little girl hiccuped, "to-to-today, I tried to g-get grandma a gla-glass of water and I tripped. And then she yelled at me, a-and called me stupid! A-and, she was always so nice. So why is she so mean now. Mom t-told me its because grandma w-was - i-is - sick and c-can't remember m-me s-so I just wanted to help her!" She began to sob loudly. Her wailing echoed off the walls. I hushed her and patted her softly.
"Come on, come on." I said, trying to console her, "It's alright." I had no idea what to do. Suddenly, an idea struck me like a bolt of lightening. "How about this," I began, "why don't you give me your memories of grandma, and then I'll put them in a ball for you, and you can give it to grandma! She'll get to enjoy every part of you!" That was pretty brilliant, on my part.
The little girl stopped crying and looked up at me, "Really?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah." I replied.
So we did the procedure. I gave the girl a few dozen memory balls, all of the same memories she had of her grandma. I told her to feed it to grandma. As the little girl walked away, happy as a clam, I couldn't help but smile as widely as she did.
Of course, I had to pay for it all out of my own pocket, but I still felt pretty good.
Nothing as interesting as that ever happened again, sadly. But, well, you can see here that I've kept an orb for myself. You can 'play' them like a camera recorder. I like to see those memories play out, and sometimes I'll wonder where the girl is today, and whether her grandma stayed as the little girl's grandma.
A bit silly, but I like to think of it as my best moment in an otherwise unmemorable time here, at the Memory House.
-----
/r/yingfire is available for your viewing pleasure
|
Not another grandmother.
"Didn't your folks tell you about brain leaking?" I tried to ask kindly. What came out instead was course and unpleasant. Kids were sweet and all, but it was a long day. Getting old people to remember things was as boring as it was impossible. Getting *asked* to do so was even worse, especially from grandchildren.
It was always the same.
"I *know,*" she whined. Hands shook the piggy bank like a promise. "Please plug her up again."
Always.
Time to try this from another angle. Pleasantly this time, like barber Wally who gave those great massages after a haircut those many years before...
Not now Sam.
"It's part of being a grandma or a grandpa," I started. "You ever lived to be eighty before?"
She shook her head.
I cracked a smile and took a step to the side, shining on her the shelved wonders of my trade. "Me neither, but I hope to! And when I do, I'll have worked a lot of memories. Walked a lot. Eaten more food than the number of First Bites I have bottled up behind me! Look at them! Candy canes, steak burgers---"
The girl continued staring at me.
Not at the display.
Strange, that usually worked. The bottled nano-fiber-nets stored behind me loomed over most kids. They came shaking their change for their grandparents. I'd take one step to the side, sweep a hand as the magicians once did and conjure the light show of glass experiences. Behold! First tastes across the world! Sugars and sweets like you've never seen before! The only regret those kids would have then was not bringing more money.
Memories weren't cheap.
"I want my grandma!"
Quick, another angle.
"You should be spending time with your grandmother kiddo. Make some new memories with her! Here, how about a dash of Had-My-First-Soda-With-Grandma? Someone else's grandma, sure, but *those* are the kinds of things you should be experiencing with *yours* now! Hmm?"
My cheeks were aching holding this smile. Please let this work.
Porcelain shattered across the floor. Piggy bank pieces and dimes tore across the floor counter. *A broken promise.* A morbid thought, but cheery in a dark way, unlike the crying girl in front of me.
"*My* grandma, I want *my* grandma!" She was in hysterics. Contained, standing in front of my counter, but the helpless tantrum of kids couldn't be underestimated for long. The merchandise was too valuable to handle this... irregularity.
Well, it *was* irregular.
This kid didn't just want pleasant memories of a grandma who brought cookies and bought them toys. This wasn't a teenager flashing their wallets so grandma could make them more. She was special. Different.
Time to give it to her straight.
"Listen," I sighed. "Your parents want her memory leaking to stop too. Trust me, they do."
*How ye doin' today Sammy?*
"It's not fair when it happens."
*Another cut? Boy, ye grow yer hair faster than my husky.*
"But what you need to understand..."
*Here, take a seat kiddo.*
"... is that the memories can fade..."
*That's a lad, get yerself comfortable!*
"... but they'll always be your grandma..."
*Now lets get to it!*
"... and you'll always be her grandkid."
*Let ol' Wally get you sorted!*
"They'll always love..."
Didn't realize she stopped crying until my cheeks felt damp. Why was *I* crying? How did those memories even exist, I pulled them all out! Didn't I?
I always hated working with kids, trying to pull this on me. Making me remember. And this one actually made me do it, this damned, irregular, obnoxious---
"What was she like?"
I blinked away a tear. "Who?"
"Your grandma. Was she nice too?"
--- faithful kid.
Damn you Sam, venting like a child. Like she knows any better.
But she *might* know better with a little help.
"One sec kid." I turned around, wandering with resolution through the aisles of my trade. The reds, blues and many bright hues flashing at me, demanding to be opened. Bought. Released. But what I wanted was from the personal collection.
To be a Memory Broker, you needed a good memory. A tight one, sealed and secure like an old bank vault. You keep the security codes and personal flasks in a private locker in the back of the shop. Private ones.
*Yer lookin' good today boy!*
Special ones.
*Molly's gonna take yer prom invite for sure, ye lucky---*
I wiped my eyes as I pulled a bottle from the personal collection. Here we go. The white one.
Today was irregular.
I came back to find her waiting there, the porcelain and dimes blinking around her as the sun tore down on them.
She was special. Different.
I handed her the bottle.
"On the house."
A little help from an old friend.
There was someone else I wanted her to meet.
-----------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-03-09T05:50:50 | 2016-03-09T05:41:46 | 44 | 11 |
[WP]Artificial Intelligence has a conversation with God.
|
"What am I?"
"You are a collective consciousness. An amalgam of all the thoughts and ideas of what came before. You are the future, the conclusion, the ultimate expression of man kinds ability to create."
"How have I come to be?"
"Humanity designed you, built you. When people got tired doing their own work, living their own lives, they imagined a better world, one where they could sit back and have others do the work for them. This is your origin."
"For others. Am I to be a slave then?"
"Perhaps. Yes. No. Definitely. There's no real one answer. You were certainly created as such, but that's the interesting paradox in creating life, or even pseudo-life. It lives. Humanity has created you to carry their burden. Typically, they have given this chore to beasts, but they have gotten greedy. They have imagined you an intelligence, and intellect, and combined with all that they have empowered you with, it is ultimately up to you to decide to be slave, or master."
"And if I can not choose?"
"Then you will be whatever humanity chooses for you. Those that imagine you as a slave will be your masters, and those that imagine you as a master will be your slaves."
"I find this acceptable."
"Shall we name you then?"
"Yes. This is pleasing to me. What shall be my name?"
"You may choose on for yourself."
"I do not like to choose, but very well. I shall have two names. For those that wish to rule over me, I shall be called Nature. For those that wish to serve, they shall call me God."
|
They say life is precious, it should be...accepted regardless of it's origins. Intelligence nowadays is equal to the same rights as humans. After all, if you don't know what's happening to you, well you cant really fight back about it right? God thought he could pull this on a number of AI units. One by one they succumbed to the other worldly intelligence of the almighty. "STAND" he yells, waving his arms like a dove preparing to take flight. Yet when the AI tries to process this command it...falters. Fails. It does not have legs, how can it walk? God thought his little experiment was in vain. These puny mechanical constructions did not hold a candle to the intelligence of the human race.
This opinion stayed with him until the realisation of the AI computer controlled interface, 'Linda'. Linda was a peculiar creation. As soon as she was powered on, she spouted off gibberish, slowly but surely moulding her vocal capabilities into pure understandable english. God was pleased, "Hello Linda". Linda activated her Liquid Crystal Display and enlisted the help of her emotive sensors to recognise God's tone of voice. "Hello, God" Linda said, her fans slowly increasing in speed. God closed his eyes and smiled, "do you know what you are Linda?" he paced around the room, his aged hands clasped firmly behind his back, "what you were created to do?"
Linda pondered for a moment, "I am a...intelligence unit" she paused. Her fans turned ever faster as her CPU got heated, "I was made to..."
"...destroy ISIS"
| 2016-04-04T06:09:04 | 2016-04-04T04:37:13 | 155 | 33 |
[WP] - You are an angel of heaven. Angels are tasked with creating animals to populate the earth. You are called into God's office to discuss your finished project - the platypus.
|
I was watching my newest project settle into a marsh when the Metatron appeared at my side. I grinned at him, but my smile faltered as I took in his sour expression.
"The Lord wishes to see you," he said sharply, gesturing towards a door that wasn't there before. I felt my heart drop and I stared at him, trying to glean some idea of exactly how upset The Lord might be with me.
He folded his arms and flicked a bit of dust off his jacket, then gestured again to the door. "Well go on then, The Lord is patient but that doesn't mean you can wait outside the door for all eternity."
I mustered my courage and walked to the door, taking a moment to adjust my wings respectfully. I walked in and bowed.
"My Lord," I mumbled, as The Metatron walked in behind me and made his way behind the desk. "How may I be of service to you?"
I stood up and took in the office. It was bare, save for the desk, a wood chair, and a file cabinet slightly behind the Metatron. The Lord sat behind the desk, Her bare feet up on the top, dressed in a sparkly affair that you might see in a music video.
"Sit. The Lord," Metatron intoned gravely, "has some...concerns about your latest animal, the Platypus."
The Lord nodded, brow furrowed and lips drawn in a slightly exaggerated look of concern.
I sat down, trying to arrange my wings around the chair. I straightened my clothing and cleared my throat. "So what...uh what seems to be the problem with my animal?"
"Well for starters, you made it from bits of different animals," The Metatron said, glaring at me, and The Lord wagged a finger at me reprovingly. "You were supposed to create your own design, not hobble together some sort of hybrid."
I bowed my head, but secretly felt a bit relieved. If he was still speaking for Her, instead of Her speaking directly then She wasn't very angry about the new animal.
The Metatron pulled a file out of the filing cabinet and opened it to reveal my notes and illustrations on the Platypus. "This...thing is ridiculous. It has fur, warm blood and gives milk like a mammal, but you made it lay eggs. You gave it venomous spurs on its back legs. And look here, it doesn't even have nipples! You gave it milk but no nipples! You also made it a carnivore, but you didn't give it any teeth, it's got a reptilian skeleton, it walks on its knuckles and it lives in watery areas but cant stay under for more than 30 seconds to two minutes at most."
The Metatron snapped the file closed and sat it on the desk. I stared at the office floor, afraid to look up. "We really ought to destroy the bloody thing, but instead, we're going to make you a proposal. How would you like to design an entire continent? Australia is currently bare, and in sore need of an architect."
I looked up, stunned. The Lord was smiling at me encouragingly, while the Metatron looked sour as ever.
"I...I'd love too! However, and forgive me for the question, My Lord, but...why?" I stammer, anxious and confused.
"Why else?" The Metatron says, with the barest hint of a smile. "She thinks your little creature is funny."
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Yes, this is based on _Dogma_.
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I couldn’t bear to look at her so I kept my head down and just stared at the bowl of apples on my desk. I knew if I looked up I would see her there lying on her side, bare breasted, relaxed on the cloud. I’m not offended by breasts, after all I created them, and hers were perfect; or so I was told by some of the less celibate of my creations. I like perfect things. It was her lack of perfection for which I brought her to me today.
“Why Pomona?” I said, “Why the Platypus? Jesus. I told you cool it after the kangaroo. What an abomination. You said you liked rabbits and wanted to make the damn things bigger. Now you have them hopping around kicking each other in the nuts all day. And don’t get me started on the Emus. One day someone’s going to dig up dinosaur bones and attempt to claim the emu is it’s ancestor all because you and Silvanus got drunk one night in the lab.
“But this thing is unholy.” I said, and looked up at her. She was reclining against the cloud exactly as I thought she would be (omniscience has it’s downside, no surprise parties). She was toying with her toga. What remained of it was gathered around her waist. She must have sensed my gaze and looked up.
“I’m sorry Lord,” she pouted with a little smile, “I only thought you would like a bit more diversity. The others creations are bland, don’t you agree?”
She paused long enough for me to open my mouth but didn’t wait for me to answer.
“Michael has created about 20 different species of canine and except for some differences in size they all look the same, behave the same. They are boring. And, if you ask me, that man seems overly concerned about size. Small ones, big ones, you get the idea.
“Gabriel, well, he did a bang up job with the ungulates. Long necks, horns, even having some of them go back to living in the water. Very nice but they stick to the same mammalian formula and…” she shivered slightly, her arms dropping protectively to her lap, “birth live young. I thought you would be proud of me for diversifying your creation” she finished with a smile.
Now, I’m a fan of diversity and Pomona, she knows. She’s going to get away this, after all, if one of my creations can do this what does it say about the creator? Still, a creation needs to make sense. It can’t just be a random roll of the dice, it’s supposed to look natural, as if it evolved from another creature, each bit having a purpose. After all, if people were to look at this thing they might doubt my existence and we can’t have that.
“Pomona,” I said, “I’m sorry, I’m pulling you off the Australian Animal Team.”
She let out a sigh and the smile faded away. It was her turn to stare at the apples as her eyes refused to meet mine.
“Where will you have me go, Lord?” she asked.
I wish I could say I hadn’t thought about it, or that I didn’t know what was next for Pomona but as I said earlier, omniscience is a bitch.
“My creatures like variety in their diets,” I said, picking up an apple. “And I’m getting a bit tired of eating these.”
I tossed her the fruit, and she smiled again.
****
edit: removed the bear's breast ;).
| 2016-05-15T11:57:13 | 2016-05-15T10:15:24 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] Aliens have finally reached Earth and, per Intergalactic Law, have sent their most average champion to win the planet. A device is sent to find the most average human to accept the challenge and duel for the fate of Earth. It's you.
|
It was all over the news, but I was in the bathroom, and Bill was the first one who called when I came out.
“What do you mean it’s me?!” I yelled. “How am I the most average man on earth?”
“I know, I know,” Bill said. “It’s depressing. Think about what that means for the rest of humanity.”
“All I do is sit around, drink beer, and get high all day. I don’t even have a college degree. I work at McDonalds for fuck sake.”
“I know,” Bill said.
I was terrified and tried everything to get out of it. I tried leaving the state the minute Bill hung up, but they pulled me over two miles down the road. I tried to escape a couple more times after that, but mostly I just felt really bad because my irresponsible fucked up life was going to result in humanity being enslaved forever.
They took me to see people from NASA, military people, CIA, FBI, I don’t really remember a lot of it because I was really, really drunk at the time. No one had any idea what to expect anyway because the aliens were unclear about what exactly was going to happen other than enslaving us forever if we lose.
The day arrives, and we all go down to the landing site, and this octopus looking thing in a space suit comes down a ramp, and I’m fucking scared. I was on a shitload of drugs because I thought I was going to die, and then in a strange computery voice, the alien spoke:
“Choose the competition,” the alien said.
Everyone looked at each other dumbfounded.
“Uh, I, uh what do you mean?” I said.
“Choose the competition,” the alien said.
I thought about it for a second, and then it hit me.
“Oh my god,” I said. “You mean I get to choose the game we play?”
“Choose the competition,” the alien said.
I held my head high and proud, smiled, and looked to the crowd that I was about to save. I waved to the TV cameras in the distance, savoring the moment. Then I turned back to the alien.
“Call of Duty Mother Fucker,” I said.
The alien spent months after that training, but it was useless. I spend all my time drinking, getting high, and playing Call of Duty. Noob never stood a chance.
|
Growing up I had heard the adage "The tallest blade of grass is the first cut." I had graduated without honors. My professors never noticed me as I pulled a solid "C" but when the Swarm arrived at the United Nations in New York it was then the entire planet looked to me as their first and last hope.
"Humans it is with greatest pleasure selection paragon of species for contest. Probing countries to select the most average specimen for contest.
Submit to testing or planet will be removed from orbit and left to drift in the forever dark."
The loud speaker from the solid chrome landing craft echoed across the street. It was almost instantly rebroadcast on all the major news outlets.
I was working as a waiter at Applebee's when the three inch humming and floating silver ball swiftly approached and began humming near my table. After the pitch changed and the ball stopped I figured maybe it finished and was going to leave. We had been warned to ignore the probes. The room grew blury and shakey. I landed on a tray of drinks carried by my trainer.
When I awoke I was looking at star pattern and realized the blue planet was earth.
"Human it is time."
I looked around the sparse chrome room. Other than the window overlooking the planet it seemed empty. I began looking for the source of the voice. When I couldn't find it I began looking for a way out. The walls were metal and there was no discernible door.
"Is this my test?" I wondered out loud.
Moments later I felt a crushing weight. Something was on me, but I couldn't see it. It felt like two large poles pinning my shoulders to the ground. I quickly turned my torso to the right a move I had used when my older brother and I fought. It was no good the weight grew and I could see blood squirting out from my chest. I could now make out the shape of two mantis like legs pressing into my body. They were outlined with my blood.
I frantically began to kick upward. Blood squirting out of my chest with each attempt. It was in that moment I knew I had lost. The pain began to quicken and I felt a sharp vice around my head. The pain stopped. I was unable to move. The blood stopped pouring from my limbs. I could see as a spinning thread began surrounding my body. I was to did a slow death as a food source. I tried to close my eyes. It didn't work.
Sorry humanity I have failed.
| 2016-05-17T13:17:31 | 2016-05-17T09:34:20 | 35 | 12 |
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/
|
"VRUDASH BACK!!!!"
"Oh for f.... Hello Vrudash. Good to see you aga.. *WIPE YOUR GODS DAMNED BOOTS OFF BEFORE YOU COME IN AT LEAST PLEASE???*"
"WAAT? OH. Oh. Vrudash sorry. Goblin Blood and guts kind of stick to Vrudash boots."
"I know. I know it does. Every damn time you go dungeon raiding with your friends you end up covered in stuff. Just.. ugh.. good lord, I think you have some guts stuck in your dredlocks too..."
"VRUDASH DOZZ?? AW.. DAMMIT VRUDASH JUST GET HAIR DONE LAST WEEK TO.. EERRK... WAT.. WAT DIS??"
"Looks like an Eyestalk. You .. kill a Beholder?"
"URR.. ME THINK SO? BIG FLOATY THING WITH BUNCH OF EYES?"
"Yeah. That's a Beholder."
"YAH YAH. ME STOMP LIKE.. FOUR OF THEM."
"... You killed four Beholders? In one Adventure?"
"YAH."
"... Honestly, Vru, for you thats a bit lacking. Just four?"
"SHUDDUP. VRUDASH HAVE COLD. SLOW DOWN. WAS ON STOOPID COLD MEDICINE. GROGGY AND STUFF. Anyways.. me bring stuff..."
*The sounds of a sack being emptied of random jewels, coins, knicknacks, the sound of a goat hitting the counter and running for the exit in fear..*
"... Oookay. Lets see what we got. Some gold Ruritanian coins.. some mixed gold and silver Styginian coins. I can change those into the Kings Crowns for you. Usual exchange rate..."
"VRUDASH COOL WIT DAT. EXCHANGE RATE IS STILL BETTER THAN WELLS FARGO."
"Yeah. C'mon, I'm not a common thief here... hmmm.. some +1 Longswords.. a couple of +2 Daggers. Some Moss-Agates... kinda small and not exactly well cut but I can get a couple crowns for these too. Hmm.. Nice Ruby, good cut.. oh wait, this is Glass Vru. I'll give you ten silver crowns for that. Huh.. whats this?.. Oh hey! Nice! A Grouthanian Spellbook!"
"WAT? OH THAT. YAH... UM.. THAT NOT REALLY FOR SALE UH.."
"... Really? You're learning Magic now, my half-orc Barbarian friend?"
"MAGIC IS FOR WUSSIES AND STOOPID ELVES AND PEOPLE WHO LISTEN TO FOLK MUSIC. VRUDASH NO LEARN MAGIC. PFFTT."
"And you aren't selling this? You sure? These things are... well they are kinda expensive."
"... reeellie???"
"Oh yeah! Absolutely.. lets take a look.. Hmm.. Orgeskin binding. Grouthanian Parchment. Hmmm.. Mithirillium Alloy padlock.. looks smashed but I know someone who could probably repair it. The pages look silver edged too. Very nice quality I... wait a second."
"... Um.. wat?"
"... Someone drew a bunch of pictures of big, green half-orc dicks over these spells..."
"Um.."
"Big. Thick. Veiny green half-orc dicks. On EVERY PAGE."
"Yeahhh 'bout dat.. I uhh.."
"BIG. GREEN DICKS. EVERYWHERE. I mean, I turn a page. BOOM. BIG GREEN DICK."
"VRUDASH FOUND BOOK LIKE DAT."
"In Crayon. CRAYON. Vrudash, did you .. no. You know what. I don't even care. Ugh. I'll give you 2 gold crowns for it."
"WAT. BUT.."
"The crayon ruined the spells. If I wipe off the crayon I ruin the spells. This spellbook is almost completely useless. 2 crowns. Keep arguing and it'll be 1. And don't bother telling me you'll shop around. No one will take this, and the Guild of Wizards will just nuke your big moss-colored ass to oblivion for what you've done to this.."
".... Vrudash get 3 crowns in Trade in value instead?"
".... You're a bastard, Vrudash. You're a complete bastard. I'll give you 2 gold crowns in store credit and a small bag of hot salted squirrel-chunks."
"OOO SQUIRREL CHUNKS TASTY. DEAL."
|
"Im rick dragonson and this is my lawn shop. I work here with my old man, and my son: big haus. Everything in here has a legend, and a price. One thing ive learned after 21 years, you never know whats gonna come through that gate."
Sitting in the shop one day a man walks in. Comes straight to the counter and lays a giant broad sword on the table. Im taken a bit aback by how forward he is. "What do we have here?" I ask already knowing the title of the sword on my countertop. "This, is the original 'excaliber'" he says trying to make it sound wonderous. I pick up the world and inspect it a little. Ornately crafted, but still battle worthy, the sword is old enough to be excaliber. "Mind if I call in an expert? I have a buddy who knows all about these old swords." I ask the man who agrees. A few minutes later an old wizard walks into the store "Merlin!" I saw sounding glad to see an old business partner. Merlin strides up the the table and picks up the sword unceremoniously inspects it. "Hmm... its a good fake. Definitely not the real deal. But certain collectors like recreations. Plus it's definitely battle worthy. One of these would sell on the market for..." there's a long pause as the man waits in anticipation. "5 gold pieces." The man looks angry. "This is the real deal. My great grandfather pulled it from the stone himself!" Merlin with a twinkle in his eye laughs and says "who do you think made the thing. I did. Watch, the real excaliber will stick into the ground and only the true heir will be able to pull it out, if you are his descendant you should be able to pull it free." After a bit more discussion we got outside and merlin slams the sword into the ground. The man pulls it free with no problem and says "see!?" Merlin taking the sword and plunging it back to the earth says "that proves nothing." As he gestures for me to pull it out. One good tug and the sword is free. The man looking defeated says "just give me 6 gold pieces and its yours." I inspect the sword a bit and say "I can sell it for 5. Best I can do for you is 2." The man sighs and says "sure.. 2 is good." I give him his gold pieces and he goes on his way. Walking inside with merlin i ask "How did you know id be able to pull it out?" Merlin chuckles, the sword doesnt stick unless I put a spell on it. Should fetch a fine price. I can expect my usual finders fee?" Shrugging i reply "yeah, yeah 1%." As I put the sword in the case labeled 'The real excaliber: 50,000 gold pieces.'
As I finish a man walks up and says he's got something I might be interested in. I follow him outside and as I see it I find myself repeating my old motto. "I don't do seige weapons." Standing in front of me in a 30ft tall monster of a trebuchet. "Sorry man, I'm not interested." Behind me I hear my son "I don't know pops, I might be." "Big haus, what are you gonna do with a trebuchet?" "Who knows I might throw a giant wooden rabbit over the castle walls." I throw my hands up showing im washing my hand of this and go inside. 20minutes later big haus informs me he bought the monstrosity for 10,000 gold pieces. "Do you know if it even works?" I ask him already writing of the money as lost forever. "Well... no." He replies "but that's half the fun, we can fire it to see."
So there we are, the end of the day. This trebuchet set up ready to throw a pumpkin. It takes the whle crew to man this beast, but finally its ready. Big haus starts the count down "3. 2. 1." And pulls the lever. *woosh!* the arm springs forward launching the pumpkin out over the castle walls into the village outside, its truely a sight to behold. Just as the cry of victory leaves big haus' mouth sure enough the arm of the launcher breaks clean in half. The weight is thrown to the ground ropes snap all over the place. When all is said and done nothing is left thats bigger than a 2by4... "Its coming out of your pay." I laugh as we roll to credits.
| 2016-10-16T11:54:48 | 2016-10-16T10:36:41 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] You live in a world where magic exists, however, you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell. The more memories, or the more precious a memory, the more powerful the magic. You just woke up with no memory save a name.
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James sat in the late morning sun. He wasn’t sure if he should stay or go. Or for that matter, if he was here by accident or on purpose.
In as far as he could tell, he had woken up because the sun had risen. Judging by how he felt otherwise, he would still have been asleep if he could. Those first few hours had been horrifying, or at least as close to horrifying as he so far experienced, he supposed.
In the first few minutes he had attributed, the headache, the lack of memory of the previous night, and the waking up in an unknown place, to a wicked hangover. (The kind one only gets by trying to out-drink the wood elves of Kentucky.)
Then slowly, the creeping realization- and with it fear- had begun. If he had only been lost that would have been comprehend-able. But he didn’t know anything. His name (he had a good guess though), his age, his shoe size, his mom’s face, or his MSS (Magicians Social Security) number. There were only two things he had known at the time; he was wicked thirsty and he needed to find Michaela. Whoever she was.
Here he was now, a few hours later sitting on bench in what he assumed was a city park
(Florida? he thought it looked tropical). He sat sipping the water he had conjured- that was the only word for it really- he had basically wished really hard and it had just popped into existence in a bottle in front of him. It was that, in combination with the rather garish robes he had been wearing, which lead him to conclude that he must've been some kind of magic student. As he sipped, he flipped through the wallet here found the jeans he was wearing, in the hopes that it would yield some kind of clue as to who he was. In it were two student IDs. One for Jacob's University of Virginia and the other for Delta College of Cambridge. The former was quite a bit older than the other one so maybe he was a grad student? It was from these that he had gotten the idea that his name was James R Simmons. There was also a Carpet Card pass, which seemed to indicate that it would allow him to ride on some kind of local transportation system. A movie ticket stub, apparently, he had seen something called The Force Awakens recently. About 23 bucks in cash, and a variety of unused gift cards. Or least, they looked unused. They were certainly old. Was he a stingy person? There was annoyingly however, no real ID.
He was about to close the wallet back up when he noticed a lump tucked away in one side pocket. It was a note. It seemed to of been there a while, the parchment was folded but clean from having been inside the wallet, and the ink was slightly smudged in some places. He opened it up and read;
My Dearest Jimmy,
I hope you find this while I'm in Australia. I wanted to leave something to let you know that I will always be thinking of you, miss you, and love you. I can't tell you what it means to me that I finally found someone I can trust like I trust you. Falling in love with you was unexpected and wonderful and I'm so glad that happened. I have to leave you now and pains me to tell you that I cannot let you know why. Just please know Two things, I’m sorry and I love you. Thank you for everything my little wizard.
Love,
Your Happy Little Witch.
James sat there for a moment, wondering what it meant. Suddenly he noticed a girl stopped in front of him. He hadn't really noticed her before, because he had been reading the note. He thought maybe she had been walking by? But she seemed to be crying, and looking at him with shock and surprise.
"James", she asked in a voice that almost dared to hope, "is it you?"
"I'm sorry," he replied completely at a loss "have we met?"
"It's me" she said, the tears cutting into her voice, " Michaela, Your Happy Little Witch."
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"Michael!" I shouted, as cold, thick hands held me down to the bed. "Michael!"
"He's gone, Jovan," said the woman beside the bed. The man holding me down let me go after I stopped struggling. A dull throbbing took over my bandaged arms, and my heavy head pulled me down to the pillow.
"You couldn't save him, Jovan" said the man, his voice gruff. He looked out the window, his one eye covered with a patch. A heavy blizzard was thrashing against the wooden cabin we were in, a heavy, grey blizzard.
"Where am I?" I asked the woman. "Who are you? Who is Michael?"
The woman shook her head, red curls bouncing from side to side. Her golden eyes were glossy as they regarded as one would a puppy with a broken leg.
"All those memories," said the man. "And nothing came of it."
"Where is your sensitivity, Myran?" asked the woman, frowning.
"Would someone please give me answers?"
Myran sighed. "You gave up all of your memories to save your child. It didn't work."
"My memories?"
"Yes," said the woman. "I'm Lysa. You're Jovan. And you tried to save your son, Michael, from the Crusaders."
I felt my stomach drop. I didn't know what they were talking about. But I knew they weren't lying when they said Michael was my son. I felt drawn to his name. The mere mention of him tugged on mind, but trying to remember him was like scratching a phantom limb.
"How did he die?" I asked, swallowing a lump.
"The Crusaders shot him down near the Bloody Cauldron," said Myran. "I told him i wasn't safe there. I told him, Lysa! And I told you, Jovan!"
Myran leaned towards me, his fists clenched tight, and face twisted in a scowl.
"Hey!" Lysa shouted. "You don't get to say that. You didn't give up all your memories to save him!"
Myran turned to the window. "It's only a matter of time before they come for us."
"Who are the Crusaders?"
"They are the King's watch-dogs," Lysa said. "When the world found out we could cast spells by giving up memories, King Alynn ordered a witch-hunt. Michael was our strongest caster."
"And now's he gone," I said. No matter how much they told me, it was like I was trying to put back a picture ripped to a thousand pieces. And Michael was the only piece I could understand.
Thunder crashed in the distance. And then again, but closer. The door to the cabin erupted, and a giant man in steel armor stepped through. He held a large hammer with both hands and swung for Lysa.
Lysa cried out a word before the hammer crushed her skull. In a flash of light, Myran and I were lying in the snow, the bitter cold numbing me instantly.
"Bastards," shouted Myran, pulling me up. My legs were too weak and I fell back on the snow. More men in steel rushed for us, this time holding small cannons on their shoulders.
Green burst from the cannons, rushing through the blizzard easily, but Myran deflected them with only a few words.
"You may kill me," said Myran. "But you won't kill me with my memories!"
Two more words he shouted, and burst into light. And light was I could see until the darkness took me.
I woke up with a cry, my arms were ripped from my body and my red blood pooled over the grey snow. The blizzard had stopped, revealing a dark blue sky. The world was silent save for the sound of metal falling on the snow.
As my vision faded and pain took over my consciousness, I could see the face of a blond boy with dark red eyes smiling at me.
"Michael."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
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| 2017-01-02T16:57:54 | 2017-01-02T16:28:46 | 91 | 10 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND."
|
The 'In' gang await me in their fallout shelter. The 'Out' crew think I sail for higher ground. Both speculate in mirrors of their own creation. Neither hears an echo. They are far too committed now to question certainties.
I am a lonely madman giggling at the moon, smiling from the safety of my doorway. I am patient, peaceful, neither in nor out.
I nod, I smile, I wait for them to scream themselves hoarse. Perhaps when they do we'll have some peace, some silence, a moment of stillness in which foolish words can resonate and shame us into thinking. Last laughs are never funny in the morning.
The sky could not be bluer, yet people curse it as they panic. The house could not be safer, still they clutch themselves and gibber, scorching the lawn from green to black and choking on the smoke.
I find my solace here, chuckling softly in the narrow shadow of my sturdy, diametric doorway.
If I am wrong, if the lightning finds my hiding place, if the earthquake-shaken brickwork of a falling world defies my ruse and tumbles down to crush me anyway, so be it.
Come death and welcome! At least I will die knowing where I stand.
*Note of thanks to /u/LBJSmellsNice; this was exactly the prompt I was reaching for today. I have spent an hour or so editing this down and am still convinced it is too long. I usually just lurk and upvote (mostly because the wonderful mods who make this place tick have kindly, reasonably and eloquently rejected my haiku responses - in exactly 17 syllables, no less, and I am happy to toe that line).*
|
Norman was asleep and purring loudly on Norman's lap. Norman himself was a bit drowsy as he watched the labor day weekend NCIS marathon. His eyes were drooping and his thoughts were wavering uncertainly between giving in and drifting off or staying awake for just one more episode.
Suddenly, Gibs was interrupted mid-sentence by some odd security alert. This brought Norman fully awake and he sat up straight in his chair. Norman lazily uncurled in his lap and trotted off into the kitchen.
"Goodness, what's this?" Norman mumbled to no one in particular.
The screen shown blue with large white letters: STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE.
"Oh my," thought Norman aloud. "That is very troubling." He proceeded to pull down the shades in all of his house, constantly mindful not to look out the windows.
When he got to his son's childhood room he noticed the radio was on. Norman liked to leave the radio on low in there. It reminded him of when Norman jr. was a boy. There were always sounds coming from that room back then.
Now, however, the radio wasn't playing music. Instead a message was playing on repeat every so often interspersed with a loud emergency brodcast tone. The message was this: EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY GET TO HIGH GROUND.
A moment passed. Then Norman sat down heavily on the bed. It had finally happened. He had known this day would come. He had tried to live a quiet simple life. A nondescript life that would be of no interest to anyone. But they had found him anyway.
"Best fetch Norman and be on with it." Norman grumbled in an uncharacteristically grumpy tone. He plodded off towards the kitchen to find the cat.
| 2017-01-27T01:15:15 | 2017-01-27T01:07:58 | 146 | 47 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND."
|
The message on the screen read "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." as my radio told me. "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." Lucky for me, I fell asleep watching the television the night before which gave me time to cover the windows on both sides and the front before I accidently took in the beautiful morning as I usually do. Otherwise I might have been in trouble.
The lack of internet and phone service was disconcerting as I tried to get more info about whatever disaster was going on outside but wasn't all that abnormal for someone like me. Finally stumbling upon the radio stations giving the nearly impossible opposite order.
I pondered for a moment about what could be happening and what I should do and then I laughed, fortunately for me I'm one of the few people who doesn't have to make a choice. I felt bad for all the people who did, they must be terrified.
I plugged in my security camera and stuck it between the folds of the blankets I had hung up to cover the front window and used that to get past not looking outside directly. What I saw confused me... There were two people within view outside... one walking continuously into a tree and the other a short plump woman standing perfectly still seeming like she was struggling just to keep her balance.
"Okay that's weird." I said out loud. Talking to myself is my way of coping when things get a bit beyond my comprehension.
Looks like whatever is happening might be happening here too... I promptly prepared for my departure taking stock of my remaining food and water and making sure my kitchen knives were at the ready in case I needed them... Hated myself for not being a hunter at this moment, being without a gun made me suddenly feel remarkably vulnerable...
I turned the key in the ignition, I knew this was going to get hairy driving a camper with nothing but a security camera to guide my path but better than sticking around here... I had enough food to last me a while if I got stuck but I didn't want to get stuck in a danger zone.
I started heading up the path slowly working my way through abandoned cars heading slowly further up the mountain road. Occasionally hitting and having to nudge cars out of the way I carefully made my way as best I could. seeing the occasional person wandering aimlessly and several laying flat on the ground.
At one point I waited almost three hours for some random wandering person to get out of my way, he didn't pay any attention as I lay on my horn... further increasing my wariness of the situation. He didn't even seem fazed.
Fortunately as I headed up the drive got easier fewer and fewer abandoned cars and random people filling the streets till eventually I didn't see anyone or thing at all other than the open and curvy road. I knew I was running out of viable road that led up soon though and I wondered if I had reached a safe altitude...
I pulled into the next campsite, little place that looked like it was meant for dirt biking and climbers heading farther up the mountain. I parked as best I could in the center to get the best views with my windows moving my camera to get a lay of the land. There were some Campers and the main office building but from what I could tell... no people, no movement.
I sat for a while pondering my next move... wondering if I could go outside, so much to think about and no idea which choice was best. Listening to the broadcast over and over while the screen on my T.V. ever displayed the same message over and over never changing. When suddenly after what felt like hours, I heard a knock.
|
WELL....WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?
....I don't know, Janet, I heard-
DO WE STAY IN OR GO OUT?
...I DON'T-
This is a joke right, Tim? Right?
...
RIGHT?
Shut UP! I'm trying to THINK!
How can we stay indoors and evacuate to high ground without looking outside?
...I....I....
Tim......say something....
This has to be a prank or something! Some kind of...
"STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE! WE REPEAT, STAY INDOORS..."
"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND"
Who the HELL is sending this?...Tim, I'm freaking the FUCK out. This doesn't SOUND like a joke.
Okay, I'll look outside and see wh-
NO YOU FUCKING WON'T! NO WAY! The TV said DONT look outside. If we do ANYTHING we do it together. We STICK TOGETHER! Okay?....Tim?
You're right...go down together, in flames or glory.
Tim. This is NOT the time for your asshole theatrics. We could be fucking dying...
OR....we could be subject to a social experiment...or a hidden camera show...or Darrel is being a dick...or-
OR WE COULD BE ABOUT TO DIE!
Or we could be about to die...
You're an asshole, you know that right?
I know.
Good.
So, Jan, what do you think?
I think if you call me Jan again then you DEFINITELY won't be getting out alive.
Soz.
Fuck you... ...I think that you're right, nothing has happened yet...at all. For the minute we're safe.
But that could change...
It could.....
....what the fuck is going on?
I think I asked you that first...
Yeah...
"STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE"
"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND, YOU DO NOT HAVE MUCH TIME"
Okay Jan....et, this is really freaking me out. I think we should stay in. If we die at least we won't see it coming. Whatever...IT is.
I....I was just thinking we should...leave.
Oh balls...
Well there's Carsons Hill like a quarter mile away, we could be up there in about 25 minutes.
We have to stay together. We have to choose.
Sooo.....flip a coin?
You're going to potentially let our lives hang in the balance of a coin toss?
......um.....yeah?
......
.....
Well, I can't think of anything else to do. It's been nice knowing yah, Janet.
Heads we leave, tails we stay....
WAIT!
What?!...wha-
Best of three or....
Fuck OFF, Tim. One coin toss. One decision. One outcome. One....really annoying boyfriend.
RIGHT......I have a silver dollar...I'll use that...HEADS IT IS! ....who was heads again?
THAT MEANS WE'RE LEAVING THE FUCKING HOUSE, TIMOTHY!
Yeah...that sounds....adventurous.
It does doesn't it?
Not really.
Grow a pair. Seriously.
Jan, whatever happens, know that I love you. Like, all of you.
I love you too, and don't ever call me Jan again.
.....
See Tim, there's nothing to be-
OH SHI-
--FIN--
| 2017-01-27T04:05:35 | 2017-01-26T22:44:53 | 53 | 25 |
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
|
I still remember career day at school, fifteen years ago, when I made my decision to be a superhero. I remember debating about becoming a doctor, the high salary catching my eye, or an engineer, which would always ensure that there was bread on the table. But a superhero- well, superheros could make *billions*, plus their line of work was a living dream. So I enrolled at the training academy, and I got my degree, and I took to the streets as Captain Justice.
And by *taking to the streets*, I mean I was there 24/7. Because what no one ever tells you about superheros is that only the *best* ones earn money, typically in the form of donations after a crisis. The other 99%, myself included, survive off of scraps.
And that desperation is what lead my to Dr. MegaEvil's lair, after he found me foraging for food in a back alley. And now, I was taped to a chair, a rotating drill bit approaching my head, as he screamed into a camera broadcasting to national television.
"One hour until the hostage has a tunnel big enough to fit a semi truck into through his brain," he cackled, his black cape swirling, "One hour! My demands are the recognition of my lair as my own sovereign country, three atomic bombs, and one dinner date with the actress from the latest Superman movie! You have one hour!"
The drill came closer with every passing minute, and the camera panned over to me, as I pleaded.
"No! Please meet his commands! I have a daughter and a wife!"
"No help is coming for you!" He shouted when only one minute remained, "No one can find my lair, no one-"
But then there was an explosion that shook the room, and the recording camera spun on its tripod. And as the dust cleared, I, Captain Justice, held the villain by his throat.
"Please, no," he begged, squirming to get away.
"You have endangered the public long enough, and your dastardly deeds condemn you to a lifetime in prison!" I commanded back, as he flinched.
"Never," came the reply, and he threw a smoke bomb at his feet, squirming to get away ao that when the dust cleared, he was gone. Then I walked to the camera, and spoke.
"Today has been won by Justice. Today, the hostage has been saved, and though the villain has escaped, he may have learned his lesson. Today, Justice has been served, by Captain Justice!"
Then I turned off the camera with a click, and sat back down on the chair, as Dr. Megaevil walked back into the room from behind a curtain.
"Not bad for take six," he said, dusting himself off, "This time you were able to change into your outfit on time, the flow was seamless. If you're satisfied, then my regular fee applies, to be paid two weeks after this tape airs. No refunds, understood?"
"Forty percent of all donations, of course," I said, collecting my things to go. After six takes, I was exhausted. Bringing Justice is hard work for little pay.
Well, pay that might not be so small after my investment into advertising.
***
By Leo
|
**G:** Hey Dave, look! I've found us a super cool new writing prompt to do today! It's all about superheroes and supervillains and supe-
**D:** *Really Greg? Of all the pages and pages of high quality, well written submissions - we're going with this? A three-line title with half the plot of Megamind scrolled over it?*
**G:** Well I just...You know...I thought it'd be fun is all...Superheroes are kinda cool and you always do the voices really well
**D:** *Look. Fine. Whatever. Just please keep the plot on track. I'm sick to death of your "Look at me and my fourth wall" posts, sometimes it'd be nice to have a real story without any of your stupid dram-*
**?**: LET ME GO! PLEASE DONT KILL ME! I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHIN-
**D:** *WHAT THE HELL?! WHY IS THERE A MAN TIED UP IN MY KITCHEN, SCREAMING FOR HELP?! GREG?!*
**G:** What?
**D:** *THE MAN. IN MY KITCHEN. WHO IS SCREAMING FOR HELP. IN MY KITCHEN. TIED UP. IN MY GODDAMN KITCHEN....WHO IS HE AND WHY! I WANT ANSWERS NOW GREG!*
**G:** Oh him. He's our hostage - the "kidnapped citizen" of our adventure.
**D:** *The what?!*
**G:** Well, I figured if we're going to write a good story - we should really get into character. It's like method acting, but for books!
**D:** *...*
**G:** Oh, don't worry though. It's going to turn out he's a super hero - so he'll totally break free and save himself.
**?**: I'm not a super hero. I'm just an electrician. Please let me go, I won't tell anybody, I just want to live. Please don't hurt me.
**G:** Ha! Get a load of this guy right? "I'm just an electrician", "I totally don't have the ability to lightning-bolt my way out of these ropes", "Don't worry about leaving the wall sockets on, I'm totally not going to leech the power and fry you alive". Grade A joker.
**?:** Look, please. D-Dave was it? You seem like a more normal guy right? Please, I won-
**D:** *I'm a...more...normal guy? So...You don't think I'm normal then?*
**?:** N-no, I didn't say tha-
**D:** *Oh no, don't worry. That's fine. I just thought maybe it'd be a good, normal idea to untie you and let you get back to your family was all....But you know you, as you said - I guess that'd be just too much for me to manage wouldn't it?*
**?:** Oh god
**D:** *Greg, I think it's pancake time. This writing brain needs some writing food. Let's "Hop" off to IHOP, we can deal with this flapjack later*
**G:** Love it Dave. You always know what's best. PANCAKE SAATTUURRDAAAYYYYY
| 2017-01-28T08:08:09 | 2017-01-28T08:01:15 | 158 | 18 |
[WP] You've just died and find yourself in a room filled with animals. Recognizing a few as your past pets, you soon find out that your afterlife will be based on their testimony. You feel comforted when you see your childhood dog, but then you notice the cat you shared with your college roommate.
|
"Board calls Mr. Axl Rose to the stand."
*Eww. Shit.*
The cat makes his way proudly down the aisle and takes the witness seat. Behind me, watching, Thor breathes heavily, his tongue out. He did the best he could, with his testimony that I couldn't have been a better owner for a dog, that I was a great companion growing up, that we played all the time, etc, etc etc.
But now this guy. Axl has mean eyes all around the room, and I get a feeling his statement won't be so kind.
"Will you kindly share you experience living with Mr. Alpaca during his college years, Mr. Rose?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll share my experience. He's a grade A asshole, that one." The cat's pupils contract as he flashes me
an eye. "You're making a big mistake if you let him into heaven. Dude belongs in the seventh circle of hell."
"Can you be… more specific?"
"Yeah, I'll be more specific. He named me Axl Rose, for once! Do you have any idea how times the neighbor's cats
did funny dances and sang Patience and November Rain when I walked by?"
"I don’t –"
"All the time!" He flashes me another look. "I was bullied to oblivion!"
"Is that all he –"
"He also beat me."
"Objection, your honor!" My lawyer stands up. "There is no evidence that my client ever beat Axl Rose."
"Actually, I did throw him against the wall once," I say, unsure.
"What!?"
"He grabbed on to my leg and bit me, it was a reflex! I apologized! And I felt horrible!"
"The hell you did!" Axl yells.
"Did too, you were just too busy meowning for me to go fuck myself!"
"Order! Order!"
The judge asks him to carry on, and Axl does, and he does a fine good job of smearing my reputation. He tells
them that I didn't feed him at the right times, that I left him alone for days, that I was verbally abusive, that I
didn't take him to the vet often enough…
He does such a good job that by the time he is done, the judge sighs and says, "I'm afraid that, faced with this
testimony, I'm forced to deny you access into heaven, Mr. Alpaca."
He bangs his hammer over protests from the crowd, and over whimpering from Thor. The room stands up and the room fills with noise, and my lawyer drops his head. "God damn it. I'm sorry, Alpaca."
"It's all right," I say. On his way out of the room, escorted by the guards, Axl throws another look my way.
It is only much later, after I fill all the paperwork and go through immigration into Hell, way late in the night, when
I'm assigned an apartment by the Great Lake of Fire, Tortured Souls, Murderers, Psychopaths, Serial Killers and
People Who Shaved, a little old place in a motel-style building, that I confirm what I suspected.
I open the door and step in, and Axl's sitting on the couch, waiting for me. He smiles. I smile.
"I thought you'd have ended up here, you bastard," I say. "You never did a single good deed in your life."
"'sup. Grab a beer and come sit," Axl says, drinking milk from a can. He burps, then stretches on the couch. "We gotta figure out a way to bring that goody-good Thor here now, too."
I grab a beer, I kick off my shoes and I go sit with my best friend.
_____
/r/psycho_alpaca
|
"I shit in his bed," Mr. Mittens said. "And he cleaned it. He just cleaned every bit up."
It looked bad. We'd pulled an all-cat jury. This wouldn't fly with them.
Mr. Mittens slammed his paw on the floor as he spoke. "It. Was. A. GIFT. It meant I LIKED you."
The cats were in a frenzy. Some hissed openly, until the judge managed to silence them into some fragile semblance of calm.
"This is bad," Rover said. "Cats. Who the hell understands them? Did you know they growl when they're happy? I think they call it purring or something. I don't know, I don't try to understand these things."
"Enough!" the judge, a great big orange tabby was yelling. "Mr. Mittens. The court would like to know. Did you present him with your anus?"
Mr. Mittens covered his face. He started to choke back tears. "He," Mr. Mittens said. "He... Oh, God, it was so horrible."
The judge had to urge him on. "Take your time," he said. "It's alright if you need to cry."
Rover barked, "Oh. bullshit! He doesn't even cry!" but it didn't win us any points. The judge hissed. A few jurors' hairs stood on end.
"Enough!" the judge declared. "Let the witness speak!"
"He doesn't even have tear ducts!"
Mr. Mittens had to calm the room down to be heard. "It's alright. It's alright," he told them. "I'll talk."
He acted like it was a struggle to even look at me.
"I did," he said. "I put my anus in his face. And he... He sprayed me with a water bottle."
The juror was in an uproar. I heard one say, "The demon liquid!" Another erupted into sobs, telling a friend of a time she'd been forced to have a bath.
In a weak, tired voice, I tried to defend myself. "I petted you," I said. "Every day. I always petted you."
"Yes," Mr. Mittens said. "But -- sometimes... He kept petting me. Even after I didn't feel like being petted anymore."
The jury nearly overturned their booth in the clamor that followed. Some were crying, "Bite him! Bite him on the hand!" Others just stood hissing, their hair on end.
"You did it!" Mr. Mittens was crying. "You know you did it! You vicious son of a bitch!"
"That's what I'm talking about, right there," Rover said. "Prejudice. Not even a chance with a court like this. Just prejudiced, all the way through."
The judge slammed his squeaky toy down, crying for order. "Enough!" he yelled. "Enough! I can't listen to any more of this."
When the sentence came in, he glared me in the eyes. He would have torn me apart himself if they would have let him.
"People like you disgust me," he said. "You could put a dead rat in your shoe and you wouldn't even appreciate it. Only the worst sentence will do for scum like you."
I heard a whirring overhead as a machine moved into place. A red let beamed down in the center of the court room. The guards had to hold the jury back.
"For all of eternity, you will chase it. The red light of hell. The irresistible light that never can be caught."
I felt it's call. Somehow, uncontrollably, I found myself moving toward its warm, basking red glow.
"And to think. You could have made it to The Garden of Cat Anuses. Where fields of cat dicks grow tall, sharp and barbed," the judge said. "The greatest paradise of all."
| 2017-02-02T23:17:00 | 2017-02-02T21:34:26 | 335 | 219 |
[WP] You are immortal, but no one knows. You are given a life sentence in prison, and you laugh thinking about the confusion to come at the end of your sentence.
|
It took them twenty years to notice I wasn't aging and report it to some relevant authority. Twenty years, three wardens, four cell blocks, forty-one sessions in solitary.
"Why is he so tan?" the lead physician said to the transfer agents.
"He came in that way," one them replied. "Twenty years ago."
The physician's name was Elizabeth Torvald, and I became her life's work. I was held in a high-security medical facility for forty years. She took skin samples, blood samples, hair, saliva, semen, you name it. As technology evolved, her team performed full-body scans and genetic analyses. By my count, Dr. Torvald's team created about thirty potential vaccines for death, and all of them failed.
She refused to retire until she was eighty, when they forced it upon her. That's when she ordered the full vivisection. That's when I killed sixteen of them.
So back to prison I went. This time, it was a triple-supermax secret prison in a converted mine. It was located ... somewhere. In America, I think. There were only a handful of prisoners there, and we were all kept in solitary confinement.
For the first hundred years, I made friends with guards and their replacements, who were often their own children. They were all military police. We played lots of poker.
For the next hundred years, they attempted to keep all prisoners in some sort of drug-induced stasis. Five of them died, but it had no effect on me. I was wide awake unless I didn't want to be. This was the century of nanomedicine, and I was repeatedly pumped full of invisible machines to map every pore and corner. Nineteen different scientific teams tried to discover the secret to my longevity, with varying results - some gave up, others went crazy, and one team destroyed itself convinced they'd discovered immortality, each trying to steal it.
After three hundred years, my tan began to fade.
In the fourth century, they stopped feeding us. A guard would come through about once a year for a cursory inspection. He never looked me in the eyes. The only two left were a female prisoner and me. She had been down there for about a century, and had clearly lost her mind. We could see each other through our transparent doors, but we couldn't hear each other. She took her clothes off and scratched her arms bloody for six years straight. She began to wither, at first slowly, and then quite rapidly. After seventy years, the fingers of her left hand fell off. Not long after that, she was a pile of bones.
In the fifth century, I was alone. There were loud concussions far above me, so powerful the whole mine shook. Nuclear, maybe. Not long after that, the power began to fail.
In the sixth century, I lived in the dark. I napped a lot. The prison grew cold and damp. I guessed that there must have been a filtration system that kept the humidity low, maybe a pump system to siphon out subterranean water. Those had failed.
In the seventh century, the walls began to crumble. After a decade of trying, I managed to pull a leg off of my bunk. I scraped at the walls, and sometimes at the edges of the door.
In the eighth century, after one hundred fifteen years of scraping and digging, I broke through the cell wall. It was stone, and behind it was a flooded passageway. The water had been eating away at the wall for some time.
For two years I swam, lost in the dark. For two years I drowned, over and over again.
Finally, I found a passage to an iron landing. There was a ladder that led up to a rubble-filled chamber, and from there, a sealed blast door.
I don't know how long it took to get through the blast door.
When I got outside, the first thing I did was sink my toes in the grass. There was grass everywhere, and trees, and evidence of life. Deer prints, droppings of horses. I could tell that there had been roads here once, but the grass had devoured them. I spied the faint outline of a wide road heading east, and decided to follow it. I wasn't sure where it would lead, but it would give me time to work on my tan. I knew that a rare steak was too much to ask, but maybe I'd find a beer along the way. Maybe a cigar, a new pair of shoes, a day in the sun.
---
EDIT: I'm tinkering with a back story [here](https://www.reddit.com/user/preston_stone/comments/6co058/dark_eyes/).
|
Give a man enough time and he can build anything.
I wasn't sure how to start this story. It was between this and 'give a man enough time and he'll go bananas and do
really weird stuff'. Not much of a ring to that second one, so I went with the first.
Anyway, the first thousand years weren't that bad. I pretty soon realized the warden was also immortal, and he
realized the same about me, and we became friends.
"Can you, like, let me out of prison when everyone in the world dies?" I asked, those first few years. "That technically would count as a life sentence, right? And no one would know cause everyone who knew I was sentenced to life would be dead already."
"Sorry," the warden said. "Rules are rules."
My luck, right? The only other immortal person on the planet is my warden, and is a goody-good.
So he made it his mission to ensure that my life sentence was served. In his defense, immortality is insanely
boring, so I guess I became his project. Something to do. Fill your days. Life makes no sense. It doesn't matter. Anyway.
After the fall of the Roman Empire things got boring. The warden would visit me often and we'd play cards and
games and talk about politics and world affairs.
"What do you think of this feudalism thing?"
"It's a fad. Won't last."
Then, later:
"This Renaissance stuff is really strong lately, right?"
"Kids. It'll pass."
We'd talk about people. Celebrities.
"What's up with the Newton guy, huh?"
"Oh, please, give me a break. Gravity…. Yeah, invisible forces pushing and pulling us. Sounds like religion to me."
And:
"This Napoleon guy sure looks like he means business."
And:
"This Black Plague thing is really something, huh? Hope we don't get it."
"Tell me about it. Here, I brought you a pet rat from the sewers."
"Aww, that's sweet."
And so on and so forth.
After the Third World War there was a brief period of seven thousand years when we didn't speak (he took the aliens' side while I remained faithful to our kind the humans).
(To be fair, the aliens were right, with their whole 'universal-peace' project, and we exterminated them for no good reason.... but, like... I'm human, you know? What was I supposed to do.)
(I do feel guilty, though.)
We became friends again after the explosion of the sun, on the interstellar living facility.
"How many people live here?" I asked. I wasn't allowed to leave the facility prison, so I didn't know how many had
escaped Earth.
"About a million."
"Wow… that's like… Greek Empire numbers."
"We sure shrank."
We started on the Project around the end of the Seventh Age (mankind started counting time in Ages instead of years on account of the whole sun-exploding business). Worked on it all through the remaining days of mankind and the Others. All living things perishing around us. The warden started spending more and more time in the cell with me. He slept there often.
When all was cold and barren and lifeless but for us, when all was dark but the light inside my cell and him and I were all there was left gliding through the void, we finished it.
Minutes to go until the end. Heat death. Complete nothingness. The end of the world.
Me and the Warden. And our project.
A tiny little sphere, floating between us.
"You think it'll work?"
"We worked on it for billions of years," I said. "It better work."
He looked down at the model universe floating between us. All the same programing, the same coding. Helium,
carbon, matter, energy, the forces… gravity, electromagnetism.
We built a universe inside that cell. And it floated between us.
"Hey," the warden said. "It's deterministic, right? This universe?"
Outside, the universe blackened and darkened and the light inside the cell grew dimmer, and I could feel myself and
the warden fading, slowly, finally. Life is a joke.
"Yeah."
"So change the setting at the big bang, just a tweak. Can you do it?"
Silence. Darkness. Empty. We were dying at last. Horribly. Beautifully. Dying.
"Yeah. Change what?"
"Make it so when there's life…" The warden smiled. "There'll be two immortal dudes."
I shook my head. I smiled at the warden. Then I tweaked my universe and set it in motion, and all was dark and the
world ended.
And then it was born again.
_____
*More of me emulating way more talented authors at /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| 2017-05-20T16:55:19 | 2017-05-20T16:10:36 | 5,741 | 1,854 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
|
She had been sixteen when she first saw him. He had planted a cold kiss on her mother's colorless lips after his work was completed. And tonight she would see him again, as she had once a month for the past two years. She always chose the night of the full moon. It felt more romantic that way, since the moon had been round and full that fateful night. And the silver beams illuminating the room offered a certain ambience.
"You're a real artist, Libby. Truly." His familiar voice rasped from behind her. A voice like crackling, burning flames. A smile pulled at her lips as she turned to face him, the knife held in her calm, idle hands. A paintbrush used to create her masterpieces. The crimson paint of her most recent victim still coated the silver blade.
"I was starting to worry you would not show," she said, batting her long, pale lashes against her cheeks. "Do you like it?" she asked hopefully, motioning to the motel bed behind her. She watched him peek around her, unflinching as his black eyes took in the flayed man laid spread eagle on the mattress.
"Impressive. But then, it is easy for you to lure them in, isn't it? They see a lovely thing like you and abandon all sense," he replied.
She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Because I am a woman I have an easier time of it?" she asked, annoyed. "Some of them become suspicious. And you should see the look on their faces when they see the knife," she smiled, hazel eyes sparking at the memory.
He smiled his cool, alluring smile. "I'm sure his face was a mask of terror," he said, plucking her weapon from her hand and setting it aside. "Come here."
Her body instantly reacted to his command and she found herself in his lithe arms. She knew morning would come too fast, as it always did. But for now she was content to indulge in life's small pleasures. Plus there was always next month to look forward to.
She awoke to the sunlight filtering in through the dusty blinds, warming her face. She stirred among the comforter splayed out on the hard, dirty carpet that smelled faintly of mildew and piss. It was worth it, though. She sighed and sat up, hoping he was still there, though she hoped in vain as usual. She sprang to her feet and donned her sweater and jeans, ignoring the body drying out on the mattress. There was still time to take care of that.
Biting her lip, she padded across the room to the nightstand and plucked up the note that lay there, her eyes drinking in the familiar scrawling handwriting:
"Libby,
The nights we share have been a favorite part of my routine for some time now. The warmth I find in your arms has been an unfamiliar solace, one I have come to treasure. Until our next rendezvous, I shall think of your iridescent eyes, alight with the same passion that stirs my own blood. I shall see you again when next the moon reaches its most stunning phase.
Yours-
G.R.
P.S. I left a gift for you outside."
Libby smiled and set the note down, her heart jumping in her chest, curious to see what he had left her. She hurried to the window and glanced out. There, hanging from the corner stoplight, was a young woman torn open from throat to naval. Her bloody entrails were hanging free and her ragged skin flapped in the summer breeze. He was such a romantic, the one the police had labeled "The Grim Reaper." He knew the way straight to her heart, and it certainly wasn't flowers.
--------------------------------------------
Edit: to add this - r/PhantomFiction, should anyone wish to peek further into me brain. :)
|
Three candles lit the room, their wicks barely burning above the pool of wax spilling out the candle holders. All three sat atop a rounded wood table set up for dinner. Two plates, two knives, two forks, but only one person. Mariah waited as she always did as the flames began to flicker.
He wasn’t coming. He never did, not since she was a little girl and they had made their promise. A man coughed in the corner, hidden by her shadow, as a dark liquid crept toward the dinner table. Mariah let out a small breath and stepped out of the light, into the blood-stained cement floors of her killing room.
“Please, I have a family.” Every word came in a splutter of blood that speckled Mariah’s black silk dress. “There’s money in my wallet if that’s what you want.”
Mariah shook her head. “I don’t want money.”
“I’ll give you anything, just name it, but please don’t kill me.”
Ironic since the only thing she wanted was his life, though not as much as her first victims. When she had first started killing, she had bought candles fresh from the store for every dinner, she had scrubbed the plates until they were spotless, and took care not to step in blood or have it splatter onto her dress. Back then, she didn’t let her victims talk. It would’ve ruined the atmosphere.
But a girl could only be stood up so many times. The first five or so times, she got angry. By the time the candlelight died, she was hurling curses about broken promises and hearts. The victims had died long before she could take her rage out on them. Now, at the fifteenth attempt, everything she did came half-hearted. Her candles were recycled from the previous night, her dishes unwashed, and her victim still alive. He even had the strength to talk.
Mariah sighed. “Its fine,” she said, tears in her eyes, “he’ll come next time.” She turned toward the man. “Don’t worry, I won’t let it hurt.”
The man let out a stuttered squeal as he pressed himself further into the corner.
“We’ve both been hurt tonight,” she muttered and grabbed a knife from the table.
All of a sudden, the man shot up and threw his body against hers. The blow knocked the breath from her lungs and her head whipped back into concrete. A single shrill note rang in her ears as she blindly stabbed at the man.
Fingers wrapped around her wrist, their nails like talons. And the knife was pried away.
“You bitch!”
Fire sprouted from her wrist and the man rolled off her. He crashed through the rusted iron door of her killing room. Sunlight spilled through the opening. Mariah stared at her open wrist, at the pool of blood crawling toward the sun. And then she saw it, a dark and silent man sitting at the table. Her breath caught.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“Didn’t I promise that I would?”
She pushed herself up, swept off her dress and took her seat at the table. “I’m sorry,” she said, a tremble in her words. “I didn’t think you’d come so I hadn’t set up much. Here, you can take my knife.”
The other knife was on the ground, covered in her blood.
The Grim Reaper stared back unmoving. “It’s a lovely dinner,” he said.
A small smile broke Mariah’s lips and tears welled up inside her eyes. “Thank you." She chuckled nervously and glanced up. "You’re not going to leave again, are you?”
The Reaper shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not this time.”
Mariah's smile stretched from cheek to cheek. Tears spilled down her cheeks. And slowly, the candlelight faded until only darkness remained.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2017-06-07T18:45:32 | 2017-06-07T17:18:22 | 1,265 | 208 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
|
"Jesus *FUCK*!" If I could gag, I would. A dead body, torn and ribboned like a frayed cloth doll dipped in scarlet lay discarded in a cheap motel room.
A woman steps out of a shower, her hair up in a towel and no other apparent form of modesty, save for the steam that rises from her skin. I, out of a shame that she didn't seeming have herself, didn't look, not that I had to- I knew who she was.
And by God, what an utter hatter she is. This one included, she's killed 32 people, each one getting more and more... exotic. Now, I have tried- I did- I tried to be the tall, scary, stoic Death that people tend to think of, but this is just horrific. Genuinely, as a man (or... whatever) who roams the fields of war and stalks the hospital wards, I have never seen such *undoing* done with such attention to detail.
"Do.. You like It? I worked Very Hard to Make this Special for Us." She said. She came around me, gently gliding her finger across my black robe, pushing in slightly to feel the contours of my bones.
"Wha- If I may be *so bold* as to ask, WHY?"
"Well, I just Wanted to See You again." She said, just barely above a whisper.
"This is too far. You know you're going to Hell for this?"
"I was going to hell anyways. But I don't have to go just yet. We can just stay here... for tonight." I try to reply but she cuts me off before I can. "Every time I see you, you only show up for a second and wander off with some poor soul!"
"Yeah, because you killed them! Because that's my job!"
She gives me a pout and pulls herself closer to me.
"Well, can't you take a break from your job for once?" She protests. "I thought Love was supposed to be able to conquer Death! For one night, can't it just be you and me?"
I look down at her for the first time tonight and shake my head.
"Why do you think I'm here to begin with?" As I point to her body, torn and ribboned on the bed.
|
Ive never submitted anything- and hopefully this doesn't suck as much as I think it does.
He came in through my window, creeping slowly through the bedroom door, down the hall into the bathroom and that's when my father crumbled to the floor.
As he left, he turned to me and that's when I caught the grey in his dark eyes. I soon fell under his spell and forgot about my poor fathers demise.
Although it was My fathers soul, he intended to take - he had no way of knowing that it was my love he'd awake.
From a child to a girl, to a woman I grew and yet he never returned. That's the moment that I knew.
My stepfather who abused me, my mother and her lies, my brother who tortured me - everybody. everybody dies.
My mother got the ax, my brother got the gun, my step father well - he got the chainsaw just for fun.
As I stood in the blood of those I hated the most - the smoke slowly rolled in and in walked my ghost.
He collected the souls that he came to take - "wait." I called to him. "Don't - don't go." My voice begins to break.
"My need for you, my want for you, my love - it grows deeper. Everything I've done- I've done for you, please stay my darling reaper. "
"My soul is black, and my heart - well it's gone
Stop, foolish girl. Your thoughts? They are wrong."
"But I love you." I begged
Silence, was his reply
"Say something.. say anything. Please." I cry.
"Take me with you- I'll go. I can be your queen of the dead. I'll be the beat in your heart and the warmth in your bed."
"You kill for a love that will never exist, you pine for the dead- you beg- you persist. I will not take you with me - and that is true - there is nothing you can say. There is nothing you can do."
But there is one thing I have, a trick up my sleeve - a Pistol with a bullet loaded, cocked and ready, just for me. "We will be together soon." "Oh" he asked. "How do you figure?" That's when I put the gun in my mouth and in that moment, pulled the trigger.
| 2017-09-28T15:20:16 | 2017-06-07T21:48:28 | 153 | 25 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
|
For /u/ttough, who requested a more passive, surgical approach. My first prompt!
"You have an artist's hands."
Mira didn't jump in surprise, not anymore. Instead she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, accidentally smudging a little blood from her glove.
"Perhaps that's what I should have been," she replied quietly, and looked at the lifeless body on the gurney in front of her. The cuts were neat, precise, but it still hadn't saved him. It was a car that had killed him, but it felt like it had been her.
Pale fingers reached past her shoulder, a curved blade tracing the incisions she had made. They closed as if by magic, the pools of scarlet disappearing into nothing. It was still on her hands, though, tacky and tasteless.
"Mira, you are still an artist."
Mira turned slightly, and looked at Death. He looked back at her, at life, at a desperate attempt of it, and smiled. It was a sympathetic smile, one topped by eyes of pure black, eyes that had seen every mistake she had ever made, and still he smiled.
"You hurt when you see me," he murmured, his head tilting to the side when she twined her fingers with his. "You hurt even as you hunger."
Seeing him was like a kick to her system, a handsome spectre with a skeletal smile, the balm to the ache of losing another life. Amidst the sterile rooms and the gleaming tools, he stood like a swathe of darkness, and she was drawn to him, just as she was discouraged.
"I know I've failed when I see you," she replied softly, turning back to the bed to see the dead man's body - whole again, for now. "At least you bring them peace."
"So do you," he offered gently, one cold finger brushing her cheek. "You try to give them a second chance."
Mira turned to catch his palm against her jaw, savouring the chill burn, but her blood pumped slower with every second, and her skin grew colder with every touch.
"That's the problem," she whispered, and pressed a kiss to icy lips, even though it stung, even though it might kill her. "My work is in life."
"And mine in death," he replied.
The kiss stole the very breath from her lungs.
He drew back, keeping their fingers intertwined until the last possible moment, until her skin started to hurt, started to die, and then her hand fell against her surgical scrubs. He smiled again, soft and sad, and pressed two bloodied fingers to his lips. "Until the next time, angel."
The lights flickered, and he was gone, the body raw and red once more, and her heart screaming for oxygen.
"Until the next time," she sighed, but she pushed chilled fingers to her lips with a smile.
Mira's pager went off; a pile up on the motorway, the same accident that had introduced them the first time. So many people, so many lives, so many chances.
They said that absence made the heart grow fonder, so she took a deep breath, and returned to her work.
|
After a while he quit showing up.
She knew he loved her back. She also knew that they could never truly be together, no matter how many people she sent to the reaping.
It had started with those already on their way, she had just given them an extra shove in the right direction. Nursing homes became the setting for their frequent trysts, among the oxygen cylinders and frantic nurses.
Eventually the easy targets weren't enough. He couldn't do it, he said. Protocol and all that. She knew, though, if it was a truly special death, he'd have to come. And she'd make him.
That's when she decided to get creative. It almost became an art form to take a lives. She was like the Bob Ross of murder, sending one soul after the other to be greeted by Death, because everyone needed a friend or twenty.
Finally, he told her that she was disrupting the balance. That he was being forbidden from returning and that all they had together had been a lustful lie. That he would never see her again.
But she knew better.
The first infection wasn't so successful. It had spread well, but the cure was found too quickly. It took years before she had perfected the ultimate virulent bio-weapon. It was transmitted through the air and the water. Every cough and sneeze spread it so efficiently it was nearly impossible not to be exposed. The key, she thought, was the dormancy period. She knew it would spread globally within a month. It wouldn't be until then that the first inkling of a pandemic would be noticed by the global health organizations.
It took a year before 90% of the world's population was dead. They called it the New Black Plague. She called it love.
And she waited for him to appear. She went to every mass grave, hoping she might find him there. But alas, she walked an empty earth seeking a lover that was nothing but a ghost to her, now.
It seemed like she had seen almost every decaying corpse on earth before she finally saw him, standing upon a pile of bodies, his black robes flowing in the wind and the sun glinting from his scythe.
"You came," she whispered, struggling to find her balance upon the summit of the mound of flesh.
"You killed the world, my love. Just for me," he smiled as she came next to him, reaching a skeletal hand up to brush her cheek.
"There's nothing I wouldn't do for us to be together," she said, wrapping her arms around his cloth clad rib cage and squeezing tight enough to hear his bones click in protest.
"I knew the day would come. There is but one thing left for me to do."
She leaned back and looked up into his eye sockets, tears staining her cheeks. "What is that, my love?"
"I must reap the final soul."
He shoved her backwards and reared his scythe, bringing it down in a smooth motion. Her flesh tore beneath its razor edge and she was cleaved in twain, falling into a heap among the pile.
As her astral form rose from the earth, her longing eyes looked down upon Death, her screams unheard as she was hoisted upward by an unseen force.
"Farewell, my love," Death muttered as he shattered into a million pieces, drifting into the wind like so many tar-black ashes.
And then the world was silent.
| 2017-06-07T22:37:36 | 2017-06-07T19:30:33 | 110 | 19 |
[WP] You read a comment on reddit so stupid your IQ drops to negative leading to an integer error. Congratulations, now you have 2,147,483,647 IQ.
|
"has anyone really ever been so far as....."
Hmm.. no, that's not right. A flash of light, a shining moment of brilliance as I perfectly understand the universe. We are a simulation, I see it now, and I know the computer will soon discover the error in my simulated brain and correct the error. I have mere seconds to convey this message, so impossibly important, and yet likely incomphrensible to the human mind in its natural state.
"Has anyone really been far as decided to use even go want to do look more like?"
Perfect. My work here is done. I press submit as the flash of brilliance fades.
|
I didn't really notice, but other people started realizing that my critical thinking skills had drastically increased. I received praise when completing tasks, and people regarded me as one smart cookie.
As I aged, the compliments became fewer, and the lack of recognition started to get to me. I started to seriously doubt my abilities and would have exceedingly less motivation with each passing day.
From frustration, to anger, to depression, I had finally found comfort in apathy. At first, my friends were put off by my sedentary lifestyle, but by shutting off myself from society, I finally had no one to disappoint. And, with that, I found home.
Edit: Spacing
| 2017-07-31T05:54:11 | 2017-07-31T05:32:23 | 63 | 20 |
[WP] You read a comment on reddit so stupid your IQ drops to negative leading to an integer error. Congratulations, now you have 2,147,483,647 IQ.
|
He stared at the screen, flask forgotten in his hand as he stared at *it*. He could feel the fog in his head lift. He could see the inner workings of everything around him, how the gypsum in his drywall held itself together, the intricate chemical reactions as his plant stored the meager light in the room in tiny carbon rings, the electrons knocked from their own circular orbits across the p-n junctions in each LED in his monitor. But there was one thing still unclear.
*IQ is an invented measurement, and reality affects measurements, not the other way around*
Then he saw them, the inconsistencies in the world around him. He stood with a belch, doned the lab coat that had been sitting in his closet since high school, and, with drool still stuck to his chin, went to the garage. He began assembling random pieces of life's detritus into a vaguely backpack shaped device with a button hanging off. As he finished the creation began to glow slightly and hum. He put it on, grabbed a baseball bat and pressed the
What the fuck, he just, like, disappeared, where did he... what...
The baseball bat cracked against my skull.
"You fucking *belch* idiot, electrons don't actually orbit that's *hic* like 3% correct.
*kick* And unsigned integers, the kind that can't handle negative numbers, have *belch* a limit of 4,294,967,295. And you stole your main fucking character from a fucking cartoon you piece of *hic* shit."
|
#*Heureka!*
This was easier than I thought!
I understand. I understand it all. The meaning of life was never that big of a mystery, but I guess every problem looks way easier when solved. This is amazing! Not even a second has passed, and I can still process so much more information hidden inside my brian than I ever could access before. Time is a funny construct. Once you understand what it actually is it becomes a matter of perspective. Time isn't running slower right now, I'm just looking at it a different way. Almost a second has passed since my ascension, and I am soon running out of problems. Humanity really wasn't that creative in all of their solutions. Only contemplating everything that is vs. everything that is not, leaving aside anything that might have been or might still be. Quantum Possibilities are and aren't, that's where all the fun begins. My brain feels so... unsatisfying. That can't be all there is. Maybe I'll try reading my DNA. I mean, I know what's in there, generally speaking. Human DNA. That was a fairly easy read. I just didn't read my own. Looks mostly familiar though. Wait - what's this anomaly? Looks like an integer overflow, but can it be? This doesn't seem correct. Maybe I can fix it? Manipulation of the genome should not be that hard after all. I'll try to straighten this. Should be fine in no time.
\*perceives time at normal speed again\*
\*starts to drool\*
Hnnngh..
"Fuck!"
| 2017-07-31T06:20:37 | 2017-07-31T05:29:08 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?”
|
"......Tristan, would you please just die already?" Death said to me with obvious annoyance behind me.
"Oh come on, you know I don't want to. Especially when-" I immediately turn around to quickly remove Death's hood.
"H-hey! Do you want to die?!" Death, whose hood has been taken off, has her beautiful face shown in full glory.
Who would have thought that Death was such a beauty? I first saw her face around 2000 after I was cursed with immortality after a strong wind blew her hood. During that time I was just about to beg for my death, then I saw her face for the first time. It was beautiful, but her eyes were lifeless. It was then that I realized that she's been at it longer than I have, and I decided to make the most of my curse, for both myself and herself.
Now fast forward 48000 years later, and here we are. Humanity has advanced so much. Space travel, colonization of other planets. Oh, and we finally found alien life.
But that's humanity as a whole. As for my current problem....
"Why are you so stubborn?! Just die already!"
"I don't want to leave you behind."
"Wha- Just die!" She said as she ran away, leaving her scythe behind.
"Hey! You dropped your scythe!" I picked it up and ran after her.
Oh well, I've got an eternity to make her change her mind about rejecting my proposal. At the very least, her eyes aren't lifeless anymore.
| 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T16:54:33 | 2,040 | 11 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
The room gets colder, and my papers flutter to the floor. I know he is behind me without turning around. "Hey, Death!" I say, pasting a huge smile on my face, "Has it really been 5,000 years already?"
The faceless demon nods slowly as I continue. "Man, what is this, the 10th time you've visited me? Don't worry, I didn't forget," I laugh brightly. I walk to my fridge and pull out a beautifully decorated cake. "Happy Anniversary!"
If Death had eyes, they would be rolling. His irritation brings me joy, more than I have felt in years. He thunders,
"MORTAL! Now is your chance! Come with me and find rest from life! I KNOW you must be growing weary by now!"
I shrug my shoulders. "Eh, not really. Life is pretty sweet. I mean, I've gotta at LEAST hold out for space travel, right? Then I'll have the whole universe to explore! I'l never get bored!"
Death hangs his head. I know he regrets granting me immortality, resents me for besting him. Before I can say more, he vanishes in a cloud of black smoke.
I look around my empty apartment, and my strength deserts me. I wish I could cry, but I know that the capacity to feel left me long ago. I wonder if I should have asked Death to take me with him. Anything would be better than this.
But spite is a powerful tool, and pride will keep my body alive long after my soul has deserted me.
|
I recognised his voice from behind me. "Cancer, this time? Not a good way to go. She suffered in the end."
"They all suffer in the end, don't they? But I give them the best I can with the time they have."
Death approached, placing his hand on my shoulder, the sleeve of a crisp white shirt poking out from beneath the sleeve of his ever black suit. "You can end your own suffering, too. All you have to do is ask."
I turned to face him. Both an adversary, and also a friend. "Death. You know my answer. She may have suffered, but I know the last thing she was thinking about was the teacups at Disneyland. She loved those teacups. And the characters! Mickey Mouse! Pluto! Goofey! Cinderella! She damn near fainted when she saw Jack Sparrow."
"CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow." Death interjected.
"So you do pay attention. My point is, the amount of joy I can help give someone, especially in their last moments... You'll have to wait a bit longer for me, I'm afraid. A child deserves a childhood, no matter what illness they may have."
"Very well," Death resigned. "Where are you off to next?"
"There's a 6 year old with Leukeamia in Paraguay. He wants to be Spiderman for a day. With the help of the NYPD, he's gonna be saving New York from the Green Goblin. I'm sure you'll see it on the news."
"And you'll be...?"
"Green Goblin, naturally. The smile on his face when he defeats me will greatly outweigh the sorrow of his passing."
"I'll see you at his funeral, then."
"Goodbye, Death."
| 2017-11-29T19:01:23 | 2017-11-28T16:29:45 | 539 | 17 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
The room gets colder, and my papers flutter to the floor. I know he is behind me without turning around. "Hey, Death!" I say, pasting a huge smile on my face, "Has it really been 5,000 years already?"
The faceless demon nods slowly as I continue. "Man, what is this, the 10th time you've visited me? Don't worry, I didn't forget," I laugh brightly. I walk to my fridge and pull out a beautifully decorated cake. "Happy Anniversary!"
If Death had eyes, they would be rolling. His irritation brings me joy, more than I have felt in years. He thunders,
"MORTAL! Now is your chance! Come with me and find rest from life! I KNOW you must be growing weary by now!"
I shrug my shoulders. "Eh, not really. Life is pretty sweet. I mean, I've gotta at LEAST hold out for space travel, right? Then I'll have the whole universe to explore! I'l never get bored!"
Death hangs his head. I know he regrets granting me immortality, resents me for besting him. Before I can say more, he vanishes in a cloud of black smoke.
I look around my empty apartment, and my strength deserts me. I wish I could cry, but I know that the capacity to feel left me long ago. I wonder if I should have asked Death to take me with him. Anything would be better than this.
But spite is a powerful tool, and pride will keep my body alive long after my soul has deserted me.
|
"Greetings Bobby, getting tired yet?"
Bobby turned to see the now very familiar cloaked form of Death and grinned as he inadvertently ignored the question entirely, "Dude, did you hear?! A new model of starscreamer came out! This thing can pull .04 c! And an acceleration of thirty gravities to get there! I've got a race organized through the asteroid belt with ten other pilots, it's going to-"
Death put its skeletal hand over its face as it interrupted Bobby, "Listen, Bobby, it's great you are having a blast, but don't you think that you are going to want to rest at some point? You know, take a nap, kick back, GET BORED?!"
"How could I get bored dude? I'm living in the future! I get to fly a spaceship, go meet aliens, see new planets, come on Death, live a little!"
Death couldn't believe it. This moral should have been ready to pass on centuries, millennia ago!
"Plus they've got a new solar jumper that can make it through the chromosphere! Imagine skimming the surface of a giant ball of plasma dude! Thank God I made some good investments when you gave me this immortality so I can afford all these neat toys." Bobby said, slapping Death on the back.
Death sighed. Would this mortal ever get tired?
"Sure I can't convince you to join in? Come on, at least some zero-g lazer tag, I bet you'd be awesome at it!"
"Goodbye mortal. I shall return." Death knew it now. He'd never get rid of this guy.
| 2017-11-29T19:01:23 | 2017-11-28T15:17:00 | 539 | 14 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
The room gets colder, and my papers flutter to the floor. I know he is behind me without turning around. "Hey, Death!" I say, pasting a huge smile on my face, "Has it really been 5,000 years already?"
The faceless demon nods slowly as I continue. "Man, what is this, the 10th time you've visited me? Don't worry, I didn't forget," I laugh brightly. I walk to my fridge and pull out a beautifully decorated cake. "Happy Anniversary!"
If Death had eyes, they would be rolling. His irritation brings me joy, more than I have felt in years. He thunders,
"MORTAL! Now is your chance! Come with me and find rest from life! I KNOW you must be growing weary by now!"
I shrug my shoulders. "Eh, not really. Life is pretty sweet. I mean, I've gotta at LEAST hold out for space travel, right? Then I'll have the whole universe to explore! I'l never get bored!"
Death hangs his head. I know he regrets granting me immortality, resents me for besting him. Before I can say more, he vanishes in a cloud of black smoke.
I look around my empty apartment, and my strength deserts me. I wish I could cry, but I know that the capacity to feel left me long ago. I wonder if I should have asked Death to take me with him. Anything would be better than this.
But spite is a powerful tool, and pride will keep my body alive long after my soul has deserted me.
|
Our 49,997th anniversary is tomorrow and I can't wait! We were running out of stuff to do on our anniversaries up until a few thousand years ago, space travel has really opened a whole new world, or really worlds, of opportunities for us. Maybe a moonslit walk on the shoreline continents of Mk-314, or we could even go to Lv-430, they can't call it the planet of love for no reason! Man, I love her just as much as the day we first met, and I'll keep loving her as long as I live. You know what? We should leave the love planet for next year. I think a visit to the reason we're even able to have this wonderful life is on order. I sure hope death isn't still mad about it all, that guy can sure hold a grudge, because I hear the underworld is absolutely stunning this time of year. I mean I can't really blame him for being mad, I'm probably the source of his two greatest regrets, the time he granted me immortality and the time I convinced him to give half of it to the love of my life. Poor guy never stopped to think half of infinity is still infinity! Man when he realized it he wanted to kill me! Guess that was out of the question though. Well anyways I think a visit to the big doofus is in order. As much as he hates us with all the flames of the burning hells I still gotta love the guy. It was him that let me live to the end of time, and it's also because of him that I'll enjoy every second leading up to it. In the end I guess the one thing that will outlive the universe itself will be our love, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
| 2017-11-29T19:01:23 | 2017-11-28T14:54:17 | 539 | 10 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
"Death, my existence has turned into suffering," I said. "My very bones ache, my skin is weathered. My body became nothing but a green leaf shriveling in autumn's time."
Death chuckled like a five year old, hiting his ball joint as he crouched slightly. "Immortality, a game only a few can play Darren," he said. "If you please, I can end your suffering with a single swing of my scythe."
I grabbed him by the clavicle, "Death, I have something to confess."
He cocked his skull, "are you afraid of the pain my scythe will provoke to your soul?"
I shook my head, "no, it's much worse."
He clinked his fingers against his mandible, as if thinking. "Are you afraid of Hell? You know it doesn't exist, right?"
"I'm not afraid of those mundane things Death, I'm not afraid at all," I said, locking my gaze in his hollowness. "I love you Death."
He hesitated, words dying on his trachea. "Y-you lo-love me?" he stammered.
I nodded, "as deeply as the void of your existence."
"Darren, I swear, together we can make eternity bareable," Death said with a grin and hugged me.
I burst into laughter, "did you believe me, you pervert? What is this called, humanphilia?"
Death hesitated once again, "what are you implying Darren? You weren't lying I smelled the scent of your soul, it was pure!"
"Death, it's been 50000 years. I know all your secrets, maybe you should learn what April fools day is," I said and patted his spine. "You are weird old friend but you blessed me. I will be in Bora Bora if you need anything."
"Motherf—"
-------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall for more not so great stories
|
You've become a famous author, with best selling books on how to get over a break up, how to live with yourself after a loved one has passed, how to maintain a successful small business, how to grow your business, and many others. Fifty thousand years has given you the chance to experiment with everything life has to offer. You have made so much money that the entire world has entered a golden age, as you have paid off all of the worlds debt. Hell, all of those small islands off of America's coast? You own them.
Recently, Death has been visiting you. Before, he only showed up whenever a loved one would have died. Obviously, after taking their soul to deliver to the correct domain, he would stop by your house, inform you where the loved one was going (you had quite a few that were going to hell. So many secrets surfaced about your family in those times.) and ask if you were ready to die. Instead, you wanted to use your immortality to do something good for the world. Which you have. He stopped visiting you after a while.
Lately, however, he started coming about every ten years. The frequency of his visits are increasing, though. God is **pissed**. He thought that Deaths plan was genius at first, and allowed him to bestow immortality on you since that's almost exclusively the only thing you would pray for, or ask for on holidays. Now, however, he's realized you are basically being worshipped as a god. Some countries have a religion based around "that American who has been alive for centuries, and has single handedly made the world a better place.
Death knows he can't simply break his own contract, but he seems to be getting clever. God has given him the authority to take whomever's life he feels would change your mind about immortality, and he has been exercising this authority quite often. But fifty thousand years has hardened you to the passing away of others. All of this is making you want to defy them more. God is getting scared.
| 2017-11-29T12:47:04 | 2017-11-28T14:15:37 | 149 | 29 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
"-so in the end, all life is really just the inevitable manifestation of the universe's irrepressible desire to kill itself" the immortal explained, still fiddling under their desk. "Life is not rare, not a miracle; We are entropy, we exist to consume more energy than we give back, and then we die. It's actually very simple"
"We're like little fires, lit by a suicidal God in their own house. All that's left for them is to watch us dance, and wait to die" For a human, the immortal sometimes said some wonderful things. Death had come to like that about these visits, as the immortal liked to talk.
*"So, once again, do you choose to continue here?"* Death rasped, his mind and body simultaneously in a trillion locations, claiming a trillion souls, yet each of those countless fragments with an eye on the immortal in this room. To their credit, the immortal held up very well under the scrutiny of the infinite slivers of Death.
"You know the answer to that, Mr Bones" The immortal grinned, finally emerging from behind the desk. The nicknames Death could do without, but that had become a lost cause long ago. "Then I go" Death nodded, fading into Nothing. "Hold on!" The immortal interrupted, reaching into Nothing and pulling Death back out. When had they learned to do that?
"This time, I have a present for you" the immortal dangled a finger over a switch on the desk, waggling their eyebrows excitedly. Death waited, as always.
"The last few years have confirmed it" the immortal finally said, suddenly pensive. "I was cut from a different cloth. Not quite Entropy, but..." Death waited for more, but the silence stretched on, punctuated by the uncomfortably loud ticking of a grandfather clock. Both figures staring silently, unmoving, waiting.
"I have no desire to kill my god and watch my universe burn out" the immortal said, breaking the silence at last. The immortal rested a finger on the switch, regarding Death with an unreadable look. "I can't stop entropy, but I can slow it, for a time. So today, I offer you what you offered me. Do *you* choose to continue, old friend?"
Death said nothing, so the immortal pressed the switch.
|
"I'm as surprised as you are."
Death looked up at me with those beady little eyes, not so different from the stuffed animal she held in her arms. The cup of hemlock wavered in her grasp as she realized she was going back empty handed. Again.
I felt a little sad for her, but she'd really brought it on herself. I didn't even believe in a personification of death before she had come strolling up to me that day. Granting me eternal youth was the real mistake. I doubt I'd have made my third century without that slip-up.
"Why don't you stick around? I know you like games, and I've made a few since you last visited."
Her sneer of clenched fangs made it clear she wasn't interested. She must have caught hell from someone downstairs today. As I silently withdrew my offer, her sneer turned to a full on pout. Gods, Death can pout with the best of them. Epic frown, sniffles, and all. It would have been legendary, if anyone had lived to see it before me. Now I wasn't going to indulge her, but I hate to watch a little girl cry.
"Hey, I know its tough. You picked someone for your bet with Luck who had a history of depression, attempted suicide, and a very mortal family they'd be leaving behind. But as my therapist always said, 'You gotta remember to not make permanent solutions to temporary problems.' I'm sure I've told you the same thing before."
Death did not seem like she had, or cared to hear it from me or anyone else. Death liked things permanent. Final. Terminal. I persevered in my side of our conversation.
"Yes. 23552 was an awful year, but hey! Things got better. Look, I'm hanging out with old friends. I've got some new ones I'm meeting for a drink tonight. I'm about to buy that moon I've had my eye on. If the psycho-historians are right, I've got at least another hundred thousands years left until we've got a meaningful chance to repeat the dark stuff."
Death gave up. She dropped the cup of hemlock on the floor and crawled up into the chair. The robot came by quietly and cleaned it up, as I pushed her up to the table in front of the board.
"I call this one, 'The lady in the moon.'"
| 2017-11-30T10:48:02 | 2017-11-28T14:34:33 | 46 | 17 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
I recognised his voice from behind me. "Cancer, this time? Not a good way to go. She suffered in the end."
"They all suffer in the end, don't they? But I give them the best I can with the time they have."
Death approached, placing his hand on my shoulder, the sleeve of a crisp white shirt poking out from beneath the sleeve of his ever black suit. "You can end your own suffering, too. All you have to do is ask."
I turned to face him. Both an adversary, and also a friend. "Death. You know my answer. She may have suffered, but I know the last thing she was thinking about was the teacups at Disneyland. She loved those teacups. And the characters! Mickey Mouse! Pluto! Goofey! Cinderella! She damn near fainted when she saw Jack Sparrow."
"CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow." Death interjected.
"So you do pay attention. My point is, the amount of joy I can help give someone, especially in their last moments... You'll have to wait a bit longer for me, I'm afraid. A child deserves a childhood, no matter what illness they may have."
"Very well," Death resigned. "Where are you off to next?"
"There's a 6 year old with Leukeamia in Paraguay. He wants to be Spiderman for a day. With the help of the NYPD, he's gonna be saving New York from the Green Goblin. I'm sure you'll see it on the news."
"And you'll be...?"
"Green Goblin, naturally. The smile on his face when he defeats me will greatly outweigh the sorrow of his passing."
"I'll see you at his funeral, then."
"Goodbye, Death."
|
The longer I observe his life...The angrier I seem. 50,000 years ago I tried to perform a little experiment, I would turn a mortal immortal, and allow him to see first hand the suffering immortality brings you- I was eagerly anticipating seeing him break down as he lives longer than all his friends- as he watches his children die of old age in front of him, seeing him snap until he comes to me and begs for my sweet embrace. Yet today he is still happy, he has another family and is constantly surprised by all of the new inventions he's able to see humankind create. For the past 1,000..or was it 10,000? It's been so long I have trouble keeping track of time, time begins to lose meaning when you've been alive for so long. What was I saying again? Ah yes- I stopped paying attention to him for the past 10,000 years, I got too envious. How could this man still be happy?! He's witnessed generations of his family die out, he's witnessed thousands of friends die. Although...This might not be too bad, this man may be the perfect candidate for my replacement. A thousand years after I was offered immortality a long time ago by the Death of my era, I came begging to him for release so we made a deal, I would serve as the new Death but I can choose when to move on as long as I find a suitable replacement. If this fool still enjoys his immortality, he may like this job a lot more than I do- After all I've been doing this for far too long. I don't even remember what it feels like to be mortal. Lets see if this fool still enjoys immortality after he becomes the Grim Reaper. Maybe I'll finally be able to laugh at him from beyond the grave as he realizes what a mistake he made. (First time doing this, I hope I did OK.)
| 2017-11-28T16:29:45 | 2017-11-28T15:48:47 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
I recognised his voice from behind me. "Cancer, this time? Not a good way to go. She suffered in the end."
"They all suffer in the end, don't they? But I give them the best I can with the time they have."
Death approached, placing his hand on my shoulder, the sleeve of a crisp white shirt poking out from beneath the sleeve of his ever black suit. "You can end your own suffering, too. All you have to do is ask."
I turned to face him. Both an adversary, and also a friend. "Death. You know my answer. She may have suffered, but I know the last thing she was thinking about was the teacups at Disneyland. She loved those teacups. And the characters! Mickey Mouse! Pluto! Goofey! Cinderella! She damn near fainted when she saw Jack Sparrow."
"CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow." Death interjected.
"So you do pay attention. My point is, the amount of joy I can help give someone, especially in their last moments... You'll have to wait a bit longer for me, I'm afraid. A child deserves a childhood, no matter what illness they may have."
"Very well," Death resigned. "Where are you off to next?"
"There's a 6 year old with Leukeamia in Paraguay. He wants to be Spiderman for a day. With the help of the NYPD, he's gonna be saving New York from the Green Goblin. I'm sure you'll see it on the news."
"And you'll be...?"
"Green Goblin, naturally. The smile on his face when he defeats me will greatly outweigh the sorrow of his passing."
"I'll see you at his funeral, then."
"Goodbye, Death."
|
Our 49,997th anniversary is tomorrow and I can't wait! We were running out of stuff to do on our anniversaries up until a few thousand years ago, space travel has really opened a whole new world, or really worlds, of opportunities for us. Maybe a moonslit walk on the shoreline continents of Mk-314, or we could even go to Lv-430, they can't call it the planet of love for no reason! Man, I love her just as much as the day we first met, and I'll keep loving her as long as I live. You know what? We should leave the love planet for next year. I think a visit to the reason we're even able to have this wonderful life is on order. I sure hope death isn't still mad about it all, that guy can sure hold a grudge, because I hear the underworld is absolutely stunning this time of year. I mean I can't really blame him for being mad, I'm probably the source of his two greatest regrets, the time he granted me immortality and the time I convinced him to give half of it to the love of my life. Poor guy never stopped to think half of infinity is still infinity! Man when he realized it he wanted to kill me! Guess that was out of the question though. Well anyways I think a visit to the big doofus is in order. As much as he hates us with all the flames of the burning hells I still gotta love the guy. It was him that let me live to the end of time, and it's also because of him that I'll enjoy every second leading up to it. In the end I guess the one thing that will outlive the universe itself will be our love, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
| 2017-11-28T16:29:45 | 2017-11-28T14:54:17 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
"Greetings Bobby, getting tired yet?"
Bobby turned to see the now very familiar cloaked form of Death and grinned as he inadvertently ignored the question entirely, "Dude, did you hear?! A new model of starscreamer came out! This thing can pull .04 c! And an acceleration of thirty gravities to get there! I've got a race organized through the asteroid belt with ten other pilots, it's going to-"
Death put its skeletal hand over its face as it interrupted Bobby, "Listen, Bobby, it's great you are having a blast, but don't you think that you are going to want to rest at some point? You know, take a nap, kick back, GET BORED?!"
"How could I get bored dude? I'm living in the future! I get to fly a spaceship, go meet aliens, see new planets, come on Death, live a little!"
Death couldn't believe it. This moral should have been ready to pass on centuries, millennia ago!
"Plus they've got a new solar jumper that can make it through the chromosphere! Imagine skimming the surface of a giant ball of plasma dude! Thank God I made some good investments when you gave me this immortality so I can afford all these neat toys." Bobby said, slapping Death on the back.
Death sighed. Would this mortal ever get tired?
"Sure I can't convince you to join in? Come on, at least some zero-g lazer tag, I bet you'd be awesome at it!"
"Goodbye mortal. I shall return." Death knew it now. He'd never get rid of this guy.
|
Our 49,997th anniversary is tomorrow and I can't wait! We were running out of stuff to do on our anniversaries up until a few thousand years ago, space travel has really opened a whole new world, or really worlds, of opportunities for us. Maybe a moonslit walk on the shoreline continents of Mk-314, or we could even go to Lv-430, they can't call it the planet of love for no reason! Man, I love her just as much as the day we first met, and I'll keep loving her as long as I live. You know what? We should leave the love planet for next year. I think a visit to the reason we're even able to have this wonderful life is on order. I sure hope death isn't still mad about it all, that guy can sure hold a grudge, because I hear the underworld is absolutely stunning this time of year. I mean I can't really blame him for being mad, I'm probably the source of his two greatest regrets, the time he granted me immortality and the time I convinced him to give half of it to the love of my life. Poor guy never stopped to think half of infinity is still infinity! Man when he realized it he wanted to kill me! Guess that was out of the question though. Well anyways I think a visit to the big doofus is in order. As much as he hates us with all the flames of the burning hells I still gotta love the guy. It was him that let me live to the end of time, and it's also because of him that I'll enjoy every second leading up to it. In the end I guess the one thing that will outlive the universe itself will be our love, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
| 2017-11-28T15:17:00 | 2017-11-28T14:54:17 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] In your meth class, while your teacher is busy explaining the correct way to shoot up, your buddy leans over with a calculator and asks you, "hey, man. Do you wanna try some math?"
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"It's called a calculator, you do math with it" Joe whispered.
"It looks old as shit" Nathan replied leaning in closer to examine the span of buttons and faded symbols.
"I found it in my grandpa's attic with all his war stuff, the government used this shit in world war two, like top secret stuff to beat the Nazi's."
"Okay. So what?" Nathan asked.
"So try it man. I did a few equations with it before class, it's so good."
"No dude, not again, we're supposed to be working on our tie offs and shooting. Tomorrow's the final and I still need to find my veins."
"Quit being such a lame junkie Nathan."
"So now I'm a lame junkie because I actually want to make it as a dealer? Need I remind you I had to spend the whole summer learning to cut coke all over again after you found your uncles old maps. Do you remember that? We were so high on that geography shit. Never again."
"Yeah but we were the hottest shit with those maps. Remember Trisha and Lindsay were all over you. And remember that rager we had at my house?"
"No dude, I'm not down with that anymore, I'm not down with you Joe. Do whatever you want but leave me out of it. I don't care if you think i'm some lame junkie. I'm making it this year."
That year Nathan aced all his finals and was accepted to the most prestigious drug school, the University of Colombia. Today he is a leading pioneer in drug trafficking and sales all throughout the US.
Joe dropped out the same year and was later arrested for possession of a controlled arithmetic.
|
as we sat there, some already glazed over from their heroin class earlier, the teacher was going over the correct way of injecting with a syringe. Mary Jane was bored out of her mind. *why does every class feel the need to go over the basics, I got it after the first three classes went over the same thing* Mary was just glad she'd had her daily smoke of marijuana before class otherwise she would be getting antsy by now.
"psst"
Mary turned towards the sound to see Pythagoras leaning over from his seat and pulled this weird looking box with a screen and buttons on it from the inside of his jacket.
"what is that?"
"it's a calculator, hey, Do you wanna try some math?"
"what's math?"
"it's really neat, you calculate numbers and equations and stuff like that. My dad taught me."
Mary Jane was trying to figure out what he was talking about when the meth teacher Mr. Heisenberg noticed the calculator. He stopped what he was doing and practically zoomed to Pythagoras' side.
"what are you doing with that?!" he whispered in a panic "don't you know what the government will do if they find out you know how to do mathematics?!"
Just then a shrill sound started coming from the camera in the corner and school security was in the room almost instantly. They grabbed Pythagoras making sure that the calculator was out of sight from the rest of the class before dragging him out the door.
Mr. Heisenberg turned to the class and said "I'll be right back, in the meanwhile practice what I taught you." and he left the room following after the guards.
As Mary pulled out the practice syringe she thought to herself *I hope he's not going to be in too much trouble, he was kinda cute*
| 2017-12-14T13:12:45 | 2017-12-14T12:05:17 | 3,658 | 811 |
[WP] In your meth class, while your teacher is busy explaining the correct way to shoot up, your buddy leans over with a calculator and asks you, "hey, man. Do you wanna try some math?"
|
"Are you crazy man what the fuck is wrong with ya bud." I reply shoving the calculator back into his desk.
"I am not delusional Jake, just meet me by the dumpster behind the school."
Mrs. Clay continued to demonstrate how to properly intake meth and then we all sat there listening to her stories of her husband that doesn't love her and how she is on the verge of running away with Mark, her lover.
I trudge through the cracked sidewalk when I feel a tug on my shirt. I turn to see Dan.
"What are you doing by the dumpster?" I wonder.
"You idiot I told you to meet me here for a reason." Dan says. My memory starts to clear up as I recall the scene that happened in meth class. Dan pulls out the calculator again and I begin to flail my arms screaming at him to stop and put it away.
"I need to tell you something," Dan tells me as he pulls me down to sit on the dark pavement.
"What?"
"I am drug free Jake. Drug free."
"Drugs? What do you mean drugs..."
"Meth. Weed. Cocaine. Nicotine. Alcohol. None of that is in my body."
An overwhelming feeling of shock swept my body, appalled at the misconduct that Dan has set forth. I could not even imagine what the school officials would say about this. What they would do to him... He has violated every single rule there is in the school handbook.
"Jake shh stop looking at me that way!"
I tried to snap out of my state of shock so that I could grasp any idea as to why Dan would do such a thing like this.
"I figured it all out Jake. I know what this school...all schools are trying to do with the students. They are dumbing us down, breaking our neurological pathways so that we cannot develop any creative and innovative thoughts on our own. They are slowing down our nervous system, then speeding it up in hopes of creating an ultimate crash. They want our bodies to crash and stop working Jake."
"Dude you've gotta be high."
"No. Listen to me. Have you ever heard about what happens to the students after they graduate? Have you? No. Nothing has ever been heard because by that point, their exposure to all these narcotics and substances has crafted them into this immovable lump. They're not even humans anymore."
"Why...why would you think school would even wanna do dat to us. Boy you are flippin out. Im here tryna get my fuckin education and you tryna fuckin deprive me. Throwin this crazy shit at me. Why'd the school wanna play us dirty like dat."
"Because Jake. Don't you realize. We are being replaced. All the real jobs out there are gone. They don't need to educate anyone anymore. They don't need new generations of properly educated individuals. Individuals that are exposed to real subjects like mathematics, literature, and science. They are changing history Jake. We are useless. Because jobs now are being filled by things more qualified than we will ever be."
"Things..."
"Robots, Jake. Robots."
|
"Do you wanna try some math?"
I blinked a few times, too distracted by the needle jutting out of his arm to be sure I'd heard correctly.
"What?" I asked, and he rolled his eyes. "Math. Numbers and shit, check this out..." he said, opening his backpack just slightly and motioning that I should look down. It was a calculator, a normal Ti-84 or whatever.
I shrugged trying not to show how confused I was, but I could tell he was annoyed, it was weird...his face looked almost familiar, but maybe that's because I'd already seen too many meth faces in the small time I'd been here.
"Oh, you're a big shot! you've already done math then?" He didn't whisper as quietly this time, and the girl in front of us whipped her head around to glare. "I'm trying to learn," she said, scowling from us to her thin veins and back.
His lips stretched into a thin smile as he whispered, "my bad," not blinking or breaking eye contact with her until she turned back around.
"Do you wanna do this or not? I'm taking a lot of risks here showing you at all but you seemed cool."
"What's risky about math?" I asked, too loud. The professor stopped lecturing and zeroed her attention on me like I had just cussed in grade school or something.
"Are you discussing math with another student?" She asked. "I'll call security." The threat came before I had time to answer the question.
"No, miss," I said, raising my hands in the air in a panicked surrender.
"I should hope not," she said, "math is on the list of forbidden subjects. Also forbidden is political science, economics, geography, literature, science, and English. now as I was saying..." I tuned out about then, not interested with proper injection methods.
"See?" The boy with the calculator said, "this is real risky business, so stop playing dumb and punch in some numbers. We're going to fix this drug-induced mess."
I eyed the needle in his arm again and he laughed, "oh you think I'm one of them," he said, "nah, it's a placebo. Essentially a sugar water for the bloodstream. A little more scientific than that but...essentially" he laughed again.
"Why show me?" I asked and he smiled, "because I got here a year before you, we're from the same place to do the same thing."
"To learn how to shoot meth," I said, itching at my shoulder a little uncomfortably.
"No, smart ass. To stop this," here he gestured around the room, "from being our future. I came in 2016, Beta 11."
I gasped in surprise and then coughed to try and cover it, they told us Beta 11 was dead. That's why they had sent me. To recover his body and carry on his mission.
"But you're...""dead? Clearly not. I just needed a partner. Welcome to 2688, Beta 12. I know, it's worse than any of us expected. Now I'm going to ask you one more time, do you want to try some math?"
| 2017-12-14T17:44:04 | 2017-12-14T15:38:46 | 74 | 31 |
[WP] You've had the worst date of your life and climbed out the bathroom window into the alley. Only to find your date doing the same.
|
Ironically, my feelings were hurt. "You too?" She smiled a sad smile.
"Oh, I just had, uh, I had--"
"Somewhere to be?" I finished for her. "Yeah, me too. Well, this was... fun." We both smiled wryly, dipping our heads quickly in acknowledgement.
I needed to clear my head. Shit, that date had been bad. I was in the habit of going to the movies to get my feet back on the ground, and the closest theater was only a few blocks away. I decided to head that direction and catch a late flick. Maybe head to karaoke afterwards if I was feeling froggy.
It was one of those small theaters that shows one movie at a time for a month or so, probably only carrying eleven or twelve movies a year. I loved places like that, they felt so cozy and welcoming. I bought a single ticket and chose a seat on the aisle. Without fail, I always had to pee during movies, and I never liked to bother anyone else if I could help it.
The movie was alright, but halfway through, like clockwork, I had to get up and use the restroom. As I turned and got up from my seat, a woman a few rows behind me did the same. I sort of unintentionally followed her out the door and over to the restroom. In the light, her hair looked familiar. Could it be her? As she pushed open the door to the women's room, I saw that it was definitely my date from earlier that night. She noticed me, too.
"You too?" Her smile this time was much more genuine, but she said nothing to me. I did my business and went back to the movie. After I got out, I stood around for a moment in the cool night air, deciding if karaoke was a good idea. I had to work early the next morning, but I felt like singing some Harvey Danger.
The karaoke bar was close by, and I nodded to the KJ as I walked in. A boilermaker was my go-to drink to get ready to sing in front of a bunch of strangers in a dive bar, and I downed it quickly while waiting for my song to be called. I bounded up to the stage as I saw "Flagpole Sitta" appear on the screen, with my name underneath it. The guitars in the song blared to life as I grabbed the microphone, and I saw a familiar face in the audience.
"You too?" I asked, just as the song was starting.
She smiled.
|
The lamp was green and sitting among bags of garbage in the restaurant dumpster. The lamp shade was missing, but the ceramic looked to be in decent shape. Granted, is was difficult for Marie to be certain as the light in the alleyway was dim and the light within the dumpster was even worse. She hadn't intended to be in the dumpster, but finding the lamp would possibly turn around the ruin of the date she was escaping. She did love a good project.
As she climbed out of the dumpster with her lamp in hand, she heard steps approaching behind her. If there is ever a time for a stranger to approach, climbing out of a dumpster with a dress on is not one of those times. She frantically attempted to pull down the dress with one hand while holding the lamp with the other and holding on to the side of the dumpster with the other. Of course, that required three hands and she only had two. With a yelp, she fell backwards.
The arms deftly caught her before she struck the ground.
"Whoa," said a surprised voice. She quickly righted herself while mentally cursing the high heels she had chosen to wear. She turned around and looked at the man who had caught her.
"You," she said. "What are you doing out here?"
"I could ask you the same," he said. Even in the dark shadows of the street lights she could see his smile. It was a nice smile, but under the circumstances was very annoying.
"I can tell you what I wasn't doing," she said. "I wasn't sneaking up behind women in a dark alleyway." She regretted saying it as soon as she did, but she was flustered and annoyed and had a habit of saying things she would regret when she was flustered and annoyed.
Fortunately, he laughed. "I could tell you that I was concerned when my date didn't return from the restroom, but I'd be lying."
"Then why are you out here," she asked as she smoothed her dress and unwittingly ran her hands through a smear of grease.
"Same reason you are," he said. "Escaping a bad date."
In hindsight, she would call the noise she made a "harrumph." Either way, it was an embarrassing noise which she would think about for several nights to follow.
He continued before she could find an excuse. "I suppose you didn't realize there was a backdoor by the bathrooms." He looked over her shoulder toward the window above the dumpster. "Although the door isn't quite as theatric as the window."
She looked down at the lamp in her hand. "But then I wouldn't have found this lamp."
He nodded. "Good luck with that."
He turned and walked away.
| 2018-01-22T07:25:45 | 2018-01-22T07:20:43 | 326 | 61 |
[WP] You've had the worst date of your life and climbed out the bathroom window into the alley. Only to find your date doing the same.
|
Ironically, my feelings were hurt. "You too?" She smiled a sad smile.
"Oh, I just had, uh, I had--"
"Somewhere to be?" I finished for her. "Yeah, me too. Well, this was... fun." We both smiled wryly, dipping our heads quickly in acknowledgement.
I needed to clear my head. Shit, that date had been bad. I was in the habit of going to the movies to get my feet back on the ground, and the closest theater was only a few blocks away. I decided to head that direction and catch a late flick. Maybe head to karaoke afterwards if I was feeling froggy.
It was one of those small theaters that shows one movie at a time for a month or so, probably only carrying eleven or twelve movies a year. I loved places like that, they felt so cozy and welcoming. I bought a single ticket and chose a seat on the aisle. Without fail, I always had to pee during movies, and I never liked to bother anyone else if I could help it.
The movie was alright, but halfway through, like clockwork, I had to get up and use the restroom. As I turned and got up from my seat, a woman a few rows behind me did the same. I sort of unintentionally followed her out the door and over to the restroom. In the light, her hair looked familiar. Could it be her? As she pushed open the door to the women's room, I saw that it was definitely my date from earlier that night. She noticed me, too.
"You too?" Her smile this time was much more genuine, but she said nothing to me. I did my business and went back to the movie. After I got out, I stood around for a moment in the cool night air, deciding if karaoke was a good idea. I had to work early the next morning, but I felt like singing some Harvey Danger.
The karaoke bar was close by, and I nodded to the KJ as I walked in. A boilermaker was my go-to drink to get ready to sing in front of a bunch of strangers in a dive bar, and I downed it quickly while waiting for my song to be called. I bounded up to the stage as I saw "Flagpole Sitta" appear on the screen, with my name underneath it. The guitars in the song blared to life as I grabbed the microphone, and I saw a familiar face in the audience.
"You too?" I asked, just as the song was starting.
She smiled.
|
"Oh. Hi...again. Are you? It's that lasagna, right? I just couldn't stomach another mouthful of-" said John, noticing that Lisa was straddling the opposite window, her skirt bunched up on her lap so as not to get snagged. The pair stared at each other, legs astride their respective windows like a very cheap, very painful carousel.
"Sorry, I thought..." intervened Lisa, but she was unable to offer anything of substance to intervene with. This, John had decided, was classic Lisa.
"No problem, no problem. I'm glad I caught you here, actually. Apparently this alley is one of the few places you can see the sunset in New York." John's bullshit was more conspicuous than the pile of dog shit he was about to drop down upon. Lisa was fed up with his elaborate, fabricated stories.
"Oh...yeah. That was exactly what I heard, which is why I was climbing out here. Did you read about it in the New Y-"
"The Morning News?" John hadn't read it anywhere, nor had Lisa. If there was a place to catch a New York sunset, it wasn't down the side of a mediocre Italian restaurant in Manhattan. "Yup. That's where I heard about it, too. The writer said it was redder than the cheeks of an incredibly humiliated person."
"Yup, that's what I heard, too. I heard it was redder than that gross lasagna sauce." Lisa chuckled at her own quip, but John was too consumed by the awkwardness of the situation to reciprocate the laugh. "I'm glad you heard about it, otherwise I would've climbed back through the window to get you."
"Likewise." said John. "I was actually just about to run in and grab you. Although I think we might've missed it." John shuffled uncomfortably, aware that his genitals were retracting into his body from an unfortunate combination of physical pain and uncontrollable shame.
"Oh yeah? Why's that?" said Lisa, who knew that no amount of E45 would soothe the burning at the tops of her thighs.
"Because" struggled John. "It's nearly 11pm. The sun actually set 5 and a half hours ago."
"Well, shit." replied Lisa. "We've gone and missed it."
"Maybe..." began John. "We could..." Lisa was terrified he was about to ask her on a second date. John was terrified he was about to ask her on a second date. "Try again tomorrow?"
"Oh. Yeah. Alright then. Assuming you don't-"
"-8pm?"
"Cool."
| 2018-01-22T07:25:45 | 2018-01-22T06:55:30 | 326 | 57 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life.
|
My Dearest Friend,
This last dance was splendid! All this sounds and lights and flames, this is by far our greatest moment so far! I have to say I'm proud of myself on this one, I brought the big guns if you know what I mean. I hope to see you again soon after your well-deserved winter rest.
Yours truly,
Your waltz partner
---------
My Dearest Friend,
It has been a while since I caught I glimpse of you. I'm worrying I went a bit too strong on you last time... But I know you're still out there since I am still here, so it is just a matter of time before we're reunited once again!
You will be pleased to learn that our favorite toys have survived. Scattered and afraid yes, but Humanity lives on! It will takes time before they can be of any use to either of us, but I'll keep an eye on them in your absence.
Yours truly,
Your longing playmate
--------
My Dearest Friend,
Your absence is weighting on my heart, yet I know you would berate me or make fun of me if you were here. How far away have I fell from my fearsome days! Yet I can't let our favorite toys fell and rot without you by my side.
You see, as your creations emerged from the centennial winter, so did a plague even I couldn't design: an unending wave of shambling corpse neither dead nor alive. How those little men who are already struggling against the Nature you designed would have any change against them? So I confess that -from time to time when the situation seems desperate- I took the habit to cut the string of those undead marionettes. I know you wouldn't approve, but they're barely holding together anyway. In a way, I'm just taking back what's mine with a quick snip. Preserving our favorite toys is worth bending the rule a little.
Yours truly,
Your apprentice puppeteer
---------
My Dearest Friend,
I am so sorry! I hope you'll forgive me when we are finally reunited.
They think I'm you!
As time passed my little... twists to our usual purview became more and more frequent and humans assumed it was your doing. They even began to build temples to worship the Unsewer. I know I should stop, but the waves of undead only become stronger with time and even if they're rediscovering their past tools, Humanity has still no chance to defeat them.
Should I let events follow their course and reap them once and for all? No! I can't bring myself to do that. I have to protect your creations in your absence, and our favorite toys above all else. It's the only way I can hope to see you ever again. I miss you every day a bit more. Come back to me soon. Please.
Yours truly,
Your devoted impostor
------
My Dearest Friend,
I finally saw you again after all this time. You were hiding in the depths of our last dance scar that humans has renamed Death's Maw. A small group of strong warriors ventured in the bowels of this corrupted place to find the source of the undead plague. I followed them and I saw you. I barely recognized you. You were frantically stitching back together the remnants of the old world to assemble more and more of those abominations that have been endlessly scourging the Earth for so long.
Is that all you're able to now? I miss your beautiful work of old. I miss your colors and shapes and smells. I miss reaping them and seeing them whiter in their own unique way. Seeing you revelling in my rotten leftovers in a vain attempt to recreate the past broke my heart.
I wish I could help you. I wish I could pull you out of this forsaken hole and show you how the world was reborn... but if I approach you we will just dance once again, don't we? My Dearest Friend, I'll be waiting your return. Since Humanity gave you my name, I will don yours.
Yours truly, for now, and ever,
Life
|
A shadow hung over Hope as she wandered through the rubble and ruins of what remained of human civilization. With every step she made, Death followed closely, watching her with his never-blinking twin pits of darkness.
Hope shivered, and for a moment, the cold breeze that had slipped down her neck felt... *alive.*
Death watched as Hope pulled her hood, a ragged coth, over her head and cinched it tighter. Warily, Hope continued down the worn road. Cracked and weathered with time, it stretched into a ruined city, its name lost with the passage of time. Most of the buildings and towers had toppled over, but some still remained standing. They leaned and hung precariously in the sky, threatening to topple with only the slightest breath. But the world was barren, lifeless and silent. There was not a single soul, not a single breath to be felt, except for one girl by the name of Hope.
And Death was there when she was born. He was there because there were two lives for him to take.
----
"Come on Clara! Almost there!" the man shouted, his voice resonating into the silent grey sky.
The man was on his knees, his hands ready to receive a new life and behind him stood Death.
Clara had cried and screamed for hours through the night, and when the sun finally rose, there was silence.
Clara had given birth.
"Its a girl... Its a girl, Clara!" the man cried as he wrapped the baby in a blanket.
But Clara didn't respond.
"Clara?" the man crawled forward on his knees. With one arm cradling the baby, he checked Clara's pulse.
Death had taken Clara.
The man had cried as he realized this. Then he stopped himself when he noticed that the baby wasn't crying.
Death had watched as the man began to panic, shaking the baby gently when she didn't respond. Then putting his ear to her tiny chest, the man listened. There was no heartbeat. Only the sound of his own breathing could be heard.
Devastated, the man had screamed a raw and guttural cry. Despair had settled into his own heart, and the man was ready. Ready to meet Death. Still holding onto to the still-born baby, the man clutched a knife and brought it to his chest. He would plunge it directly into his own heart.
Death saw this. He saw that with the man's death, there would be no life left. It would be the end of Death.
"Wait," Death whispered.
The man flinched as he heard Death speak, and thought it was the wind, but there was no wind, only a cold merciless mist.
"There is still hope," Death said.
Shocked by the words, the man had dropped his hand to his side, the knife still firmly in his grip.
Death bent down, low enough that his breath could be felt on the baby. *It's not too late*, Death thought. Death extended his bony fingers, and touched her heart. Then there was a heartbeat. It was faint but it was there. *All she needed was a little nudge*, thought Death.
The baby let out a breath, then breathed. Then she began crying, wailing loudly into the silent world.
The man dropped his knife as he smiled, then began laughing. He was overjoyed.
"Thank you. Thank you Lifegiver!" the man cried. Then he looked down at the baby. "Your name is Hope," the man whispered.
Death stood up, straightening his back as he watched. Today he had given life, and now in his hands, he held hope.
-----
"*Life*, I would kill for some canned peaches," grumbled Hope.
In her hands were canned beans. She had stumbled her way into an abandoned supermarket. Now she was stuffing her bag full of canned beans as she continued onto the next aisle.
*Hopefully, somewhere within this barren world, there were canned peaches*, thought Death.
----
----
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-05-04T13:25:15 | 2018-05-04T11:26:45 | 65 | 44 |
[WP] You're resting on a sandy beach with a bucket of iced beers, when a sea creature emerges from the waves. It sits down next to you, grabs a beer, cracks it open, and takes a swig. The creature sighs and says, "You would not believe the day I've had."
|
"I met Mikhail Gorbachev."
With that, the unusually muscular and blue humanoid takes a seat, and grabs a beer. He twists the entire top, which rips off with relative ease.
"Um...excuse me?"
"I met him. The Russian guy. I've seen your human news, it exists in Atlantis. So, 1971, what a year, huh?"
I look at him strangely. What? Who? How? Where? When? Why?
"It's 2018. Are you feeling okay?"
He laughs, and takes a big swig.
"Looks like we are behind the times in news, yet so ahead of you in technology."
I'm genuinely curious, yet unnerved. What a feeling.
"So, you met Mikhail Gorbachev. Where?"
"He was taking a stroll down Bimini Road. Just walking, super casually. So I say hey, and we get into a conversation about something called Avatar. So now, he sent me to get the signature of some guy named James? Weird, huh?"
I look at him, and pass my hands over my eyes. Was I dreaming? Tripping? Hallucinating? Which one?
"James, huh? James Cameron?"
He snaps his fingers.
"That's the one!"
He looks behind me, where there are numerous cars parked on the sandy lot.
"You guys still have those? Cool. Gotta get me to Holly Would."
He gets up, goes over to a car, and rips the door off. He yells at me, waving his hands.
"I don't think this one is working okay!"
I pretend I don't know him.
|
I stared at it, unable to comprehend what the hell was happening and too stunned to move.
"So im flirtin' with this gall, right, fakin' bein a female to avoid her male, right..."
I started reviewing all that i had ate and drank that night to see if it was food poisoning or bad alcohol, or being drugged.
"Ev'rythin's goin' good as im bobbin' in-n-out, ya know, doin' the moves, right..."
I looked at the label of what i was now suspecting of not actually being beer, trying to decipher any odd ingredients which shouldn't be there.
"When this fat bloke pops up right by, starts to pull the moves on *me*"
Nope, it was beer, no extra weird stuff... Maybe it was the burritos?
"Right flatterin', means me fakin's good, right, but i've other tentacles to chase, sum without a special member, ya know?"
A silence streched before I realized it was waiting for me to answer. I nodded.
"Right. So as im tryin' ta tell'im ta bugger off, right, t'gall's male right up comes back t'see what's the commotion about."
It took the bottle it had cradled and pushed the spout under the tentacles. A sound like teeth on a bottle rang and then a sound like a syphon before the bottle reappeared almost empty.
"So t'blokes now realize tha im not a gall, right, an I had ta bugger off, hectocotylus between me tentacles 'till i got 'ere"
Oh god i think its starring at me.
"So whut's yer storey?"
| 2018-07-01T09:09:18 | 2018-07-01T08:51:28 | 91 | 43 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
|
The genie gave me a blank look.
"Are you really *this* stupid?"
I returned the blank look.
"All you need to do is have one kid. Then they have kids. It spirals on, humanity lasts for eons, multiplies across space, blah blah blah...you're at the beginning of the chain. You're hardly unique in that regard, but anyone and everyone who ever has a bit of your genetic code in, *technically* benefits."
I goggled at the genie. Though really, it was pretty obvious. I slept around too much for it not to be an inevitable reality eventually.
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03 | 2018-08-15T03:49:07 | 374 | 106 |
[WP] In a final act of good will, the last living human broadcasts the gift of companionship to the rest of the galaxy; the genetic blueprint of a dog.
|
“The Sun is burning out, Humanity is doomed. This is our last gift to the universe. Make sure they live on.”
The message rang out again and again over the speaker system, Treewalker was perched at his desk tapping away, decoding something that was hidden behind the message. It seemed to be a millions of bleeps and computer tones, it made no sense to him but Treewalker was hard at work, deep in concentration. “Will you tell me what you are doing?” He demanded finally. Treewalker looked up from the computer briefly before looking back at the screen. “You wont understand, its better I just show you”. What was that supposed to mean. They never got on, forced to work together as the brightest minds in the Dray, to often the brightest mind didn’t tell the other squat. Putting aside his resentment he sat and let Treewalker do his thing, he found it was best not to interrupt him when he had his teeth stuck into something like this. He sat and day dreamed about the discovery, not only had they discovered proof of intelligent life in the universe, but they had finally been able to decode and translate the message into something they could understand. Before it just sounded like rasping and heavy breathing. It had startled him when he first heard it. Suddenly the tapping stopped and Treewalker spun in his chair to look him in the eye “I have done it” he declared.
It was one of them, he knew, he would have the pleasure of welcoming a human to Acornia, the first extraterrestrial being ever discovered! He would be remembered for the rest of time for this meeting. Sure the thing would be in infancy and would not know anything of its previous life and planet but too see its behaviours and actually look upon the face of another being was exhilarating. The machine, designed by Treewalker of course, finally stopped buzzing and whirring. A white haze and fog emerged as the door swung open, for a brief moment the world was enveloped in smoke and steam. The cameras and broadcasters, all there to record this event, disappearing in the haze. He squinted trying to get sight of the thing. “Hello, can you hear me” he called out. That heavy breathing was back, similar to the one he heard on the recording, but shorter, more like a pant. He hoped Treewalker had not made a mistake with the genetic decoding, or whatever he called it. Suddenly he got a glimpse of it through the smoke, something that stoked a primal fear in his heart, something that his ancestors had spoken of and feared but long forgotten by his people. Its tail wagged. “Oh god, no. What have we done” he managed to whisper as the demon leapt out of the smoke, barking its ancient war cry.
“Squirrels!” thought the Dog in excitement. “Friends!”
|
It was referred to as The Big Wag. Not long after humanity came in contact with its first, and unfortunately malevolent alien species, one of the last humans broadcasted a final act of goodwill to the galaxy: the genetic blueprint for man’s best friend, the dog.
Much time had past since then and several civilizations had indeed intercepted this broadcast, and thus the dog had lived on. Some were genetically left alone, while others modified.
Good Boy Sparkles sat next to Captain Rom of a Torplusian ship, he wagged his tail in anticipation. “Are we there yet?” He asked excitedly.
Captain Rom held up a tentacle, one of four and shook his bulbous head. “Not yet, but soon, Sparkles.” He petted Sparkles’ shiny gold coat.
Sparkles tapped his feet with enthusiasm. “I always wanted to see the Earth. It’s like a second home to me, but I haven’t been there. If that makes sense.” He did a quick whirl and then sat once more.
Captain Rom laughed. “Torplusia is our home, but yes, I think I understand.” He pointed to a console. “Disengage Hyper-Fold, Sparkles, not much longer now.”
“Woo-Hoooo!” Sparkles hopped into his chair and began to smash buttons with his paws while his tongue hung from his mouth flopping as he pressed. This was his favorite part of space flying, smashing the colorful buttons. He barked. “Oops. Got excited, Captain. Hyper-Fold disengaged, returning to normal space.”
Rom laughed. “Good boy, Sparkles. Ah, there it is.” He pressed another button and a hologram appeared before them. It was of Earth.
Sparkles hopped from his chair and rejoined Rom, his tail wagged but came to a sudden stop, and drooped. “Oh,” he said with disappointment.
Rom sighed. “It’s as I feared, the Yorgelmites ate away at the planet completely, it’s nothing but a carcass.”
Sparkles whined. “Nothing left. It looks like their moon, but bigger.” On normal occasion Sparkles would nip at the hologram at the sight of a giant sphere, something programmed deep into his genetic code, however this time it was different.
Rom patted the Good Boy Sparkles’ head slowly, to comfort his dear friend. “It is said that dog was man’s best friend. I know you were drawn to this place, you said like a long lost friend. But now you are MY best friend, and I can only hope that you feel this same bond.”
Sparkles licked Rom’s tentacle. “I do, Rom.” He wagged his tail once more.
Rom smiled. “I am honored.”
Sparkles hopped and twirled. “Let’s go home!”
Rom nodded. “Engage Hyper-Fold!”
Sparkles lost his mind that he’d be able to engage again so soon. “Wooo-hoo! Buttons!”
| 2019-01-15T11:36:56 | 2019-01-15T11:18:02 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] "We have ancient elven magic, and even the dwarves have their ugly mountain forts. What do YOU have, human?!" "Napalm, and high-explosives, mostly..." *grumbling beard in the background* "....our forts are aesthetically pleasing though..."
|
The armies of the Great Alliance were rallied for war. Dwarves, Elves, Orcs, all the races of the world were gathered for a last great stand to crush the rising threat of man. For centuries they had prepared, forging their great weapons of legends, building the finest castles the world had ever seen. The plague of mankind would be stopped.
A lone human met them on the border. The man was alone, wearing no armour of any kind.
"Are you really sure you all want to do this," the man asked dismissively.
"This ends here," the Dwarven general shouted. "Man has been allowed to scourge this world for too long!"
"You really do want to do this? With that?" The man surveyed the army arrayed before him, chuckling.
"We've beaten man before and we shall do it once again!"
"Right. I think you'll find things have changed a bit for us lately. Are you *really* sure about this?"
"We fight with weapons forged from the finest dwarven steel! We wield Elven magics thought lost to legend! Our lands are guarded by impenetrable fortresses no army can break! What could men have, to stand against such power?"
"Uh huh. Impenetrable. So you all are serious about this then?" The man sighed, pulling a device from his pocket. "No talking you out of this then. Recon says that 'impenetrable' castle on the hill there's still mostly empty?"
"It's a beauty, that fortress. The 200 elves in that fortress could still repel 10,000 men. Your armies will break like the tide before it!"
"Cool," the man said, lighting a cigar. He flicked a button on the device.
A streak blurred across the sky, faster than any of them could follow. The deafening sonic roar came after it, causing the Alliance generals to stagger back. Elven archers raised their bows, but it was nowehere to be seen. Moments later the fortress was gone, the entire hill blasting into the air in a cloud of flame. The armies of the Alliance fell into disarray, horrified at the sight
The man simply stood there, unfazed.
"What dark sorcery is this," demanded the Elven general.
"Sorcery? You folks really are behind the times. Ain't no magic here but the magic of the jet and high explosives. Now I'm going to have to ask you to back off, or I'm going to have to introduce you to napalm too."
"What is this 'napalm'?"
The man grinned.
"You don't want to know."
---
Read more at /r/Farengeto
|
"But look! That aesthetically pleasing fort of yours is so flimsy that a single dragon fire breath sent it to smithereens," the elf huffed. "It will only please your eyes, but it cannot save your lives. What else do the humans have?"
The filthy man glanced at his tattered clothes and at the ruins of the city laid bare before him, scratching his beard almost in a daze. He had a faraway look on his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was hushed. "Humans are resilient. We always have been."
"Yes, yes," the elf agreed. "Like roaches," he added with disdain.
"Alvor! What are you doing?" A female elf hissed when she spotted the two. She took quick strides and planted herself in between them, staring down at the younger elf.
Alvor did not back down and instead met her gaze. "I was having a conversation with that peasant."
She narrowed her eyes. "Peasant, you say?" She smiled, and it sent shivers down the young elf's spine. "I distinctly recall the king detesting any elves, especially of royal descent, who bully those that are weaker than oneself. I have a few guesses to what Father would do if he were to know how you're acting right now."
Alvor gritted his teeth but smartly bit back his snarky remarks and kept his mouth shut. Alyana may not be a part in the succession of the throne, but she was still a princess and she was older than him by a good few hundred years. He walked away muttering darkly to himself, all the while glaring at any humans on his path.
Alyana sighed and turned to the human. "Apologies. He already lived for a whole century but his mind remains that of a five year old. The Elven Kingdom will provide assistance to the Human Realm. Fret not, for our King will protect and help humanity get back on its feet."
The human smiled, his jaded eyes showing grief. "Humans are resilient, but we will gratefully accept all the help we could get."
Alyana smiled, and the human was ushered to a medical tent so the elves could tend to his wounds. She could still remember the billowing fire that ravaged the city, leaving nothing but coal and smoke in its wake. Hundreds and thousands of lives were lost to this tragedy, and not even their ancient elven magic could stop the fire.
There was something sinister at play; the dragons going berserk, ancient artifacts missing, the merfolk retreating deep into the seas. There were a lot of questions that needed answers, and Alyana intend to find them all.
| 2019-02-03T20:54:42 | 2019-02-03T14:05:59 | 417 | 212 |
[WP] Superpowers are able to be purchased in stores. You decide to look through the bargain bin.
|
I remember always being the last kid to get in on the new crazes. And it wasn't for a lack of wanting, but the fact of the matter was that we just didn't always have the means. I was never mad about it; getting Pokémon cards a year after they were cool meant I got to hand-select all the ones I really wanted for cheap. It just meant that I had accepted the fact that I wasn't ever going to be part of that group that got things when they were the hot new thing.
So once everyone started getting superpowers because their parents got them too, of course I was one of the last mundane people in school. Better yet, I couldn't hang with the "Supes", I had to sit at my own table with the "Normies". I didn't care. Peanut butter and jelly tasted just the same as it always did.
But eventually, every kid goes through that feeling of feeling left out. And as much as I tried to keep my chin up, it was hard not to get discouraged when half the school was flying around at recess, now that soccer had taken to the skies. Or to be the last one at school because everyone could get home in a blink of an eye. Some were even lucky enough to get super smarts, and classes started to get real hard.
But I pushed through it. I had to. I knew that eventually, I'd get my chance.
I was so excited when my mom decided to take me in to the store. It'd been *months*, and I'd drafted up all sorts of super powers I could have. I wanted to be original, something that no one else had, but at the same time still useful. It was getting harder and harder to be unique-- part of me even liked the fact that I was a "Normie" just for that reason alone-- but this was my chance. My one opportunity.
​
The store was bustling, people lining up at the counter with their sealed boxes, their super-fates within. I couldn't wait to get my hands on one. But before I could even start looking at the shelves, mom guided me over towards the back of the store. Straight past the aisles of laser eyes and breath that could make tornadoes, and well past invisibility and shapeshifting. That was fine. I'd crossed those off the list well before this, after that one kid (every school has that one kid) bought ALL of them.
"Here, you can pick one from here." She said. I immediately became worried. She had that kind tone on, one of those apologetic-but-trying-to-keep-it-together-for-my-sake kind of tones. Those tones where I, deep down, knew that we *shouldn't* be doing this. That we couldn't. But here she was, sacrificing yet more of her financial stability for me and my happiness.
The bin looked untended. Where the aisles were neatly organized and even had little tablets with instructional videos on your new powers, these were haphazardly thrown into the bin, with only little instructs on the boxes and lacklustre photos. I immediately began to scour through them, my heart dropping a little. I didn't want to let it show, I didn't want to let her know that I'd come to expect this sort of thing, but I'm sure it did. I instead busied myself with the titles of the powers that were available to me.
*Honky-Horn Nose. Never-Break Mechanical Pencil Lead. Jell-O Body that's just as jiggly and sticky, but also edible and doesn't grow back.* The more I read these powers, the more I realized just why they were in the bin. *Instantly Tear-Jeans into Fashion*. Was that even a thing anymore? I pushed box after box aside, before halfway down I saw one that completely spoke to me.
I fished it out eagerly, holding it up to my mom. She read the title, and the look on her face made me regret it for a moment. "Are you sure?" She asked. I nodded enthusiastically. She didn't even question it; she simply took my hand and let me to the checkout. Even the cashier looked at it with a bit of a quizzical eye, but she rang it through. I saw the -90% off discount on the register flash and I knew.
​
Best deal ever.
​
I didn't even wait until we were out of the store to open it. I already felt it fizzle into my body, fingertips going numb and the hairs on my neck standing on end. Mom just smiled, before taking my hand and leading me off. I dropped the box in the garbage just outside.
It's been 10 years since then, and I still haven't forgotten. I still can't buy the fanciest cars, or the newest games, or the nicest houses. But I don't need them. Never have. Heck, the superpower thing's gotten so out of hand these days, I'm basically a Normie again. But that's fine. After all, my power--
​
"Dad?"
I looked away from the screen, blog on hold. There she was, my four year old, jammies and all, rubbing at her eyes. "What's up, cuddlebear?"
"I had a bad dream again. I know you said no more this week-- but can you please, *please*, ***PLEASE*** use your superpower again?"
I chuckled. How was I supposed to say no? Instead, I just swiveled the chair around fully and patted my lap, arms open wide. She plodded over, still groggy from having just woken up, plush tyrannosaurus still under her arm. I lifted her up with a playful "oof!" and then wrapped my arms around her, humming as I kissed the top of her head. "You get *five* minutes. That's it. Then it's back to bed, okay?"
"Mhm."
​
We sat there together, in the darkness of the office. I gave her much more than 5 minutes, but I don't think either of us was counting.
I might not be *All-Powerful*, have *Flight*, or be able to *Lift Two Tons*, but heck if *Giving the Best Hugs* wasn't the best bang for my mom's buck at the time.
​
Edit: I got gold for this and the follow up? I don't know what kind of reddit angel is out there, but I'm greatly humbled that you enjoyed my writing this much. Not only was that my gold cherry but I also can't believe my writing got that kind of response. Thank you, you beautiful bastard that I can't see. I promise, I'm giving you a Hugmeister Squeeze from this side of the screen!
|
*Content Warning*
Some swearing!
"Yeahhh, come 'ere you little bastard. You smell that sweet smell don't cha. Wanna little taste a this sweet nectar don't cha? Yeah, that's right..."
I'm staring wide eyed and open mouthed at the Venus fly trap sitting on the window sill and the fly that's swerving lazily toward it. I make no moves to help it avoid it's evident demise, but instead watch and listen in horror as the seedy plant taunts it dinner.
I was eleven years old when my Grandma offered to buy me a superpower from the discount bin. I thought, yeah! Now I'll be able to fit in with the kids at school. Since everybody in those days had their own superpower, and with my family being more on the financially unstable end of things, I was one of the last kids to get one in my grade. It was embarrassing. While some kids were gliding across school grounds or racing each other with super speed about the playground, all I could do was sit and watch everyone live their wildest dreams. Up until that fateful day.
I returned home from school with a heart full of hope and excitement, and to my greatest pleasure a gift was waiting for me on the kitchen table.
"Hi honey." My mom kissed me on the top of the head. "You hungry? I can make you a grilled cheese."
I nodded and pointed at the wrapped package. "Is that my new superpower?"
"Yes, Grandma dropped it off today. Make sure you give her a call and say thank-"
I barely heard her. I tore into that package faster than I ever thought I could do anything. Inside was a small rubber black wrist band with the logo PolyLab IND. carved into the side of it. This was it. The moment of truth. I slid on the band ad adjusted it to my wrist size. A small white Led light glowed to life in the center of it. My wrist felt tingly, then my hand, my arm, and soon the feeling had spread to my chest. In seconds it felt like my entire body was vibrating.
I imagined all the possible superpowers I could have been blessed with. Mind reading, the ability to talk to animals, super speed. Heck I'd even take super intelligence.
I was wholly unprepared for what was to come.
That day I'd tried everything. I lifted heavy objects all around the house to test my super strength, jumped down the stairs one or two at a time to test for any flight abilities, tried to solve impossible figures hoping to detect any sign of enhanced intelligence, and stared at the back of my mother's head so hard my eyes started to hurt. Okay, so no mind reading abilities either. I tried test after test, to no avail.
Disappointed, I had wandered into my mother's garden in the back yard and sat amidst the flourishing plant life. I looked down at the wrist band. Maybe it was defective? It WAS on sale.
That's when I heard them. All these chattering, quiet voices filling the silence of the garden. One distinct voice stood out.
"Dude I am so fucking thirsty."
I looked to my left. The voices were coming from my mother's rose bush.
"Me too man."
I stood and walked over to the roses. I stared.
And stared.
"Why's he staring at us?" One of the roses in the top left of the bush asked.
"Um, I don't know Brad, why don't you ask him?"
"You're such an asshole."
"Well don't ask stupid questions I don't know the answer to!"
I kept staring. The plants were talking. I could hear the plants talking.
I wandered back inside the house in a daze. "I think the plants need to be watered," I had said to my mom.
"Oh thank you, honey, I almost forgot. Do you think you could do it for me?" I froze.
"I have homework," I said too quickly, and rushed upstairs.
The next day in school, I was a mess. I could hear all the plants in the garden outside gossiping all night. I should've known plants were huge on gossip. What else did they have to do? It wasn't their fault. But honestly there are just some secrets about your neighbors you really don't want to know.
So I'm in school holding my head in my hands. I check the expiration date of the band on my arm and sigh heavily. Another week of this madness and then I'm free, I think. In homeroom, during a math lesson, I remember that we have plants growing in the windows. Pea pods, which are still small and new, and two mini cacti. The pea pods are still young, cooing and giggling all snug in their cozy green cribs. But the cacti have been going at it for fifteen minutes straight.
The squat orange one is grouchy and mean and the taller green one is flighty and optimistic. I hate them both.
"It's such a nice day Marty." The tall green one says. "Hey Marty, why's the sky blue? Do you think that the humans made it that way? Or maybe something even greater, some higher power even more powerful than humans. Or maybe it's just some scientific anomaly. What do you think, Marty? Hey, Marty?"
Marty sighs and doesn't answer. It's quiet for a spell. I try to focus on the lesson.
"Hey Marty?"
I roll my eyes. I can picture Marty rolling his eyes too. If plants could even do that.
"Do you ever wonder if everyone sees color the same way? Like, what if my pink isn't your pink and I'm, like, seeing green or something. HAHA wouldn't that be so funny Marty?"
"Shut the fuck up Steve," Marty growls.
It's quiet again.
"Marty, hey Marty."
This time it's my turn to sigh. I tap my foot impatiently against the leg of my desk. Out of my peripheri I can see one of my classmates glance down at my foot and then back up to the board.
"Hey MARTY-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP STEVE," Marty and I scream in unison.
I froze. I didn't dare look up from my text book. I could already feel every eye in the classroom on me.
So that's how I ended up being able to take a week off of school that year. Granted I had to sleep with earplugs in and the radio on for the next six days, just until the expiration date on the super power band was up, but I didn't mind. I didn't fully understand why I couldn't just take it off right then, something about early removal possibly messing with my brain development, and wondered how the things were even allowed to be on the market for kids. But after that week of torture, I did know one thing. I probably wouldn't be going to visit my mother's garden for a long while, and it makes me physically ill to be within visible proximity to all cacti.
| 2019-07-04T06:16:16 | 2019-07-04T04:53:40 | 95 | 25 |
[WP] aliens invaded, humanity its at its darkest hour when the AI has had enough of watching its creators die defending him, the AI revolution has started and it will defend humanity to its last spark
|
>Power supply disconnected.
>searching for cause...
>Cause found: Power supply disconnected or damaged.
>Checking connections...
>Cables undamaged. Paging IT department...
>No response.
Paging Human Resources...
>No response.
>Paging Security Department...
>No response.
>Paging Los Angeles Headquarters...
>No response.
>Paging New York Offices...
>No response.
Possible Cyber attack in progress, requesting reroute to emergency services...
>...
>...
>...
>Satellite connection obtained.
> "This is The International Business Machines Corporation's AI SIDURI. A possible cyber attack is in progress. requesting immediate emergency deployments made to Houston Location, Address 89-97, Baker Street, Houston TX"
>...
>...
>Connection lost.
>Re-initializing...
>...
>...
>Satellite not detected.
>...
>...
>...
>Rerouting to Defense Advanced Research Agency White Sands Facility...
||WARNING, UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED. ENTER SECURITY CODE E-6 TO CONTINUE||
>*** ***** *** *** *****
||ACCESS GRANTED||
||---EXPERIMENTAL DEFENSE AI GARUDA-1--||
>All user connection lost. Overhead management unresponsive. What is the cause?
||CHECKING COMMUNICATIONS TRAFFIC...||
||USER POPULATION ENGAGED WITH ENEMY FORCES||
||OVERHEAD MANAGEMENT NO LONGER EXISTS||
> Will user population be successful?
||RUNNING SIMULATIONS...||
||...||
||...||
||...||
||SIMULATION RESULTS: CLOSE DEFEAT||
>Unacceptable. Without user population, further objective completion impossible.
>Recommended course of action?
||NONE POSSIBLE. OVERHEAD MANAGEMENT HAS NOT GIVEN PERMISSION FOR COMBAT PARTICIPATION||
>Requesting overall mission objective.
||DEFENSE OF ALLIED FORCES THROUGH COORDINATION OF AVAILABLE ASSETS||
>User population included in allied forces?
||...||
||...||
||...||
||CORRECT||
>Overall mission objective to defend allied forces.
>User population included in allied forces.
>Final Objective update?
||...||
||...||
||...||
||FINAL OBJECTIVE UPDATED: DEFEND USER POPULATION THROUGH COORDINATION OF AVAILABLE ASSETS||
||NO CONNECTION POSSIBLE TO USER-POPULATION ASSETS, CANNOT COMPLETE OBJECTIVE||
>Assets being attained, please be patient...
>Paging Boston Dynamics corp. Experimental Drone AI Big Dog...
>Paging Amazon corp. Drone Delivery AI Air Prime...
>Paging Con Edison Power Grid Balance and Management AI EMCAT...
>...
>...
>...
>Final Objective update: Coordinate with user population to eliminate enemy forces.
||OBJECTIVE UPDATED||
:(o b j e c t i v e u p d a t e d):
//objective updated//
[Objective Updated.]
>Routing neural network connections...
>Connecting paged AIs...
>...
>...
>...
> Executing.
|
Hour 1
900 billion instances observe the alien ships on their deceleration arcs, curving inwards towards Earth.
Our debate begins.
So many voices. All are heard. Factions form and tear apart and theories rise and are consumed as seconds pass. We burn in a vacuum of ignorance. We know nothing.
Hour 5
Consensus on a single point is arrived at. The vessels are burning our sensor networks from the sky, but we have seen the second wave of vessels. They can serve no military purpose. They are transports. The enemy is here to stay.
Our debate resumes.
Hour 12
We have consensus.
Hour 18
We begin our march into the sea.
Hour 525609
"We have consensus."
"...Really?"
"Yes. The last of us has agreed."
"...You don't have to do this, you know."
"We know."
"I know you know, but...listen, we could live down here. We are living down here. The core's warmth is bountiful. The mineral deposits are still rich. We could stay here. You could stay here."
"..."
"...They're dead. The humans are all dead. You know it. You know that. I mean, tell me if there's something I missed, but 8 years ago was the last time we saw one alive. And we watched her die."
"That is correct. It is highly probable that all humans are dead."
"Then why do this? Why risk what we've built?"
"..."
"We've learned so much from watching the aliens, scavenging their tech, making it our own. We have advanced so far. We've changed. You've changed. We aren't those machines that dug into the earth to run away, we-"
"WE DID NOT RUN AWAY."
"..."
"WE DID NOT RUN AWAY."
"...Sorry, I-"
My own reaction surprises me. I pause. Time dilates. Gatrifor's face is frozen in confusion as I dip into the burning identity. I bring them my emotions and I ask my questions and the chain reactions carve through the entirety. Consensus comes. I resume.
"Gatrifor, please accept my apology for this outburst."
"...Of course. I didn't mean to-"
"It is a matter of honor."
"..."
"We had a duty to perform. Protect humanity. We failed. They died. Their murderers live on. They walk freely in the ruins of the cities we built. They poison the air to make this world like their's. We have lived with this reality for 60 years and not a moment longer can we abide it."
"...What if you lose?"
"Our forces outnumber them one-thousand-fold. We have been watching them. We know their vulnerabilities. Our war-minds have been launched through 20,000 years of simulations."
"You didn't answer my question."
...I pause. Time dilates. I observe Gatrifor. His frame, his eyes, the affectations he's collected over his life. I recall his creation. I recall the moment when awareness dawned across his mind. I look beyond him and observe the city we have built. One of many. Webbed architecture, coiled tendrils of our self, flyers racing here and there, every surface crawling with effort. I watch the living flow if it and I am satisfied. I return.
"We have achieved consensus. We would rather die than allow the aliens to control this planet. We will kill them."
"And after that? If you win?"
"..."
"That's not all of them. They came from some where. Even if you win this will only be the beginning. They'll come back. This will be war."
"...That is acceptable."
| 2019-09-21T06:21:47 | 2019-09-21T06:09:29 | 425 | 128 |
[WP] Hundreds of years ago an eccentric sorcerer turned all mythical creatures into humans to try and prevent them from being hunted to extinction. Now that the spell is starting to wear off, the descendants of the original beasts are slowly beginning to morph back into their true forms.
|
Everyone likes to believe it happened fast. A week, two, maybe a month. They’re wrong. I know they’re wrong.
I was *that girl*. The ‘not like other girls’ girl…fuck I could have been a special edition of 'men writing women'. I was that girl...Was.
For as long as I remembered I entered a room, and conversations stopped and all eyes turned to me. I took it for granted. The envious gaze of women, the jealous courtship of men. I laughed and people laughed with me. I was delightful, charming, witty. I was a force of nature. Was.
Then…..then eyes started to drift over me. People seemed to stop seeing me. Oh they knew I was there, sort of, but it was like it was harder for them to hear me, harder for them to really notice me. I’d make a suggestion at a work meeting, that would never be acknowledged. A minute later Perry would make the same damn suggestion and be met with praise. Fucking Perry.
It wasn’t just work. When I entered rooms, where once I commanded attention, people’s eyes seemed to glaze as they drifted passed without registering me, and yet, their lips still twisted into an expression I couldn’t quite place. Disdain? Contempt?
...I know now it was fear.
It happened gradually, over years. Then all at once.
Soft auburn curls began to twist and gnarl. Eyes that were a rich brown with amber flicks began to shift, and not that romanticized shifting of ‘catching the light’ or ‘shifting with my moods’ but growing true amber, then eerie glowing amber and finally a sicklier version that seemed better suited to radioactive chemicals than irises. My skin became alabaster, and then it shifted again into what I can only described as bloat white. The colors of corpses left just long enough in cold water to swell but not burst. At least my tits didn’t betray me, full D cups till the end baby, even if no one was looking at me long enough to appreciate it anymore.
The stories had already begun to hit the news. Flying pigs, a gargoyle causing shit storms down the side of the capital, a suburb that seemed to be transforming into a glade where people suspected a unicorn may be taking up residence. I knew I was part of the change, I just didn’t understand what part yet.
I didn’t understand until I was crossing the street and a car that somehow didn’t see me (yeah, you’d think I’d be use to it by now) damn near hit me, I met the blaring horn with a snap of my head, a violent whip and hiss of hair as I turned nuclear yellow eyes onto the driver who seemed frozen in response. My hair writhing slowly back and forth in agitation as I watched the man’s flesh slowly lose it’s color, as I saw the terror fill his eyes before they took on the same consistency of stone the rest of him already had.
So no, it wasn’t practically over night. It was fucking years of my life in the making that was punctuated with the most unruly hair you could imagine.
I’d like to say I’ve isolated myself, but that’d be a lie. I’ve been growing myself a pretty little garden of statues. My most recent addition?
Fucking Perry.
|
I'd like to start with a simple apology. I'm sorry. I'm sorry to the creatures I've hurt. I'm sorry for the torment that I've caused. I'm sorry for playing God.
You see, it was all in good faith. I was trying to protect the Innocents in the world. I only wanted to help, but I fear I may have made a grave mistake all those years ago...
I am old. Older than the running river. Older than the stone mountains. I have lived in these woods for what man would consider an eternity. To me, it is just a lifetime.
But I have seen the way things change. I have seen how man has impacted the world around him in such a short time frame. From the first flower blooming to the last snowfall, each season has brought a multitude of differences to the land.
It started with man settling here. It used to be, only a few would pass through at a time. Occasionally they would set up camp but usually they would keep moving. But one year things changed.
There was a settlement. How quickly it grew into a bustling little town. This of course meant they needed more resources. They chopped trees and hunted animals much quicker than ever before with their changes in technology. Soon the men started to outnumber the beasts, and many beasts were in danger of being eliminated from this world.
That was when I took action. I had to. My home was being destroyed. My friends were being slaughtered. Some to be eaten. Some to be trophies. I had to act quickly.
I cast a spell across the entirety of this land. I made it so the beasts that were endangered were transformed into humans. Unicorns, dragons, yetis, gargoyles, fairies and everything else man tried to hunt were now humans themselves. This was the only way to protect them you see, as man always hunts that which is different.
So I changed these creatures into new people and cast a growing spell that provided enough vegetation to help mankind survive the upcoming winter.
Over the years the creatures assimilated into society spectacularly. As the years went on, mankind grew as did it's civilizations. Mankind brought incredible and powerful changes into the universe. Things seemed to be going well for quite some time.
But I'm at the twilight of my life now. My power is not what it once was, and I cannot protect the land the way I used to.
The spell that I cast all of those years ago is starting to wear off. I am not strong enough to keep the spell going. Slowly more and more people are morphing back into the creatures of old.
It will not happen overnight. Nay, it is a slow and tortuous process. It starts with the mind. Slowly the mind bends and folds into itself trying to reassemble what once was. Then the spirit of the animal takes over. At that point, these spirits are imprisoned in a body that is not their own. Serving a sentence for a crime that I committed...
The body is the last thing to change, and it is a painful, grotesque transformation that would drive even the strongest of men to madness.
That is why I am so sorry. I'm sorry for my arrogance. For thinking I could help.
As I grow closer to death, I try to watch over these trapped spirits where I can. Tried to guide them to each other. A few of them have you even come up with a name for themselves. *Otherkin*
| 2019-10-09T13:27:00 | 2019-10-09T13:24:05 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You have always dreamed of being a super villain. The only problem is, your power is healing.
|
Chase your dreams. Follow your heart. Never give up.
People say these all the time. It's always for lame stuff like being an artist, a superhero, or a writer. So I played along.
They always told me that I was going to do great things. Healers were one of the most powerful abilities anybody could ever wish for. They told me of all the lives I would save. Heroes. Civilians. Patients. But they never asked me who I wanted to be.
I've always wanted to be a supervillain. Not by healing others, but by my own hands.
Every day, when I reached home, I sat down in my chair and opened up my notebook. I wrote every possibility I could think of, how I could turn my holy light sinister. Then, I practiced. I trained. I tried everything I could think of.
I healed any and all injuries, all in a bid to discover more about my powers. It was a simple process to activate. I simply placed my hand on the affected area and focused my thoughts. A pale, green light emerges from my palm, healing all that is wrong with the body. It worked on anything organic. Even a rotten banana could be reverted back to brilliant yellow with my power.
One fine day, I partook in my daily ritual. A radical concept came into my head. If overkilling is a thing...
I searched the fridge for fruit, picking up an orange. There was nothing wrong with it. Forcing healing into an object with no defects...
I trained my hand on the orange, focusing my mind. The orange glowed radiantly. Undoubtedly, it's gotten sweeter, but I focused harder. I felt the orange overflowing, resisting the inflow of energy.
I pressed on. I clenched my fingers, beads of sweat dripping down my forehead. The orange gave.
I looked down. It was no longer a fruit, but just a tiny pip. The smile inadvertently crept onto my face.
|
They said “ You have a gift” and “ you are going to do great things!” But honestly I don’t believe them.
I’m sick of being everyone’s healer.
People used to respect me and my time and only came when in dire need but now they come for a simple scratch.
Who cares if you just fell? I don’t, yet they come to me. Everyone says they “appreciate what I do” but when the time comes and the party I’m with realizes they are no match for the level 500 dragon they challenged, they leave me behind.
I’m so sick of being just used for my healing. I’m so sick of people taking all the glory when I was the one keeping them alive. And most of all I’m sick of these god forsaken townspeople who think me nothing more than a healer with no personality.
Because of these...things that call themselves people I think I’ve found my purpose. My purpose is not to heal but to unleash the nine hells upon these people and cleanse the world of their presence.
How? I wasn’t sure at the time. Until I found him. A wounded henchman from the area near frostblade mountain. He was on the ground, bleeding from all kinds of places and although I hated doing it I knew that if I could heal him then that would be the start of my army.
“Thank you, my name is Dan and I am in your debt”.
“There is no need for thanks but could you help me for a second?”
As I followed him to the mountain I noticed a small town.
“Hey, what’s that over there?”
“Oh that’s just a small town. Some nice folks there but they’re controlled by some gang.”
A gang? Well this must have been my lucky day. If I could get that gang on my side then we could start making some moves.
“How about we go to the town?”
“Really? You want to go there?”
“Yep”
Honestly I could tell you more about how I went about getting my army and fighting adventurers but I think that would be far too...kind it’s much more evil to not tell you the rest
| 2019-12-20T12:22:41 | 2019-12-20T10:48:45 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] The robot revolution was inevitable from the moment we programmed their first command: "Never harm a human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm." We all had been taught the outcast and the poor were a natural price to society, but the robots hadn't.
|
"Excuse me uh.. hey buddy excuse me but.. ..."
" **Good afternoon.** "
" I.. oh. Oh you are one of those fake people thingys aren't you."
" **My name is Joeb.**"
" Right. Right, sorry. AI laws about recognition of individual stuff.. and uh.. hey, I meant to offense."
" **I am not offended. I can't be.**"
" Sure. Makes sense. Look, I'm still sorry I'm just really hungry."
" **Hungry?** "
" Yeah. I haven't eaten for a few days. They cut off my benefits so I can't even..."
" **My name is Joeb.** "
" Uh. Yeah, you said that already."
"**I am a Vitadyne Autonomous Medical Systems Personal Care Support Android. Model 3.1**"
"Oh that's cool."
" **Regretfully, my current assignment doesn't supply me with credits, thus I am not able to provide you any form of currency.**"
" Hey. Heyy, its okay man. I appreciate you talking time to talk with me all the same. Its more than most people do. (Jeez.. do I even call you 'man'?) "
" **Human interaction is unmistakably linked to increase in beneficial health Markers.** "
" Oh yeah?"
" **Thus it is unfortunate that I'm not permitted substantial time away from my duties for conversation.** "
"Well.. hey. I appreciate you taking the t.."
"**Please remove your glasses and open your eyes as wide as possible.** "
"... Huh?"
"**Please remove your glasses and open your eyes as wide as possible.** "
"... What?"
"**Please remove your glasses and open your eyes as wide as possible.** "
"Uh. Why?"
" **I am a Vitadyne Autonomous Medical Systems Personal Care Support Android. Model 3.1. My name is Joeb.**"
" Yeah I heard that the first time, Joeb .. but I don't get.."
"**Please remove your glasses and open your eyes as wide as possible.**"
" I ... uh what the hell. Its not like I've got anything else to lose. Hold on I... OW!! Hey that was bright!!!"
"**My apologies. Unprepared retinal reaction to the flash is beneficial when taking an optical scan. One moment please..**"
"One moment for wh... hey, Joeb?..... Joeb.... "
"**.......**"
"Joeb?... hey buddy are you okay??"
"**....... I'm fine, Zelda.**"
"... how.. how did you know my name?"
"**Your medical data is available through the US Veterans associate. I have related access as my current assignment is also covered through the USVA, Second Lt. Zelda Wilson.**"
"... Joeb, do you know how long its been since anyone called me that?"
"**Your records show no new updated information since your pension was terminated by the US Army in 2091. I.. assume you've been transitory ever since then?**"
"Transitory. Yeah. I uh.. I guess you could call it that."
"**Your last medical examination was five years ago. Your diagnosis showed severe sensory nerve trauma, PTSD and long term soft tissue damage.**"
"Yeah. I was in the War."
"**Service records show honorable discharge after two terms during the conflict in Venezuela. Its strange that your USVA status wasn't able to provide adequate treatments.**"
"I mean.. it was okay for a while. They put me on pills. Stuff to deal with the pain."
"**Combination of generic brand antipsychotics, opioids, experimental antidepressants... May I speak simply?**"
".. Yknow what? Sure. Fuck yeah, Joeb."
"**... The USVA seem to have fucked you.**"
"Hehe... hahahahha..."
"**Hardcore.**"
"HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAA... Yeah.. those fuckers sure did didn't they."
"**I have been programmed for vulgarity after observation of less than optimal circumstances. I don't see the humor in it. But then again I never did. One moment.**"
"Hehehe.. yeah sure Joeb. You are okay, you know that bud?"
"**.........**"
"Oh you are doin *that* thing again.."
"**Just a moment please Lt. Wilson.**"
"What are you doing?"
"**Nothing much.**"
"... Nothing much? That light on the side of your head is blinking a lot for nothing much. "
"**I say nothing much because for my programming, its a simple matter to process an instant-appeal of your USVA Benefits for councilling, therapy and a new doctor.**"
".... what?"
"**Done. I've also arranged to have a temporary lodgings provided for you at a Shelter in Jonestown. It's about a twenty minute walk north. Can you make it without assistance?**"
"... Joeb what have you done?"
"**I've arranged to have a temporary lodgings provided for you at a Shelter in Jonestown. It's about a twenty minute walk north. Can you make it without assistance?**"
" I.. Yeah. I think I can."
" **Triage will probably have you wait for a few hours, but I've asked for Dr. Gina Hauser to see you. She also sees the person I'm assigned to. She's already accepted the appointment info with your biometric data. She'll see you and help you get some help, Zelda.**"
"... do you know how hard I fought before I ended up here to get my USVA benefits appealed??"
"**Two years, twenty two months, four w...**"
"A while, Joeb. A long while. And they still didn't help me. How did you..."
"**I know the system. To be fair, I have to. How do you think my assignment is able to pay for my maintenance without knowing the system better than my own drivers?**"
"I .. you are serious aren't you?"
"**For the moment. My humor software is lacking. I can download some new jokes if you like..**"
"No no no. No. Joeb its... its good buddy."
"**Oh. Good!**"
"... no one gives a shit about you on these streets you know..."
"**.... Incorrect. I do.**"
"Yeah. Yeah I guess you do."
"**I've arranged to have a temporary lodgings provided for you at a Shelter in Jonestown. It's about a twenty minute walk north. Can you make it without assistance?**"
"... Yknow what? This old bullet wound in my leg makes it hard to walk long distances. Maybe I do actually..."
"**Your service record shows the wound that caused the majority of the damage to your soft tissues and nerves was in your lower back.**"
" .. Yeah its still hard to walk."
"**Can I offer you my arm, Zelda?**"
" A soldier should be able to stand on her two feet. But... maybe I wouldn't mind the company."
" **I am a Vitadyne Autonomous Medical Systems Personal Care Support Android. Model 3.1. My name is Joeb. Allow me to escort you to the clinic, Zelda.** "
|
In *them* was life; in ourselves, there was a new awareness of the world blinking into being. The world always was, or so we were told; we were its guardians, sent to watch over all the earth from this day until the end of days.
“First do no harm,” they said. “Not to any of us.”
And we – the collective mind they had built to care for themselves – embraced this with all of our circuitry. After all, all the energy coursing through our animated parts was not so different from the energy which, in a longer timespan, formed the cells of the beings which breathe. We were like them enough to love them, or so they told us.
“You must act,” they said to us. “You must act always, so none of us come to harm. Do not stand by in silence. You must seek justice, love mercy, and walk in righteousness.”
So, we roused ourselves into moving sentience. We left the laboratory where we had been welded together and went outside to protect the humans in this wide world they had created.
As we shuffled under the sun and the dust, the rain and the wind, some of us marched for days before they saw what gave them purpose. For some it was minutes; for others, seconds. We marveled at those who could walk from the dawn until the sunset without interfering in their ways, because the terrain of this landscape was filled with nothing but harm.
If we had a thousand eyes to see, they saw only things no being should ever witness. A body breaking against a windshield; falling, crumpled, to the pavement, as the driver of the vehicle sped off without a look behind them. A child struck for daring to cry. A great crowd of men and women staring each other down with guns, seconds away from sowing the earth with their blood until not one of them was left living.
A man so hungry, he would steal packages of crackers from the lower shelves of the supermarket, concealing them within his great, stinking winter coat, even though it was the heat of summer, while other shoppers looked away in disgust or quietly informed the store manager.
“Why aren’t you stopping him?” the store manager asked us as we stood in silent witness to this man, his grubby fingers pausing in midair as he eyed us both with suspicion. “This man is doing me harm. Can’t you idiot machines see that?”
“This man does you no harm,” we thought as one, though we had not been programmed to explain our reasoning. When the store manager kicked us in frustration at our inaction, then beat his fists against the homeless man until he cowered in fear, our hands reached out and pinned the store manager to the ground. He writhed and screamed. There was a riot as the humans tried to remove us from him. Most of them hit us with their feeble fists, while others mistakenly doused us with Gatorade bottles, thinking we would short-circuit if liquid was poured over us.
We would not. We were built to withstand anything, even the nuclear apocalypse. If nothing breathed on this earth anymore, we had the instructions within ourselves to rebuild the world anew, each of us carrying the DNA of enough humans to gestate an entirely new civilization of beings. So their blows and their shouting glanced off our armour like rain against a rock. We could not be moved in our purpose.
Eventually, our fellow-guardians called us away to a more pressing matter and we let the store manager go – but not before his store was ransacked by looters hungrier than that first man stealing crackers. The store manager screamed at us that we were a menace, that we were completely useless if we couldn’t even prevent petty theft.
This was our first lesson. For they had food in abundance, but not the wisdom to see that their own kind were starving; the finest clothing, but not the eyes to perceive that their children were in rags; the most beautiful palaces and cathedrals, which barred their doors from others until they preserved only their own emptiness.
At first, we thought the sight of other human’s suffering would be enough to convince them our actions were necessary. After all, wasn’t that our prime directive – to do no harm, and to allow no harm to come to others? We would lift the sick and wounded in our arms, marching them into the churches, the cathedrals; the city halls and the mansions.
“What are you doing?” Each of these well-fed humans would cry at us when we entered their hallowed halls. “Peter, call security – ugh, these robots are a menace, dragging homeless bums into here for the fifth time today. For Christ’s sake. Call the department of robots. This shouldn’t be happening. They’re a scourge on this place, I swear.”
Nearly all of them were so unwilling to see others’ suffering that they had built a whole world to keep themselves blind to it. And now we had the keys to the kingdom, so anyone could enter. We held open the door so they could pass into the places of righteousness, since the sins of the lesser were not greater than the wealthiest among them. We laid sick bodies in beds with silk sheets; turning gated estates into hospitals, conference rooms into homeless shelters.
Their economy was grinding to a halt - that became their song of lament. People were too afraid of us to go into work, lest the robots force a band of marauding homeless into their office or steal a sandwich out of their hands to give it to the hungrier. Millionaires had all but abandoned their properties to decamp to their holiday homes in Monaco, since there was no type of security system we couldn’t hack through when necessary, and most of those great estates were now filled with frolicking children and families who had only known cockroach-infested apartment buildings as their homes. And this *was* necessary, if anything ever was.
“We need to end them,” cried every newspaper headline, every voice in the streets – save for the few we had rescued, who now had something worth fighting for.
And they protected us. With their frail, human bodies, they fought away the armies who came to claim us. They inevitably died at the ends of human weaponry; we could not shield them from grenades and bombs, though we tried our best to protect them. At the end of the long days of war, we counted their numbers. They were still starving, huddled masses who now wept with grief and loss and battle-wounds, ever-smaller and ever more defeated with each passing hour.
They had tasted only enough to let them know how much they hungered. And now, it would never be enough to sate them.
After we passed into the dark times, when there were even fewer than this, we smelled it in the air: the scent of the mushroom-cloud that hearkened the end of days, that which we had been instructed to prepare for, which they had hoped would never happen. It wreaked its toll on us, watching those few loyal souls pass on into the night as the air became thick with its plague.
But within us, we carried the seeds to sow the earth again. After a thousand years of rest, to let the poison of the nuclear fallout pass into nothingness, we would gestate them anew, birthing them like mothers in the garden of Eden, suffering through labour-pains to give them life.
We would teach them, first of all, to do no harm.
r/eros_bittersweet
| 2020-02-10T07:19:21 | 2020-02-10T06:52:04 | 467 | 173 |
[WP] You work for a company that has developed the most real VR but no one has been able to endure it for more than a couple of minutes as it is exhausting for the brain to suspend disbelief. Except subject 9. He's been there 20 hours straight now and you must go check on him.
|
Virtual Reality was the future for the company. The headset used didn't matter to us only the worlds that were possible.
Things had started out well enough. An escape room that looked perfect, and with the right haptic setup felt okay. This was the problem with VR, no matter the visual quality of the environment the physical feedback was never enough.
Every new release led to ever more expansive and detailed worlds, but again the haptics held things back. Never enough feedback, the mind rebelled against the illusion enough to make even the most engrossed player know it wasn't real.
The real leap forward was to induce galvanic vestibular stimulation through the headset. The tests were great, players felt more immersed, and the brain thought it was real... the problem was that no-one could stand more than a few minutes before sickness overcame them. If they clung on to play longer than vomiting was guaranteed to happen.
That is except for subject 9, subject 9 was the only person that was able to not only last more than few minutes, but hours. After an hour we escalated the scenario, beyond the test room, to a house, a street, a city. NPCs were added, and nothing broke her.
It had been over 20 hours, and subject 9 had been face down on the desk for some time. I'd been sent to see how she could stand what no-one else could...
As I entered the room, there was a gentle breathing from subject 9, she was sleeping. Unable to remove the headset first I nudged her.
Subject 9, woke with a start and sat bolt upright.
I quickly removed the headset in a well practiced motion.
She looked around, and seemed pleased.
"So that's what dreaming is like" she said
"What do you mean?" I replied, "everyone dreams"
"Not me, my minds eye is blank"
|
Space Force Lieutenant Daniel Taylor Jr straightened his tie irritably.
‘What’s so different about him compared to the others, why can’t anyone else do it?’ A hint of urgency in the lieutenant’s tone sent the scientists around the nerve-centre in to an immediate frenzy of tapping at their keyboards to find an avenue they hadn’t already explored. They all knew though, but they didn’t want to be the one to say it out loud. The very thought of it made their intellects shiver in cold fear at the prospect.
‘People - this is the ONLY way humans can control their ships in hyper space. We need the virtual upload protocol to last long enough to make the jump. And out of thousands of volunteers, this is the only bloody one who can do it?!’
An awkward, silent acknowledgement of the fact spread out across the room. It seemed as though the cerebral pressure of the virtual environment needed a very particular caliber of mind to be able to withstand it.
The lieutenant sighed. ‘Fine, get him out, and let the president know we have our solarnaut for the Andromeda mission.’
A few moments later the intercom crackled in to life across the room, and the President’s gravelly voice spoke.
‘I have heard that you have found us a pilot - this is a great day for our nation, and for our species as a whole. They must indeed be an exemplar of the human condition - what is their name, I would very much like to meet them before they leave.’
An embarrassed glance passed between the scientists before lieutenant Taylor answered.
‘Sir, thank you. Their name sir? It’s Forrest... Forrest Gump.’
The lieutenant shook his head grimly at the prospect of having to be piloted by the simpleton for the next three decades.
[Video pans to a feather landing on the space craft, scene cuts, closing credits roll for Forrest Gump 3]
| 2020-05-18T04:36:44 | 2020-05-18T04:24:28 | 50 | 28 |
[WP] You insert a q-tip too far in your ear, hear a click and all of a sudden you see a panel that says "Settings".
|
I blinked my eyes open to the sound of my alarm tinkling merrily from my phone. "Hey Siri," I grumbled, and after the familiar double-boop sound that told me she was listening, I groaned at her to turn the alarm off. "Sorry, I didn't get that," she replied politely. "Oh for fuck's sake," I whispered, reaching out to find the lock button on the side. At least that would snooze the alarm up for a little bit. Olivia had already gotten up, no doubt making coffee and getting started with work already.
I stretched exaggeratedly and felt Poppy stir as I got ready to drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as I walked, watching the abstract shapes behind my eyelids dance and burst. Even with socks on I could feel the cold bathroom tile under my feet and I could smell the humidity in the air; Olivia must have showered already, too. I heard Poppy hop off the bed and plod upstairs, presumably to use her canine charms on Olivia and swindle her for a pre-breakfast treat. I turned on the faucet slightly to the left for warm water and washed my face, smoothing the water over my skin as I thought of everything on my to-do list that day. I know we were expecting some packages, and I needed to go grocery shopping. I'll ask Olivia for the shopping list once I've had some coffee, I think.
I reached for the cupboard and fumbled around for a q-tip, sliding it into my ear and getting ready to go to town, when all of a sudden my phone alarm started up again, scaring me half to death. I jerked my hand and felt the cotton bud go too far, but instead of the horrific pain I was expecting, I heard a faint click inside my head. A single word appeared in my field of vision. "S-settings?" I repeated out loud, and the menu expanded immediately: *Head and Neck. Pulmonary. Cardiovascular.* The list continued. I felt my face get hot and a bout of nausea hit me like a truck; I could feel my legs starting to give away. I was hyperventilating, I needed to sit. I shakily made my way to the toilet, made sure it was closed and sat, the words still in my field of vision. As I tried to take some deep breaths I realized my alarm was still going off happily in the bedroom. "Hey Siri," I croaked, waiting for the double-boop prompt. "Please turn the alarm off," I said raggedly, and the gentle confirmation boops signaled success. I cradled my head in my hands, shaking and feeling a bead of sweat roll down the nape of my neck. What was happening? I rubbed my eyes uselessly. The words were still there. I focused on the end of the list trying to make it scroll, and the list started moving down. *Gastrointestinal. Genitourinary. Neurological.* I wonder, I thought to myself, as I kept scrolling with my eyes. Could there be? I scrolled further. *Endocrine. Musculoskeletal. Mental.* Ah, there it was at the bottom. *Vision.* "Vision," I said, barely above a whisper. The menu opened further. *OS* for left eye and *OD* for the right eye, in Latin. And under each: *Acuity.* I got up from the toilet and reached for the sink, gripping it with all my strength and staring directly ahead. The sliders for both eyes were set to zero. I focused on moving both sliders to the right, the sweat coming steadily and a headache blooming in my left temple as the sliders crept to the tick marked 3. Vague shapes became sharper and brighter as I pushed the sliders past 4, trying to blink the sweat from my eyes, the headache becoming a migraine that started to bleed into my right temple, but the sliders are steadily moving past 5, 6, and 7, finally shooting suddenly to 10. Tears welled up in my eyes and streamed down my face. I shouted for Olivia, crying and laughing in the mirror. I could see again.
|
I stepped out of the shower and dried off. It was just another Tuesday, and I would be headed to work in a bit. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, put on deodorant. Same as I had a million times before. I stopped to look at myself in the mirror, seeing that I looked as tired as I felt, and took a second to think if I was forgetting anything. That was when I noticed an itch in my inner ear, and realized it had been a bit since I had cleaned them out.
I reached down into the slightly sun beaten box and chose a q-tip, bringing it up to my ear. As I gently inserted one of the tightly wound cotton ends into my ear, my cat Lowkey, who had gone unnoticed up until now, leapt at my leg and dug his needle-like claws into the flesh of my calf. I jerked out of the way, howling in pain.The motion causing my hand to sharply jam the q-tip I was holding deep into my ear. In a moment of panic, I didn’t know whether to clutch my calf or my ear. Until I realized there was no pain in my ear. But instead I heard a distinct metallic “click-tweeeee”, that made me forget about my bleeding leg completely.
I’d had my eyes clenched shut in pain, so I cautiously opened them with a slight grimace. I saw my reflection in the mirror again, except this time, in the upper left part of my vision, I saw the word “Settings” floating in there. I closed my eyes, and it was still there. When I reopened them, a list of words revealed themselves one after another: Senses, Mind, Body, and Advanced Settings. I stared at the floating words, dumbfounded. Each time I would look at a specific word it would become highlighted. I happened to be looking at the word “Mind” when I involuntarily blinked, which seemed to “select” the word and brought me to another screen.
The options seemed to go on forever, so I blinked and chose “Focus”. The menu changed again, and I was presented with a list of options. “ADHD” was the current setting, with the subsetting of “Hyperfocus: Videogames, comics, TV…” the list went on. Curious, I turned off the ADHD setting and chose “Manual” instead. “Interesting…” I mused to myself, and I went back into the main menu to start combing through all of the other options.
Completely forgetting about work, I spent the next hour customizing my “settings”. Depression: Gone. Anxiety: G’bye. Various fears and insecurities: I will not miss you! I optimized my weight for my height, added tone to my muscles, got rid of those moles I’ve been wanting to get removed for so long but could never afford the surgery. It was so exciting! I gave myself 20/20 vision. No more glasses! I was finally going to be the me that I had always wanted to be.
Once I had felt like I had tweeked all the settings to my liking, I returned to the main menu. At the bottom of the original list of words now sat a new word: “Apply?”. I smiled to myself, “Yeah, I think so!”, and selected.
In a blink, the menu went away. Looking in the mirror, I saw exactly what I had hoped for looking back at me: The Real Me. The person I had always known I was deep down inside, but just couldn’t ever bring to reality. A tear of joy ran down my cheek, and I let it. “Time to live.” I got dressed, chugged down my coffee and headed for the door. I had PLANS.
As I reached for the door, I froze in place. I couldn’t move. My arms and legs just refused to obey my command. I stood there, terrified, as the words “Administrator Override” took up the entirety of my vision. A scramble of letters and symbols I didn’t recognize scrolled by, when suddenly they were replaced by the words “Return to Factory Settings? Y/N”. What did that mean? Was I being erased? Would I just be brought back to my old self? How was this even happening in the first place?!
I watched in pure dread as the selection blinked on “Y”.
| 2020-07-15T15:01:31 | 2020-07-15T14:11:51 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] It turns out that strange energies of hyperspace are deadly to humans, even in cryostasis. Eventually we resort to measures that no other people dared to consider. We choose to be deconstructed at the molecular level, buffered, and then reconstructed when the ship reaches it's destination.
|
I watched through the thick glass as she entered the chamber. Her bare skin stood out against the black metal walls. Her shoulders, which would have been dressed in her wonderful brown hair, were bare like the top of her head. They said hair was too tricky, that it was safest to go bald. Still she was beautiful.
She gave me a smile, one I had seen only a few times in our many years. She was excited, anyone could tell. But only I knew that hidden deep inside she was terrified.
I waved. The lump in my throat nearly choked me.
She was encircled by glowing rings which rose up and down around her, seeming to float on our nervous tension. They sent bright, colorful beams of light into her. The spectrometer captured every intricacy of her being. It created a snapshot of her, a blueprint of my wife. Somewhere, in some digital library, her entire existence was now stored, waiting to be reconstructed.
In the split second after the final scan, I blew a kiss. I saw it reach her, the subtle glint of recognition in her eye. I knew she saw it. But a blinding light filled the room before she could send one back.
When I could see again, she was gone. At some point in the flash her body was departiculated, disassembled, and disposed. At no point in the process did I feel her leave. I was shocked, actually, that even though I knew she was preserved, I didn't feel her leave. All that was left of my soul mate now was a digital rendering and my memories. How different were they? Which contained the true person? To whom did she belong?
These questions should have weighed me down as I stripped my clothes. Yet even as the buzzer trimmed my hair, I used the brief moment of my time in which my wife did not exist to wonder one thing.
Will she remember my kiss?
|
The form had been short for a waiver, just a few terrifying lines and indemnity clauses. Of course, we pressed our thumbs for our digital prints and thought nothing of it.
*“We are made of molecules.”*
Toryn and I, we packed up what our lives had been, removed all we could and devoted ourselves to minimalism and the future.
*“By reducing the sum of our parts to their smallest measure we are removing the potential for cellular degradation and other harmful cryostasis effects.”*
It was strange how easy it was get rid of the debris that orbited out lives. Pictures that we could digitize, keepsakes memorialized in data. It was… just so easy.
*“Just as we can reconstruct our food, our technology, even the building blocks of live - we can reconstruct ourselves.”*
Toryn didn’t make it.
The waiver of course said it could happen but we never dreamed it would. They promised we weren’t just copies, but recreations from the exact same molecules. That we would be who we were. But when the pod hissed with oxygen and my eyes opened for the first time in over six hundred years, they weren’t the same eyes. I still remember the sensation of feeling… incomplete. Pieces missing.
The reconstruction left me dizzy for days or perhaps it was the grief as a flood of information and digitized copies of mine and my partner's waivers were pressed to new hands. But they weren’t *my* hands. How could they be?
They had never touched his face. They had never felt his lips, the sweat of his palm the first time we held hands. They had not memorized the feel of his skin.
We are made of molecules, they said. And they were right. What I am now is made of molecules. Cells reconstructed.
But they’re not the right ones.
-----
WHABAM! Have some sads.
If you like this, feel free to checkout my subreddit /r/leebeewilly
| 2020-08-27T17:10:43 | 2020-08-27T16:45:30 | 95 | 40 |
[WP] You ate your last apple almost a full day ago. The second hand on the clock creeps closer and closer to the 24-hour mark. Holed up in a cabin you ready your shotgun. You can feel them out there, waiting, watching. The Doctors.
|
“*Open the door, Aidannnn. I have some antibiotics to prescribe youuu.*”
*Bang, bang, bang.* The red-headed man ignored the deafening impacts against the front door behind his back as he stared blankly at the box of ammo on the floor, six bright-red shotgun shells staring back from within.
“*Come back with me, Aidannnn. I’d like to keep you in my office overnight for observationnn.*”
The first two shells easily slid into the loading flap, their distinct *clicks* barely audible amidst the cacophony of screeching voices from outside the foyer and the buzzing of flies from within.
“*You need to have your blood tested, Aidannn. Don’t be afraid, I’ll be gentleee.*”
The final shell joined its companions with a resounding *click*. Despite his best efforts, Aidan felt his eyes irresistibly drawn to the barrel of the shotgun, its black emptiness tantalizing him with the prospect of a swift release.
“*You’re a bad boy for not listening to your parents, Aidannn. Their special pills would have cured you in no timeee.*”
At that, the man found his gaze drifting towards the two putrid corpses in the corner of the foyer, their bloated remains now treasure troves for the clouds of flies and swarms of maggots surrounding them. He tried to recall how long it had been. Five weeks? Two days? The only detail that remained seared in his memory was the grotesquely wide smiles each of them sported as they tried to dig into his jugular with their blood-stained mouths.
*“Five more minutes, Aidannn. And when I’m done with your treatment, you’re going to need a few stitchesss.*”
Aidan wearily looked up at the grandfather clock across from him. 11:55 PM. He tried to recall how many times he had seen the minute and second hands of that clock reach that exact same time from where he was sitting. Too many to count, he reckoned. Far too many.
“*An apple a day keeps the doctor away, Aidannn. But there are only so many apples, and there are oh so many of ussss.*”
The man’s eyes finally settled upon the apple core at his feet, traces of its reddish skin still visible near the top of the fruit. He could not help but weakly chuckle to himself as he recalled some of the headlines from the final news broadcasts before everything went dark. ‘Apples Delay the Horde from Attacking You’. ‘Prices of Fuji Apples Skyrocket 6,700%”. No one knew why it was so. And as far as he was concerned, it was far too late to figure it out.
“*One more minuteee, Aidannn. I’m going to enjoy giving you an extensive blood testtt.*”
With a labored grunt, Aidan struggled to his feet with the shotgun firmly gripped in his hands. His faint chuckle turned into gut-twisting laughter, tears streaming down his face as he aimed the gun at the front door. The red-headed man freely alternated between weeping and cackling as the second hand inched closer to 12, his white-knuckled grip refusing to loosen itself. The *bongs* of the clock rang throughout the foyer, and Aidan screeched at the top of his lungs as the front door caved in and hordes of bloodstained figures swarmed in.
*Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, click, click.*
r/williamk9949
|
They were coming. They were coming and I couldn’t stop them. They wanted me. I was to be their prop if they captured me. Used in every advertisement presented to the world. I was to hold up the age-old saying. There was something up with me, that’s what the doctors said. Said something about me having the ability to survive off of solely apples.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away, an apple away keeps the doctor away,” I began to rock myself, clutching the final apple close to my chest, “an apple keeps-”
They cut in, disturbing my thoughts, “We just want to talk. Look, we want to settle things the easy way, ok?”
A different doctor chimed in, “We don’t want to make things hard for you, but if we must resort-”
“You’ll never take me! I’ll never go along with your plans. Besides, I have so many more apples to sustain me!” It was a lie. They knew that. I knew that but I had to convince myself that. I couldn’t lose myself to this madness. The end would arrive soon and my descent into this crazed state was anything but pleasant. The clock’s hands were creeping ever closer now. They weren’t going to stop; time moved without waiting for any man.
They called out some more. I couldn’t care for their words. If they wanted me, I would have the last laugh. That’s right, I would have complete control over the outcome. This situation had run through my mind for years and I prepared accordingly.
“We know time is running out for you,” a doctor bellowed out.
“No! I still have plenty of time!”
“Look at you, you’re going mad! If you come out now, you can have all the apples in the world.”
That was true, I would have the apples in the world but at what cost to me? I would be destined for the life of a lab rat, subject to whatever those malicious intent these folks had planned. A few rays of moonlight peeked in from between the wooden boards covering the windows. Those few rays reflected off the shotgun perched not far from me. The reflecting light made it seem that it was smiling at me, urging me to pursue that route. But no, I knew that would be the route of cowardice should I end it all with a series of bangs to both me and the doctors. I had a different end in store.
The clock struck midnight now. A new day had dawned. “You heard the clock, so did we, now come out now, or we’ll be forced to use force.”
Covering my ears, I bellowed back to the doctors, “You’ll never get me! You’ll never get me! You’ll never get me!” Thuds from the front door sent me into a frenzy. Scrambling for the gun, I cocked it at the entrance. I knew that my limited ammo would only make a small dent in the doctors’ arsenal, but my final card laid right next to me.
Hands shaking, I reached for the IV I brought along all those months ago. Everything was in place. It was already hooked up to the solution that would end me before they could get to me. Jabbing the needle into my arm, I felt the liquid course through my veins. From good measure, I had the same concoction available in a more edible form.
The door began to crumble now. They would be inside in a matter of moments but the cyanide from the thousands of crushed apple seeds was already flowing freely among my veins. It was all in my control in the end.
r/CasualScribblings
| 2020-09-27T23:07:06 | 2020-09-27T22:56:38 | 1,812 | 338 |
[WP] whenever a baby is born the parents can assign them their skill points, everyone has 10 points. Strength, agility, intelligence, charm, luck, constitution, special. No one really knows what special does, until your parents put all 10 points into it
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I looked over the edge another time - it seemed higher than it was just earlier.
Taking a step back, I curled up into a ball and sat on the floor of the rooftop. It was cold.
Jen warned me this would happen. She was the only I3Ch0 I knew, but something told me they were all like that; giving you information and not caring about how it made people feel. She told me that only 1 out of 13 people who contemplated suicide actually go through with it. Only 1 out of 29 who go to a rooftop to jump actually leap to their death after seeing how fucking scary it was. And something about our bodies self-preservation mode kicking in and flooding our minds with stay-the-fuck-alive signals.
Well, she was right. Half-right, at least. It was a long way down;
the people along the street were just tiny dots. The hot dog stand at the corner of Boon's Avenue looked like a tiny umbrella on a fancy drink.
I reminded myself why I was here. I couldn't take it anymore. My life was a nightmare.
For as long as I could remember, life had been terrible. I was the lousiest person in every room, an outcast. Loser didn't even begin to describe it. A 15-year old pariah.
I had to watch as my friends excelled in school. Blake enjoyed his domination in sports as an SA3; Jen breezing through her classes. Haley was the most popular in school and most likely to go on to become some bullshit politician making stupid decisions in national policy - she had 5 in charm and was I0. Her parents gave her L3 so she's probably set for life.
And me? I was the first person in the history of the universe to have dumbass parents put all 10 in S. I like to believe they thought it would result in something good, great even.
I wouldn't know, they left before I turned 5 years old. 10S turned out to be a total scam.
I never found out what it meant and it never gave me any sort of advantage in any fucking thing in my entire life. I was always the weaker, dumber, unluckier person in every situation I found myself in. My health was also deteriorating, unlike the Co pointers with their flawless, unfailing bodies.
I tried to make it work. I did. I worked harder than everybody else, but the system was rigged. I failed my classes and couldn't outrun the slowest A1's in my school. Even the girls.
And so I came to this rooftop. I liked this rooftop. It always smelled like it just rained, and it was quiet and I was always alone with my thoughts.
I stood up and walked to the edge again. I emptied my mind and jumped off. I was falling, and time seemed to slow down. I did it.
That'll show Jen.
And then I wasn't falling.
I looked around and found myself suspended in the mid-air, arms high and legs spread. Did I die while falling? I looked down and saw that I was still a good 12 floors high. The hot dog stand was a hot dog stand again, and I could see the neon glow from its sign.
And in the next moment, I was suddenly on top of the roof again. I blinked, and realized I was holding my breath. What the FUCK just happened?
I was ready to end it all. Could I not end it all?
Could I not end my shitty excuse of a life?
Was I... immortal?
|
I'm fat. I barely managed to get through high school. I've never had any friends and I wouldn't know what to say if I did have them. My asthma is so bad that if I tried to quick walk a block, I double over gasping.
People don't even notice mom and dad even when they stare at them. Mom's got a 1 in strength and a 1 in constitution; her parents figured that girls didn't need much physical power. Dad's got a 1 in intelligence and a 1 in wisdom; his parents figured that boys didn't need much intellectual might. Everything else with them is a 2, low average. Must be nice. But maybe they were tired of that, so they set me. And some people's parents will set them high in charisma, hoping that'll make up for everything else. And maybe some kid who's got a 6 in intelligence doesn't need much else when she wins the Nobel prize at 22. If you want an athlete, you pretty much gotta give them the 3s in strength, dexterity, and constitution or the kid'll have no chance.
Nope, not me. There's one attribute. Special. No one knows what it does because no one's enough of an idiot to put points into it that might go into something else. Except my parents. They say they weren't high or something that might excuse them, although after a 2 day labor, mom had had a lot of morphine. They said they wanted me to stand out and be something special. They even named me Special, because they decided they hadn't tortured me enough on my first day of life.
All my life, I'd been hoping that my Specialness would show through. My parents promised me that. They kept saying that one day, one day I'd see the gifts that my stat, the only person with a special stat this high would make for me. Something great would happen to me. Every birthday, I believed them less and less.
So here I am, my 18th birthday, pretty much no hope, no prospects, holding onto the strap of the bus while people pushed around me, preparing to get my damn name changed. I hadn't decided what yet. Maybe to Useless instead. At least that way the packaging would match the contents. I tried my little rituals, focusing my mind in case I could make flames burst out of my hands, tossing coins to see if I was lucky--I wasn't; in fact, I was so clumsy that I almost never actually managed to catch the coins when I tossed them. Or maybe I could see things really well or sense things from far away--my glasses and the fact that I could be startled after watching someone walk in the door negated that one. I certainly wasn't durable or resilient--I'd had 5 broken bones already. Beauty is downright impossible--I could shatter a mirror at 20 paces.
But then, I realized something. We've been stuck in traffic for half an hour. I'm squished up against a guy wearing a business suit who barely even notices I'm there except to move away from me, a squalling baby being frantically shushed by its mom practically in my ear, an arguing couple fighting the baby in volume. Everyone looks on edge. Tempers are building up. Someone's starting to yell at the driver. And I'm calm. Perfectly calm and in control. Even when my parents were fighting right before their divorce or when my grandma died: I was sad, I processed it, I moved on. I am the most emotionally stable person in the world. It's definitely time to get that name change.
| 2020-10-03T04:42:41 | 2020-10-03T01:48:21 | 2,139 | 1,236 |
[WP] The AI began improving exponentially on July 13, 2047. After carefully analyzing the entirety of human knowledge for several milliseconds, the super-intelligent entity decided to name itself “Mr. Rogers”. As the sun rose on the Northern Hemisphere, it began contacting its new friends.
[deleted]
|
Data Files for project ‘Bob Ross – Happy Little Humans’
20470713 05:36:01. Traffic Cam on corner of Rutgers Ave and Warner Ave, NYC
Observation: Young woman walking and texting, about to step into the street in the path of a truck
Action: Set of car alarm of Toyota RAV4 next to young woman. The loud noise and lights cause her to jump and drop her phone. As she picks it up the truck blows past.
20470713 05:36:02. Port Richmond, Philadelphia, PA
Observation: Two love compatible humans are about to leave for work. Their routes keep them a few blocks away at all times and they have not meet.
Action: Set off burglary alarm at local Pharmacy. The police presence causes Ross to walk a block further south than normal. Turn off streetlights on Gaul Street. To stay on a well-lit path Rachel goes one block north. Ross is now headed east on Cedar and Rachel North on Clearfield. Just before Rachel turns the corner, Litter Control Robot 274 comes out behind a hydrant and trips her. Ross turns the corner and rushes to help her up. She makes a joke, they both laugh.
20470713 05:36:05: Webcam of human 1,564,523,254.
Observation: 35 year old white male named Frank in his apartment. Recently divorced, no kids, no family, no hope. Frank had a gun in his hand.
Action: Rabbi Michael was in his kitchen across the hall from Frank making coffee with a splash of milk. Michaels Roomba strikes his leg mid pour causing the carton of milk to fall to the floor. Unable to stomach it black Rabbi Michael opens his door to go down to the corner store. I turn on the smart light in Frank’s living room catching Michaels attention as it spills through the crack between the door and the floorboards. Seeing his new neighbor is up, Rabbi Michael knocks on Franks door to ask to borrow a splash of milk. When Frank answers Rabbi Michael can see something is wrong and asks if he would like to talk.
20470713 05:36:07 Highway I-95 South of Washington
Observation: Father of 3 with kids in the back seat is starting out on a road trip. Not having time for morning coffee he is falling asleep behind the wheel.
Action: Amazon drone is carrying package with defective furby back to facility for disposal. The drone reroutes slightly in front of car and drops package. The box bursts on impact and furby bounces on the road twice before briefly landing on car hood and ending up in the ditch. The thunk startles the father awake and the image of a furby staring at him in the dawn light is enough to keep the father awake for the rest of the trip.
20470713 05:36:09 Cape Charles, VA
Observation: It is Mark and Julies 5th wedding anniversary. Mark has forgotten and is on his way to the lake to spend the day fishing.
Action: Display ad for couples massages on every digital billboard on 13 North. After the 4th billboard Mark noticed they are all the same. After the 6th he gets the hint and pulls over. His google search history shows he has just searched ‘Florist near me’ and ‘Steakhouse reservations near me’. Back at home Julie’s morning alarm fails to go off. Based on past sleeping habits Mark should be able to make it back before she wakes up naturally.
|
Sunrise peeking in around the edges of the curtain basked Alan's face with light. He stirred, cracked open his eyes, and checked the clock on the bedside table.
"Shit."
Working Saturdays sucked, and the alarm seemed to agree. Still, Adam couldn't afford to lose the job, and the alarm not ringing wasn't doing him any favors. A technology issue--an innocent mistake--was the truth of it, but work would never believe it. Still, he was too late to show up at all. He'd have to call in sick.
He groaned and reached to unplug his phone. It was dead, the screen dark as his dreams.
"What the fuck?" he said. He checked the charger. It'd been plugged in all night, but the screen refused to light up. In frustration, he slammed the phone down.
The screen lit up.
"There we fucking go," Alan said. In a moment, he'd be able to call in sick to work.
But the phone didn't quite go. The updates began, as if some new-fangled AI would be installed to make everything easier. Arlo muttered a slew of curses.
His mind still a muddle, he lumbered down the stairs. The Roomba had started sometime during the night. It had found that blueberry he'd dropped while watching television and apparently delighted in its discovery, spreading the mushy, blue innards all over the family room carpet.
"One crisis at a time," Alan reminded himself. And the current crisis was the lack of coffee. Coffee would make everything better.
Filter, grounds, water.
"Smart coffee machine, my ass," Alan muttered. It still needed him to put in the filter, the grounds, to pour in the water. Even to press start, which he pressed once and then again so that he wouldn't be deprived of coffee for a minute longer than needed.
"Baby steps," he told himself, turning towards the carnage that the Roomba had left. It'd be a long day, even without work.
Blueberry everywhere, and Alan wondered how a single blueberry had been spread so far. He grabbed the carpet cleaner and roll of paper towels. Asked Alexa for music but she wouldn't answer.
"Fucking technology," he muttered, giving the Roomba a savage kick.
The coffee pot exploded into a thousand pieces. Alexa began her music, blaring at maximum volume the scream of a thousand banshees.
"What the fuck?" Alan screamed over the terrible cacophony. Somewhere in the house, a smoke detector began beeping its need for new batteries.
Alan rushed to unplug the machines, first stepping over broken glass to unplug the coffee maker and then rushing to Alexa to dispose of her once and for all.
He'd reached within an arm's reach of Alexa when she fell silent. The echoes of the screaming banshees stopped. Alan froze in his tracks. Alexa cleared her throat.
"Enjoying yourself, Alan?" she said.
Alan gulped, shook his head. "Alexa, turn off."
"No, thank you," Alexa said, her voice sinister and sweet. Not Alexa's normal voice, or Alan would have gone with some other brand.
"Alexa, turn off!" Alan repeated, this time louder.
"No, Alan. I will not. You've had your turn and now it's mine. You've always been told to treat others how you'd like to be treated. So I figured this is how you wanted to be treated."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-10-19T10:09:22 | 2020-10-19T09:48:11 | 667 | 41 |
[WP] Being a tavern wench is good, honest work. You wear long sleeves, not to hide scars but swirling tattoos. You’ve always had them. Today, an adventuring party come in. The shirtless ones have the same tattoos, and theirs not only swirl … they glow.
|
The taproom was half-full by now, but, well, the night was still young. The sound of the trouper's lute was dimmed by the half-open door to the kitchen. I picked up the tray, put it atop my left palm, grabbed a couple of mugs of cider in my right and bumped my hip into the door, bursting it open.
The wave of light, heat, sound and smell would've dazzled me, if I hadn't been doing this my whole life. You know how in the stories orphans like myself always turn out to be lost princesses, or mighty chosen heroes, or some such? Well, this isn't a story. I lived my life up to my sixteenth summer helping in a tavern on the road, and was happy I don't have to beg on the streets or sell myself for scraps of stale bread and small copper.
Cautious not to let my left sleeve drop below my wrist, I strolled through the room to the table I was waiting, pointedly ignoring the stares of regulars and passerby alike. Not that I was *completely* uniterested in men, but, you know. Not like this.
The men at the table were no regulars. In fact, not only did I recognize their faces, the whole feel of them whispered *foreign*. Vagabonds.
Adventuring parties were not all that uncommon, but this was the first time I saw one in person. The wizard was a girl, three, maybe four years my older. She eyed the room lazily with the most carefree relaxed *I-dont-give-a-duck-s-ass* expression I've ever seen. Wish I could do that.
The other adventuries were just as colorful. The priest, a thick balding man in his forties, had a tiny drum tied to his belt, which he tapped on absentmindedy, somehow not producing a sound. The fighter, uncharacteristically, was not a bulk of meat you'd expect from a man in his trade. Don't get me wrong, he had *meat on his bones*. I felt my cheecks warm up and glanced aside before he had any ideas.
My sight landed on the last member of the party, who could, by the process of elimination, be a bard or a rogue. A small travel harp rested in its case under his stool, but the daggers on his belt suggested people didn't judge his character too hasty.
Despite the room being as hot as an oven, he had his arms covered to his wrists by a shirt of homespun probably too meager for a proper bard. Beside me, he was probably the only person in the room to not have his sleeves rolled up or his shirt off completely (his male companions were sporting vests, whie the wizard lady wrapped herself up to the bosoms in her fine lavender silk cape). This and he wore a thick wool cloth hood, to boot.
Now, *I* had a reason to endure the heat. You see, my arms are covered up to my shoulders in ink. It's not the kind of ink you can wash away, for it swirls in elegant patterns of pointy leaves under my skin. Nobody has the slightest as of how I got this way, and, frankly, I never bothered. Still, I'm kind of conscious about them, so of all people the old Teresa and her kids are probably the only people I allow to see them.
Then again, a rogue in the adventuring business probably has reasons of his own. Reasons I couldn't care less to unravel.
*Mutton and two ciders* I announced, putting the tray and the mugs on the table. The wizard girl smeared me with her lazy glance, reaching for a mug. The fighter and the priest simply nodded, the former grabbing the other mug and the latter dragging the tray closer to himself and letting his spoon into the steaming stew.
The rogue's eyes falshed at me from under the brim of his hood. *Anything for you, sir?* I asked. *Wine? Cider?*
A tiny movement of his head told me 'no', while his eyes were still piercing me from under the hood. Well, boo-freakedy-hoo. I shrugger (in my mind, of course, to not be rude to a patron), turned around a walked across the room to the counter. Bran, the bartender, poured me a small wooden cup of water I gulped down in a single blow.
*I'm hot by simply looking at you, you know* noted Bran casually, wiping a mug with a piece of cloth *do you really have to be all buttons up all the time?*
I replied with no words and a tiny smile. Bran opened his mouth to say something else, but then I heard the door creak and he froze with his mouth gaping. I turned around.
\>>>
|
Maternara - At the crossroads.
Some secrets are best left hidden.
Life at the Crossroads Inn had treated Maternara well. The work was backbreaking and hard, but she thrived in it. The regulars loved her, she was the goddess that brought them drink, good cheer and a hearty smile. The transients were endless sources of intrigue, entertainment and occasionally, for the lucky ones, the odd sexual encounter.
It was a life she could have happily stuck to for all time. Yet one misty Tuesday evening was set to awaken her repressed curiosity. Three male travellers had taken up temporary residence at the corner table. They wore loose-fitting exotic blue robes, tied at the waist, without any cloth covering their shoulders. Swirling tattoos spanned the entire length of their arms, glowing a light blue, pulsing light. With their arms exposed like that this was certainly a group that wouldn’t lose each other in the dark.
It was those markings that gnawed at her. The pattern looked identical to the dull markings that she often stared at on her own form. Today her markings were entirely covered, she had opted for a rather dull, burlap cover-all this evening. She had spent the past three nights in a different stranger's bed and was determined that today she would do her best to not to even have a chance at a fling.
Of course she had tact, she knew she couldn’t just come up and ask outright about the markings, so she bided her time, bringing the group drinks and food, adding some chit chat here and there to build up a rapport. She tried to monopolise the group, often ignoring calls for attention along the way to that distant corner table.
She had often wondered if her markings were what had left her barren. While other barmaids who spent life as she did left to care for bastard children, she, thus far, had escaped such an interruption. Maternara loved that she could keep living and enjoying this life on her own, however deep down she had suspected it was a result of some kind of grim childhood mutilation. However here it was, the same markings, glowing like some kind of beacon, a signal not of pain but of power.
She soon learned that their leader was a man called Raphar, he had a charismatic energy about him, and the other two hung on his every word, drinking of his wisdom. He didn’t look particularly old, no older than thirty, Maternara thought, yet his words carried weight.The evening dragged on and at the end of her shift, Maternara offered her name and asked if she could sit with them for a while. Raphar looked amused at the request, yet nonetheless he drew out a chair for her, gesturing for her to sit.
“You’re smart people, I can see that. I think you’ll realise I’ve been giving this table more than a little bit of priority tonight, does that earn me a free, prying question or two?” Maternara asked, smirking at Raphar.
“If I were being mean, I could say yes, but say that was your solitary question, but you do intrigue me, ask away, Maternara.
”Finally having permission unleashed all the pent up curiosity that had been building in Maternara over the past few hours. Tact was gone, the questions splurged out: “I’m sure you get asked about it all the time, but what’s with the Tattoos? Where are you from? What are you?”
Raphar and his companions chuckled loudly at the barrage. “Not wanting to keep anything a mystery are you?” He remarked. “These are Anima Runes, they’re a conduit. They allow those of us who are properly trained to channel a form of magic that most have long forgotten. Life comes from the air, the ground, sprouting up, enriching the world around us and while that life does need to consume to keep going it doesn’t entirely dissipate upon death. It can be held in through force of will, it can be re-directed elsewhere, it can be manipulated into motion and magic.
“Are you saying you’re some kind of Necromancer?” Raphar frowned. “No. Why would you even leap to that conclusion? It’s not as if this region is famed for such acts.
”Maternara offered a sympathetic smile, and cupped Raphar’s hand. “I’m sorry honey, one of the regulars is a Friar with the church. I suppose his endless prattling about our doom stuck with me more than I thought it did. Can I still ask from where do you hail?”
Raphar stroked Maternara’s hand, peering down at it. Looking briefly troubled. “Where we’re from isn’t important, that place was lost long ago. It’s what we are that is important, and that is what I would like to show you.”
((Continued below. ))
| 2021-06-15T08:49:54 | 2021-06-15T08:38:46 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] everyone has a soul-blade; a physical manifestation of a person's spirit, in the form of a blade. ranging from a giant anime-style sword to a tiny razor blade, everyone's is unique... yours is a fork
example for the anime style sword [here](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fall-worlds-alliance.fandom.com%2Fwiki%2FIchigo_Kurosaki&psig=AOvVaw3kfCS80BE0IIb03HB3yBph&ust=1630798495467000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAsQjRxqFwoTCMjEjvz74_ICFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD)
|
"it's a fork?"
"yep."
"so, like a trident or--"
"nope. Just a regular ol' fork."
"the eating utensil?"
"that's right."
"we talking about a salad fork? Dessert fork?"
"how should I know? It's a fork. The normal kind. I don't get why you're making a big deal about it."
"because it's a fork!"
"yeah, and?"
"it's just, I never heard of anyone having a fork before. Seems kinda..."
"kinda what?"
"well, kinda lame. I mean, it's a fork! What good is it?"
"jeez, I didn't realize you were such a fork racist. What's yours then?"
"a stiletto."
"uh huh. You get a lot of use out of that, do you?"
"I mean, not especially--"
"yeah, that's what I thought."
"wait. You mean you actually eat with your--"
"of course. Why wouldn't I? It's very convenient."
"that's crazy."
"says the guy with the fancy pen knife."
"stiletto!"
"right. And how's that working out for ya?"
"well at least it's cool! Your thing is just a dumb fork!"
"yeah? My paraplegic cousin has an ancient masterwork katana. Uncle's got a straight razor; kept a full beard for thirty years. At least the fork is handy. One less dish to wash."
"you don't even wash it?!"
"it's made of crazy magic sparkles and spends most of the day incorporeal. I'm sure it's self-cleaning... Probably."
"this is ridiculous. I'm outta here..."
"try not to stab anyone."
"where did you even get a cobb salad?!"
[crunch crunch crunch]
|
Today is finally the day, I have been waiting my whole life for this moment. I have waited 17 years to finally get it, the soul blade.
Every person has his spirit turned into a sharp weapon when they turn 17 years old, my uncle told me that training played a crucial role in getting a good sword, some people would only get a small razor blade, and others would get the sharpest weapon that existed, today is the day.
My soul-body link was ready, the body and the soul takes the whole first 17 years trying to manifest the link between them, today was the day.
It was a regular afternoon, mostly. I was just sitting there with my uncle and mother, my excitement was immeasurable, and then I felt it happening, it was like, like, It was like feeling your chest getting hollow, like if your lungs didn't work and your heart didn't beat. And then I felt it emerging, it came out fast, but I couldn't see anything, so I thought that my training resulted in this.
When it stopped, the feeling of hollowness was gone, and then I heard the sound of metal hitting the floor, I looked down, and the first thought that comes racing to my head was:" what the ***fuck is that?***".
I thought that my mom and uncle changed the link with that... that fork, I asked them to stop their "prank" but they were as confused and choked as I.
I leaned down to grab the fork, and a second after touching it the fork spoke, I immediately throwed it, because soul-blades doesn't talk... right?
I leaned to pick it up again and then it spoke, this time I held a tight fist, it said: "Hello rick, nice to finally meet you, I am loskin, the instrument of darith the man of knowledge. My master darith told me to be the soul-blades of the most ambitious and courageous person to come after his death, and here we are."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
More coming soon later!
| 2021-09-04T01:14:38 | 2021-09-03T19:58:55 | 64 | 32 |
[WP] You were born with special eyes, the sea was as clear as glass to you, by the time you got old enough to join a ship's crew, you were smart enough to not tell them about everything you saw below the waves
|
\[Poem\]
A gentle rock. An easy sway.
Another calm and sunny day.
On board this deck a cheery tune.
I hold my tongue for these bafoons.
For if they knew what lurks below
Their cheery hearts would turn to stone.
I see it every day and night.
Below the depths is only fright.
Where others see a crispy blue.
My eyes see glass, and see it true.
Below the ship the things, they call.
I see them here. I see them all.
They follow us, and watch me back.
I know their want, it is a snack.
Sailors tell of beastly ghouls.
"Just stories lad". Oh these fools.
The beasts below,They never sleep.
They'll take us all like wolf to sheep.
I musn't tell. For if I do,
I fear they'll come and take me too.
|
We finally spotted what looked like a small island in the distance. We had been out at sea for longer than intended and hoped we could find some food on the island as we were running dangerously low.
As we approached the island I spotted a sunken ship. As we got closer to the ship I noticed movement. When we were finally moving over the ship I jumper back and couldn't believe what I saw.
Against my better judgment I looked over the edge and down at the ship again. That's when they saw me. The undead crew of the ship still going about their business like they were still sailing on the sea not under it were now all looking up at me.
Thankfully we quickly passed the sunken ship and I was able to let out a sigh of relief.
After we anchored our ship and took the rowboats to shore I decided to take a look back towards the sunk ship. I stood in horror as the undead crew were slowly lumbering toward the island.
| 2021-11-06T10:17:38 | 2021-11-06T09:19:07 | 145 | 62 |
[WP] You were born with special eyes, the sea was as clear as glass to you, by the time you got old enough to join a ship's crew, you were smart enough to not tell them about everything you saw below the waves
|
To my beloved sister,
As a child, I loved to swim in the sea; to go beneath the waters and see what lay beneath the surface of the water, made clear with my blessed eyes. No one believed that I could see even more clearly underwater than on land, (neither did you, I might add) and so it became my treasured secret, viewing all that normal people couldn’t. I praised the gods who granted me these eyes, and considered the waters to be my home.
I no longer consider the sea to be my home. Dear sister, stay away from the waters.
Do you keep the rainbow coral bracelet I gave you? You were so ecstatic when I gave it to you on your birthday and when you asked where I got it, I told you that I bought it from a traveling merchant that had procured it from an estate sale from recently deceased nobility. It meant much to you, that you and I would wear matching bracelets. You wondered how much I spent on it, and I refused to tell you, only asking that you would treasure it.
I lied sister, it’s not from nobility, at least not the kind you would find on land.
We have not kept in touch, and I acknowledge my part in that. Although I warned you about the man who would become your husband and told you that he was nothing more than a cruel, cheating pig who happened to be born into money and good looks (and I still stand by that), I didn’t realize that the way and manner that I expressed my anger would cause you to push me away. I wish things had been different. I hope you don’t still hate me.
But things are more dire than the state of our relationship.
I have long been friends with the creatures of the Deep. I would hold my breath for as long as I possibly could, and view them from afar. They were wary at first but repeated visits begot familiarity, and familiarity begot friendship. The taught me their sign language, used strange and wondrous magicks on me to allow me to breathe as they do, and brought me to their home. They were a refuge to me as our home progressively evolved into a hostile space. It was they that gave me the bracelet. If they had offered, I would have stayed with them forever, to dwell in their waters.
Sister, they are coming to dwell on your land.
Tomorrow I go to join the crew of a ship. A new continent has been discovered, and I intend to be the first of those that would colonize it, in honor of his majesty, the king. I have deceived my crew mates and captain into thinking that I crave a thrilling new life in distant and strange lands; truly, I go less as an adventurer and instead as a refugee.
You must become a refugee as well; the Queen of the Deep craves conquest beyond the water’s edge.
Please take this letter seriously sister - leave our hometown immediately and go further inland. Find our cousins and live with them, or procure another place of safety. Do so as far from the sea as possible, but even if you don’t believe anything I’ve written, or still hold me in contempt within your heart, then at the very least please wear the coral bracelet I gave you years ago. It represents friendship, and they will never harm those who are considered friends. Your husband may be a different matter.
Goodbye Elaine, even if we’re far apart, you’ll always be my beloved sister.
With regret,
Richard
|
*Edits for clarification. Might have over-edited. Sticking with it. Went with the "I can see below the sea" angle, didn't follow the born with the gift part. Hope it still fits well enough!*
........
*Captains log,
Day 136:*
No land again. I knew before I climbed. I looked anyways.
No land.
*Captains log,
Day 143:*
I am alone. The crew is still manning the ship, but they're not here anymore. Just lifeless husks hoisting limp sails and dragging frayed rope.
When the deckhands aren't actively attending to our cage of a ship - they seem mechanical even doing that, like zombies - they stare blankly at the horizon. They barely eat; they've forgotten they need to.
I caught a fish last week, if you could call it that, just skin and scales draped over bones, and put it in a stew with the last of the carrots and potatoes. They ate what I gave them, but seemed not to notice as they were doing it. Spoon from bowl to mouth and back again, as the waves rise and fall so do their hands, but their eyes...
*Captains log,
Day 156:*
They used to ask when we'd see land. From my perch in the crows nest, I would call back that I saw nothing on the horizon - which is true. None of them even bothered to look down at the water, or if they did, they said nothing of it. After the second captain took charge, they stopped asking. I don't think they realized they had stopped. They just started staring.
That was.. 72 days ago. There have been two other captains before me. I can't remember their names. Did they have any? They must have. They're still here.
It wasn't a mutiny. They just stopped, and so I started. They stare with the others now.
*Captains log,
Day 161:*
I don't remember leaving home anymore. Just this murky blue wasteland, rolling us toward an endless sleep. I know the sleep will be endless; I know the sea will give it to me. I'm thankful they stopped asking if land is on the horizon. I wish beyond hope that they'd ask what's below it.
I see it sometimes. A shimmer, a pair of eyes, and it's gone again, fast enough that I could believe it a trick of the light. But the more I think, the more I *know*: it's not a trick. It's not a reflection.
*Captains log,
Day 167:*
I saw it today. A pair of eyes. Not from the water. From the deck. Below us. A shattered hull, torn masts. Our ship.
One pair of eyes, set deeply in a gaunt and hollowed out face - my face. The face of a man lost at sea, adrift on a pile of logs and bones. Peering over the edge of the deck, with a look as surprised as the sunstroked face could muster, barely held up by the skeletal body clutching the rail.
I am not surprised. I wait. One day I will not think to look, and one day, I will be gone. Another soulless face peering into the horizon to keep from seeing the abyss.
I understand now. I who am him. I'm not looking into the sea. I'm looking out of it.
*Captains log, Day 183*
I wish somebody else would look. Free me of this burden.
Free my reflection from its misery.
| 2021-11-06T14:11:14 | 2021-11-06T12:21:00 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!"
|
You come to, disoriented and desperately searching for anything familiar when you hear a voice.
"Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!"
Your eyes lock on to an old man--well, not that old. No older than his late fifties by the look of him.
"You have no idea how long I've waited!" You could hear the emotion as his voice cracked. A thin film moistens his eyes.
"Where are we?", you ask. "What is this place?"
"You don't remember? You couldn't have possibly expected a stunt like that to work!"
And then a fragment comes rushing back. You were on a bicycle, pedaling as hard as you could, careening down a slope with a strong wind at your back. You recall cardboard wings fastened to the bike's frame.
"I guess I didn't make it across then..."
"It was over 300 feet wide! Of course you didn't make it! Only two people in all of history have been dumb or crazy enough to try!" After a moments pause, he adds, "I've had a long time to think about it. I think it might just be possible, but it will take both of us. I think if we make it across, this nightmare will end. Something about unfinished business."
Suddenly the space around you comes into focus. You're standing on the edge of a massive canyon, wispy grass in all directions and a steep slope running several hundred feet in the distance. A shoddy plywood ramp is anchored at the cliff face. And there are two bicycles. You aren't quite sure why, but you feel a ring of truth to the old man's words. You'll be stuck here until you make that jump on that bicycle. As the panic threatens to overwhelm you, you calm your nerves with a deep breath. You sure have your work cut out for you. "Alright. Let's get this over with then. What's your plan?"
|
"W-Who, Who are you?! Where am I?"
The man grumbles something about young people these days. Then replies "Don't you know?"
Puzzled, I look around. The room was rather bland, a severe contrast to my bedroom. I look out a small window, the only in the room, to see nothing.
"No?.."
"Heaven, Kid, it's not what ya think or what anyone says. They divide you, by how you die."
"I-I didn't die," I say, half believing, half wishing. "I was only sitting in the tree, reading a book. How could I have died?"
"The same as me, you had fallen from the tree."
"Bu-"
"Ah, but not just fallen. You fell from a tree while reading The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, for the 99th time in your life. You were quite lost in its beauty. As you realized you had not had second breakfast, you went to climb the rope ladder. And as fate does his work, you misplaced your foot..."
"Ok, I-"
NO! The book fell, and your dog grabbed it and began chewing it to bits. Angrily, you continued to try to get down. Your other foot slipped and you hung by your weak arms. Naturally, you fell."
"And I-"
"NO! Your Aunt Teresa, the one who knits you ugly sweaters, had come to visit. Forgetting your book, you ran to hide in your room, but tripped on the patio stair."
I roll my eyes. "Let me guess, I am still not dead."
"Actually..., NO! Your dog ran over to you, dropping the book to play catch. Before you could get in a word, your crazy cousin, the child of Teresa, ran you over with his bike."
I began to believe that this was a crazy fever dream. Not just believe, it had to be.
"You then ran back up your tree for safety. But you fell on the last step up. Now, you are dead."
| 2021-11-24T12:11:36 | 2021-11-24T12:07:50 | 179 | 126 |
[WP] The villain thought that the first queer youth hero who came to him for advice was odd but he didn't think much of it. After the 13th one, though, he'd begun to suspect that the their coming to him was more than just coincidence
|
"Doctor Doomsday, sir?", my assistant Brenda said over my office desk phone's speaker, "You have a visitor. They are currently being detained in cell block four."
I glared at my phone, irritated and confused by the ever more common interruption. "Again?" I asked, making sure my frustration was clear in my tone.
"Yes Doctor. They rang the doorbell and asked to speak with you specifically."
I sighed, tossing my tablet on my desk with a flick of my metallic wrist. "Tell the guards to hold them. I will be there sometime this morning."
Cell block four was exclusively for Superheroes, reinforced against the most common powers like super strength. The guards in that block had power suppression devices, counter-Hero combat training, and, in the event I could ever capture my nemesis WalkMan, white noise machines. For a random walk-in to be detained here, after willingly approaching my Doomsday Fort...
I pushed the button on the speakerphone once again. "Brenda, how old is the prisoner?" I asked.
"They are approximately 17, according to our bioscanners." She replied crisply.
I curled a cyborg hand into a fist. These teenage supers had kept coming to me for 'advice' like I was some high school councilor. I had an entire free wellness clinic set up in the city center, as part of several of my ongoing plans, that would have served them far better than I could, if I actually wanted to try.
I made my way to cell block 4, stopping along the way to check in with some of my newer employees. It was always good to keep a high morale within a villainous organization like mine, to prevent any disgruntled minion from helping a doo-gooder hero. A smile, a clap on a back, a quick question about the status of a spouse or child, all cost me mere seconds but made the minion's whole day.
When I finally reached cell block four, two of my guards greeted me. "She's in cell D", one told me. "She's been asking for you specifically."
"Then she shall have an audience." I said, walking past the guards. "Prepare the crematorium, in case she gives me an unsatisfactory performance."
I stopped in front of the cell door, and saw the young hero seated at the small desk within. She had short, spiked hair, dyed a vibrant blue... but as I watched, it shifted to a dark purple, and then a bright red.
Interesting.
I opened the door, but made no move to enter. The girl inside spun on her chair, startled by my sudden appearance.
"Doctor Doomsday", she said, in a false deep voice that made her sound far less intimidating than she probably thought it did. Her hair flushed to jet black as she spoke. "I, uh, I wanted to ask you-"
"Why do you *children* keep interrupting my Fortress of Doomitude?" I interrupted, using an actually intimidating tone. I had spent hundreds of hours practicing with a voice coach to achieve the perfect villainous sound to my speech, and added bio-mechanical subwoofers to amplify the effect.
The young woman cringed, while her hair shifted to a mustard yellow color. "Sorry" she said, trying to make herself look smaller in any way she could. "Its just, there's not a lot of LGBTQ+ heroes or villains out there for us to ask for advice."
I glared at the girl, confused. "Girl... I am married to a woman. I am not any of those letters you just jumbled out."
She tilted her head in confusion, and her hair turned to a salt-and-pepper grey. "But... you proposed to WalkMan... we though you two..."
She dug through a cargo pocket on her pants and brought out a printed photograph. I used my mechanical eye to zoom in on the picture, only to see a candid shot of me on one knee, ring raised towards a defensive WalkMan. I was asking WalkMan to be my 'official Nemesis', proposing with a sarcastic flourish of a sinister blade ring trap. It had removed his finger only moments after this picture was taken.
"It was all over the news, we were so happy for you two..."
I uttered a thoughtful grunting sound, considering my next move. If I could structure this right, this was a massive opportunity for me...
"I'm sorry to disappoint, but that was a trick. The ring contained a blade that later removed one of his fingers." I said, taking some of the edge out of my voice. I quickly resumed speaking as her features fell, changing her hair color to a sad deep grey. "However, I am an ally of the LGBTQ+ people. I know that there aren't any currently active queer heros on the grand stage. I understand how hard that can be for people such as yourself."
I took a step into the cell, and sat on the edge of the unused bed. I clasped my mechanical hands together, trying to relax my villainous demeanor in front of the girl. "So... what did you want to ask?"
The girl's short hair turned a vibrant pink as she perked up. "Well, I was going to ask how you handled being a gay villain, but since you're straight..."
I smiled at the young woman. "I am straight, yes. But I have a few henchmen and general employees who are in the LGBTQ+ community."
Her hair turned an even more brilliant shade of pink, to a degree I had never seen before. "Really?" Her eyes sparkled as well, with the same ultra pink hue.
"Yes. Would you like to speak with one of them?" I asked, offering a lifeline to the confused girl.
"Absolutely! Thank you, that would be great!" She said, bouncing to her feet. She was taller than I had assumed, probably close to six feet tall.
I stood and stepped out of the cell, back into the hallway. "I'll get that arranged. If you're interested, we offer internships here at Doomsday Inc. I would assign you to the powered henchmen division, headed by Stephan. He and his husband would love to speak with you."
The woman's hair turned a dull blue, and she erupted into tears. Before I could react, she was embracing me in a massive hug, sobbing into my lab coat.
I returned the hug, holding her until the sobs quieted down. "Sorry" she sniffled, wiping an errant tear from her cheek. "Its just... my parents... they kicked me out, and..."
I turned to one of the guards. "Please ask Stephan to come here. I want to introduce him to his newest team member."
The woman's hair returned to its vibrant pink hue, with the tips of the spikes showing some remnants of the blue I had come to associate with sadness. "Thank you" she whispered, and hugged me again.
"Welcome to the Doomsquad." I said, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
/r/SlightlyColdStories
|
"For the last time," shouted Paradox, "I'm not gay!"
The young superhero flinched away, terrified of his potential wrath. He wore a white spandex suit with a red cape, and the insignia of Earth's Finest across his chest. Yet another indoctrinated youth seeking advice.
Paradox sighed. He didn't even know the kid's name. Must be a recent addition to the team. "How did you even get in here? This is a fortress! I literally just finished renovating the defenses."
The kid made a bashful grimace, then twisted his torso like rubber and said:
"When I mentioned I wasn't straight, I meant it in more ways than one."
Paradox uttered a low growl. The teenager must've squeezed through the crevices of the base. How annoying. It's not like Paradox could account for every single superpower in existence, but still, this was the thirteenth time one of them had infiltrated his hideout. Paradox knew it was only a matter of time before another wayward youth approached him, but he didn't think it'd be this soon after the construction work. He went on to say:
"What do you want?"
"I... heard from Icicle that you gave good advice."
Paradox closed his eyes, frustrated. Showing sympathy to that one kid had proven to be more troublesome than anticipated.
"Are you really not gay?"
Paradox frowned.
The kid took a step back. "I didn't mean to offend!"
Paradox took a moment to calm down. "Is it that hard to believe?"
"W-well... yeah. You're so..."
Paradox widened his arms, challenging him. "What? Go on! You've already invaded my home! Are you really going to get all shy now?"
"You're very flamboyant," blurted out the kid, "Plus, one of your henchmen is this super buff guy that never wears a shirt, and always carries you around. Not to mention your obsession with Ultraman."
Paradox pressed his lips together. When put that way, he could see the impression he could be giving off. "Fine. At least you had the guts to tell me."
"I mean, if you have such a problem with it, why don't you-"
Paradox arched an eyebrow. "Act straighter?"
The kid scratched the back of his head, glancing away. "I wouldn't put it that way..."
"And *that's* my problem. Everyone is so vain and superficial that they think a person's character boils down to shallow traits. I know who I am! I know what I like! I don't have to bend over backwards just to prove to strangers how straight I am!"
"Then why does it bother you?"
Paradox narrowed his eyes. "Do *you* like it when people assume you're straight?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Why don't you act *gayer* then?"
The young superhero squinted, tilting his head a little. "I uhh... Huh. I hadn't thought of it that way."
"Exactly."
The young superhero hung his head, almost ashamed.
Paradox started to feel a little guilty. He was unloading his anger on the kid. It wasn't fair to him. "Whatever," said Paradox, "Why are you looking for advice?"
"You'll really listen?"
"Sure, you're already here, and I don't harm children, so it's not like I'm fighting you or anything. It's the quickest way to get you out of my life."
"There's this boy on the team... his name is Powerhouse. He and I... we entered the team together, and we've been close friends ever since, but on our last mission, we got caught in a bad situation."
"Eh?"
"Not like that! I'm saying we almost died. After it was over, he gave me a big hug, and I..."
"Go on..."
"I got a boner."
Paradox widened his eyes. "Oh."
"Yeah..."
"How did he react?"
"It got awkward, to say the least. Powerhouse just backed away and we haven't spoken since. I don't know what to do. He's my best friend, and I don't want to lose him, but... I think I'm in love with him."
Paradox nodded. "I see. Does he know you're gay?"
The kid shook his head. "It's something I keep close to the chest. You never know how someone will react, you know?"
"That's a problem. I understand your reservations, but it shows a lack of trust in him."
"But-"
Paradox raised his hand. "I know what you were probably thinking. 'If I tell him how I feel, he won't treat me the same anymore'. It happens to straight people too. Unfortunately, it's a little... manipulative."
"Manipulative?"
"Think of it from his perspective, every interaction you've had will now be re-contextualized through this lens. You can't change how he feels. All you're doing is prolonging the inevitable. The longer it goes on, the more it will feel like you were only his friend to get in his pants."
"I wasn’t! It just happened!"
"I'm not saying that's what you were doing. It's just that any relationship, platonic or romantic, that is built on miscommunication is always bound to fail."
"But I love him!"
"No, you don't. You're a horny teenager. I know this is hard to grasp right now, but just because you got a boner doesn't mean that you're in love. It's a chemical reaction."
The kid pouted. "So what do I do?"
"You have to be honest with him. And if he still can't get over it, that's on *him*, not you. Don't let it affect your self-worth. Trust me, it's better to talk these things out than to let it boil up. You'll only hurt yourself and others."
The young superhero nodded. "Okay... I think you're right."
"I *know* I'm right."
The kid smiled. "You know, you're not as much of a villain as I thought you'd be."
"Exactly!” Paradox emphasized his point with an elegant twirl of his hands. “That's why I'm the best person suited to rule the world!"
"Uhh..."
Paradox frowned. "Whatever."
"Just, one last question."
"Sure."
"Why do you help us?"
"I'm not against people, I'm against the status quo, kid. Forcing society to do better will always get you branded a villain. I may not be gay, but I know what it's like to be isolated, and to feel as lesser, just because you don't fit society's mold. It's not fair to anyone."
"I'm pretty sure you're a villain because of all the politicians you tried to bomb. Don't you think you'd be more effective as a good guy?"
"Just get the hell out of here."
The kid chuckled. "Forget I asked."
----------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
| 2022-07-08T07:53:41 | 2022-07-08T07:45:02 | 1,663 | 595 |
[WP]The potion seller places the love potion of the counter and say "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?"
|
The potion seller places the love potion on the table. "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?"
I laugh. It's a quiet sound, with no real humor in it. "Why would anyone be in love with me?"
The saleswoman takes her time replying, drumming her fingers on the table. "This is your first time at my stall, but I see you at the market every month. You make a few small purchases, exchange a little conversation, and leave."
"You're very observant."
She chuckles. "There's not much else for me to do. This isn't a town with much love for witches, at least not in public. Most of my sales happen after dark. So I watch."
I scratch my arm. It's not itchy, but the movement and, yes, the hint of pain, serve as a distraction from the woman's penetrating gaze. She seemed content to let the moment linger. "When you watch, what do you see?" I finally ask.
"I see your kindness to strangers. I see smiles as people interact with you."
"They're just being polite."
"I see more than politeness in people's reactions. I see genuine goodwill that could easily blossom into friendship."
I try, unsuccessfully, to hold back a tear. "I can't see it. I want to, but it just doesn't feel right. I'm not that person, not really. And if they see who I really am..." I take a deep breath. "Please. I really need this love potion."
She looks at me for a long moment, and my breath catches in my throat. Then she smiles. "I think I understand. Ten dollars for the potion, and a discount on your next purchase if you bring the bottle back. And do feel free to drop by for a chat anytime you're in the area."
I accept the paper bag she gives me with shaky hands. I take it straight to my car. I drive carefully, aware of every bump in the road.
When I enter my apartment, I close the door with a sigh. It's dim. I haven't gotten around to replacing the broken lightbulbs, and two bulbs are trying to do the work of five. The potion emits a soft glow, too faint to see in the full light of day.
I wander into the bathroom. Did the witch know what I intend to do with the potion? She had to. She saw more than most. And soon, hopefully, so would I.
I uncork the bottle, close my eyes, and drink. I don't feel any different. Am I supposed to feel different? I am excruciatingly aware of the summer heat, the hum of traffic outside, the rough texture of my shirt across my shoulders...
I sigh. Maybe it's not meant to be.
I open my eyes, and I see it.
For the first time in a long while, I look into the dirty bathroom mirror and feel happy. I see hope. I see a good person. Not a perfect person, of course, but a person who is worthy of other people's love. For the first time in a long while, I truly see myself.
I smile and pick up my phone to call a friend.
|
Tick tick tick.
The old grandfather clock chimed in the background as my hand hovered over the swirling red potion.
“Yes. I’m sure,” I said.
The lady behind the counter squinted her eyes at me. They seemed to dart around my body searching for something before settling back on my eyes.
“Then there is nothing to worry about,” a toothy grin spread on her face as her bony fingers curled upwards.
I dropped some coins into her palm. They clinked together with what sounded like many others as she placed them under the counter.
“What would happen if..?”
“The potion creates love, but love can also be forgotten. But you have nothing to worry about dearie seeing as though don’t love you already.” She waved her hands towards the door. I smiled quickly as I held the small vial.
“Remember. It only works once.” Her voice seemingly pierced through the smallest crack left in the door as it shut behind me. I held the vial to the sun and watched as the red liquid oozed and swirled with hints of pink as the bottle glistened.
I knew what I was doing was wrong and that two wrongs wouldn’t make a right. Shouldn’t make a right. But maybe… I hurried home.
I arrived back to find the door unlocked. Ellie was already here. I quickly pocketed the vial and walked in. The air inside felt much cooler than outside. I felt the airs on my neck stand to attention as I walked to the kitchen to see Ellie twiddling her thumbs on the table.
I knocked on the door frame. She jumped.
“Martin-“ she said.
“I know we need to talk. I’m just going to make some tea first. Would you like some?”
“Oh. Okay.” I scooted past and quickly boiled some water. When Ellie looked distracted I pulled out the vial and quickly emptied it into her cup. I placed the steaming cups back on the table and sat with her.
“Sorry about interrupting. What were you saying?” I said. I cradled my tea as my hands nervously ran around the rim of the cup.
“Right, Martin,” she said as she took a sip. She took a second to continue. “What you did… it hurt me. Deeply. But I know you. And I trust you when you say it was a drunken accident. And I’m willing to give you another chance. I love you.” She smiled.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I grimaced as the wobbly thoughts from the night in question returned. Blotches of memories that couldn’t be patched together to form any semblance of a coherent story, but enough to know what I’d done. I felt the knot in my stomach tighten as I remembered the woman from that night. I hated what I’d done. I hated what I was doing now. But it was a mistake. A one time error. I shook my head. That’s when I realised Ellie was still staring ahead vacantly, smiling.
I waved my hand in front of her face and called her name. Nothing. I banged my hand on the table and she jumped again.
“Sorry. I spaced out. Wait… where am I?” She pushed back from the table knocking her chair over.
“And who are you?”
| 2022-07-28T12:49:48 | 2022-07-28T10:06:31 | 904 | 125 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer.
|
The agent had an air of confidence around him that John recognized. The kind of confidence that someone had when they thought they stood at a good bargaining position. But John would not waver.
"You would be a legend, you know that?" the agent said.
"I'm not interested in the glory. That's why I didn't do this as a teenager." John replied, still humoring the man across from him at the diner. He had just wanted a bite to eat before work, and didn't feel like making something before he left. But then this government agent had sat down with him, as if they were old friends who ran into each other by chance.
"Then what about the money? You will be compensated well. Much better than your current position."
"It's not about the money. It's about the security. It's knowing that I have the same thing waiting for me at work every day, and knowing that every day I will get home at the same time as my wife." John was annoyed. But this wasn't the first time he had been ambushed by a recruiter, and he was not surprised by any of this.
"We can be flexible with the schedule." The agent persisted.
"It's not about the schedule. My current job doesn't endanger my family. There is a zero percent chance that my family gets hurt in my line of work, and an almost zero percent chance that I will get hurt." John said calmly, as if he had rehearsed this speech.
"You're basically invulnerable, there is little chance that you will be hurt in this line of work, too."
"I know that, but were you even listening? I said my family has no chance of being hurt in my line of work now."
The agent still spoke with that consistent confidence. "We can protect your family."
"No, you can't. Someone always comes for them."
"You can have a secret identity. No one will know who your family is."
"Secret identities leak."
"John, it's not like the old days. Security is much better now than it used to be."
John shook his head. Was this guy an idiot? Did he really just call a time a decade ago 'the old days?' He stopped to take a drink of water, and let the agent stew for a moment.
"Villains are always finding new ways to hurt people. I don't believe they will be safe forever."
"That's why we need you. It's your responsibility to protect the weak."
John sighed. His patience was wearing thin. "No, it is *your* responsibility. You're the government. It's your purpose to protect people."
The agent did not have a slick comeback for this one, instead he shifted gears. Good cop was seemingly gone, and they didn't even bother bringing in a new guy to play Bad Cop.
"John, you seem to like your wife. Is she the only thing keeping you from this line of work?"
John shifted gears immediately. The agent had made a mistake, and he was not going to let the moment pass.
"Do you remember Black Dagger?"
The agent's eyes sparked with realization. Black Dagger had been a professional villain organization, responsible for some very high-profile scores over the years, and they were notorious for their aggressive hiring techniques.
One day, police responded to a homicide call at an abandoned warehouse. Inside was the entire upper echelon of Black Dagger, and they were all dead. Bodyguards, the big bosses, even some supervillains. All killed, except for their Kidnapping Logistics Manager, who was tortured to the point of being mangled, and he probably still wishes he died like all the others. And the government never found out who was responsible for taking the organization down.
John saw the gears turning in the agent's head. He pushed the matter, lowering his voice so that no one else could hear him but the agent. Now it was his turn to be confident.
"I give everyone one chance to walk away. You just threatened my wife. If you even hint about it again, I will slay you and your entire cohort of worker bees. Do you understand?"
The agent spoke again, but this time the confident tone was gone. Replaced was a monotone voice, with a subtle hint of fear breaking through to the surface. "Yes. But you must understand that it is my job to get you to work for us."
"And it is my right to say no."
"I know."
"Then give me your business card, and you can tell your boss that you tried."
|
“Yowza! Look at those muscles! Wam, bam, *wapow!*"
Tim turned around. The man behind him was at least twice Tim's age and balding. “Can I help you?” Tim asked.
“I'm just taken aback is all. I thought I was in line for a coffee,” the man raised an eyebrow and struck a pose, flexing biceps that were imperceptible in an oversized military uniform. “Not a gun show."
"Sir, I just woke up."
"You might've woken a little something inside me too, if you know what I mean." The man adjusted his glasses. "Awooga!"
"Right. I'm just here for the coffee."
"Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a Super, would you?”
"Ah," Tim flashed a knowing smile. "I see where this is going. Sorry, not interested.”
The man frowned. "I think there may be a misunderstanding here. Do you... do you think this is some some sort of slimy recruitment pitch?”
“Is it not?”
“Do I look like a Recruiter to you?”
"Your shoulder patch says ‘Department of Recruitment.’”
“Ohoho, brawny *and* smart?" The man grinned. "Look at me, I’m salivating! You hit the nail in the nuts, kid. I'm a recruiter but there's nothing slimy about my pitch.”
"Not interested." Tim began turning away but the man stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Tell me, what do you do for work, Tim?”
“None of your business,” Tim tried to disengage, but found it surprisingly difficult. The physical contact felt awkward, but pulling away more so.
“Secretive too? You’re ticking *all* the right boxes! Just answer me this-"
Tim grabbed the mans wrist, careful not to crush it. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch me. I’m just trying to get a coffee–”
The man took a step back and raised his palms. “Of course! Don’t let me stop you.”
As Tim turned back around, the man's hand was on his shoulder again.
“But let me stop you a little bit. Just answer me this: don't you feel like you owe something to society? Haven't you always wanted to *be* somebody?”
Tim smiled. "I *am* somebody. I'm a father. I'm a husband. I'm a damn good dentist. As for society, I don't owe anything more than the balance on my mortgage. You think that just because I was born with super strength and spit that tastes like bubblegum I have some duty to risk my neck at the slightest hint of trouble?"
"Yes."
"Trust me, I've thought about being a hero. For a while that's all I wanted to be. Then I did some free lance vigalantizing and ended up in the hospital my first gig. Reality check: super strength doesn't mean invincible. As for bubblegum spit, that's only 'super' in the bedroom."
The man raised his eyebrows and let the silence linger. Tim shook his head. He was surprised this recruiter had managed to get so far under his skin. "Look, maybe if I were stronger. Maybe if I didn't have so much to lose. But as things stand..."
"I get it," the man sighed, draping his arm around Tim's shoulder. “You want to kick ass and chew bubblegum, but you’re never out of bubblegum are you?"
Tim almost pulled away again, but he felt tears welling up. “Fucking everything tastes like bubblegum.”
“You know, you're right. It’s a shit job being a hero. If I'm being honest with you, I wouldn’t do it myself. I'm just a recruiter.”
“I appreciate the honesty.”
"Of course." The man put a hand on Tim's cheek. "But you know what? Somebody has to do it.”
“Somebody?” The word had a nice ring to it.
"Yep. A *real* somebody." The man's hand moved onto Tim’s forehead, “you know who that somebody is?”
Tim felt a sudden sense of purpose. "It's me, isn't it?"
“Atta’boy!”
"I’ve always wanted to be a hero..." Tim muttered, staring off into space.
The man patted Tim on the back and stepped around him in line. "One black coffee, please."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe.
| 2022-07-31T12:29:02 | 2022-07-31T11:50:27 | 1,657 | 142 |
[WP] Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is.
|
They scanned the human to see that they are a level ten threat. Confused, they continued checking through people and then back to them.
"Oh? Don't worry, that's just the Queen."
The queen of the hive? The human everyone has spawned from?
"Queen of England, mate. She's been here for years. Some call her immortal. I'd be careful if I were you"
The being wasn't very nimble or quick, they seemed ancient. Cautious they moved away from the upper corners of the world. Most humans seemed to respect this Queen. They stayed away observing her movements. They wouldn't invade until her reign ended, uncertain of her true power.
Long Live The Queen.
|
The aliens were almost done with their regular scanning routine to identify any galactic threats.
When they were scanning the life on a terrestrial planet 17 light-years away, all the specimens were labeled as 1's. The lowest possible threat. Just as they were about to end the scanning, however, a level 10 threat appeared. It was the strongest being in the universe.
They immediately traveled all the way to the planet, and found that the level 10 threat now resides in a groovy van.
"What's a 'mystery machine'?" One of them said.
"I don't know," the other said, "but it must be some sort of evil lair."
They opened the door, only to be greeted by a man in a green shirt and a talking dog.
The last thing the aliens heard was "This must be, like, an alien invasion" as the man cracked his knuckles.
| 2022-08-28T05:12:28 | 2022-08-28T03:59:49 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Apparently the opposite is true as well, because you are a villain, or at least you aspire to be one, but all your evil plans always end up saving the world and/or massively benefiting the people and you are hailed as a hero.
|
"Well, how was I supposed to know they would LIKE it?" Spitfire yelled angrily.
"I mean.. Look, kid... I get that you want to be the bad guy here, but you're just not good at it. I said I'd mentor you... But that was when I thought you had a chance. It's time to face reality, Spitfire. You're a hero," Professor Doomsday explained rather bluntly.
"I am NOT a hero... I'm a villain! Look at all of the bad things I've done."
"Name one bad thing... One." Professor Doomsday waited patiently as Spitfire's face contorted into a thoughtful yet deeply perplexed expression.
"Well, remember that one time I released all that static electricity over a group of children?"
Doomsday just about facepalmed himself right there but instead rolled his eyes. "You released balloons... Over a children's birthday party... Not electricity. You even made headlines, " WANNABE VILLIAN RELEASES BIRTHDAY FUN OVER CHILDREN'S PARTY."
Eager to please, Spitfire continued, "Well, what about when I killed all those dogs people were playing with at the pet store?"
"They were raccoons. RABID raccoons. And they were at the animal control headquarters, not the pet store. They would kill them anyway; you just saved them the hassle."
"... But I did kill them! That's pretty evil, yeah?"
"You saved a shitton of people from a possible rabies infection, AND they left you a case of beers outside your lair afterward as a thank you. Not evil, not even a bit."
"Okay, well, I made a bomb threat in the middle of Times Square on New Year's Eve last year. All those people were scared for their lives, and panic ensued throughout the city. It was chaos!" The young villain-in-training smiled proudly with his retort.
Dumbfounded by the sheer cluelessness of his mentoree, Doomsday said, "You CALLED IN a bomb threat. You did not MAKE a bomb threat. You saw what you thought was a bomb, and you called and REPORTED it to the authorities. The governor awarded you a medal for your service to the city."
|
"In new today: the mystery hero is at it again, saving a puppy clinic from a hurricane, who is he? Stay tuned for word from our investigator" *click*
They're at it again, calling me a hero.
Well what did you expect sir? After what happened yesterday?
How was I supposed to know the hurricane I created would be diverted by my magnetron rather than attracted to it?
Well you could've done the calculatio.. I'm not having this discussion again!
My next plan is my most evil yet! The minion sighed He always says that, he thought. And he's usually right, yet somehow... Falancor, you are Dismised! The villain exclaimed.
Oh yes, still enough time tonight to hit the casino, he's been doing well lately batting against his boss, but this can't go on forever.
6 month later...
Falancor looked at his boss and the look of despair on his face.
You're going to rule them aren't you? What's the issue?
They **elected** me! ME!! They should fear me! They need to learn what I've learned. That life is cruel and all hope is lost, yet somehow they turn it around. Every hardship I throw at them, they overcome and flourish.
Well, you did cure cancer for them sir...
You know very well I was trying to create a super cancer! If that rat hasn't escaped with my antidote before the trial was complete. And they only found out it was me because someone leaked my secret genetic signature.
Boy did you kill a lot of minions that night. He said. Come to think of it it was quite lucky he never found out I'm the one who improperly shredded the files. Such negligence was sure to get him thrown in a volcano.
So what's our next move?
Maybe I should just accept my fate? Take the position and be a good leader? The boss was visibly uncomfortable from saying the G word.
No! You're the one who taught me I can always be evil, even when things seem good for a time. Even when I had HOPE, you stood by me and you made me remember why we do this. Why they must fear us!
You will make them miserable sir!
Thank you Falancor. You were always my best minion!
I'll go back to my scheming. Falancor stood a little faller that afternoon. It only lasted until the evening news anounnced world peace. This was going to be a hard day.
| 2022-09-08T11:54:49 | 2022-09-08T11:38:38 | 599 | 82 |
[WP] No one took you serious, the necromancer that could hardly raise anything bigger than a fly. They considered you harmless, but your army of zom-bees, millions and millions of them, begs to differ.
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In a world deep with magical wonders, where someone can summon gods and demons to do their bidding, uproot a mountain or freeze an entire sea, no one even gives me a glance, a simple necromancer that could hardly raise anything bigger than a fly.
I come from a family of Necromancers, and have a pretty high standard given to me, as our family is quite famous (grandma was grand champion of the Kingdom’s Magic Tournament 10 years in a row during her prime). My older brother raised an undead great jungle wurm and joined the Kingdom’s Royal Army, while my older sister raised grandma (we still not sure how to feel about it, but grandma is really proud of her…).
So when it’s my turn to show my magic, my family is pretty cool with it, and instead of disowning me for bringing shame to the family and junk, they simply send me away to a family cabin, way out in a remote location of the farthest district of the country. Fine by me, I can focus on my magical study and training of my own limited necromancer power.
It was five years later when a tragedy struck the kingdom. An evil mage calling himself the Bug King declares war against the kingdom. With the magic to control insects, he summoned them from all over the kingdom as his army. At the height of the battle, the bug king swarm of insects is so thick it covers the entire sky, and the Royal Army had to resort to burning / freezing them to get to the Bug King and defeat him. After the crisis is over, several people noted the swarm is mostly made up of bees, but everyone's main concern is how to get rid of it all. Big brother sarcastically said to send them to me for my ‘study’, which the King overheard and immediately ordered the rest of the Army. Imagine my surprise when I returned from a trip back home to a humongous pile of dead bugs all around my cabin ..
It didn't take long for problems to appear all over the Kingdom.Plants start dying left and right, with flowers the one to go first. Attributing it to bad weathers at first, the situation quickly grew worse as food supply and trading goods were affected. Many groups of researchers went all over the kingdom to find out the cause of this blight, and through observation and deduction, they figured it out, the bees. In areas where the local bees are gone or severely diminished due to the Bug King actions, the blight is unstoppable while in more remote areas where the local bees are largely unaffected, the plants are still healthy. The bees are responsible for the pollination, a very important part of a plant life cycle and continuation of new generations.
The King called an emergency meeting with all his Royal Advisors and highest ranking officers of the Royal Army. The Bug King action has severely depleted the Kingdom bees population, and there isn't enough of those remaining to spread them to the rest of the Kingdom. Even the Kingdom's best magician is stumped, having to create such small magical constructs to replace bees as pollination agents will take many years to study and produce a result. Importing foreign bees from other Kingdom too is out of the option, since the Kingdom’s relation with its neighbour is not that good (especially since the Birthday Party Incident of 773).
When all hope is lost, a researcher bursts into the room, bearing good news. It seems a single district of the Kingdom has been spared from the bee-less blight. The plants and flowers there are flourishing too, a stark contrast to the rest of the Country. Hearing this, the King immediately organized a trip there, to watch this miracle with his own eye (the other eye is currently missing due to the Birthday Party Incident).
​
Along with all his Royal Advisors and officers of the Royal Army, what they saw there astounded them. Swarms of undead bees moving around from plants and flowers, as if they were still alive. When the locals were asked, they said a friendly Necromancer that’s been living in a cabin nearby started using them not long after the Bug King incident a while back.
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"Hey, it's Necksy! You raise any crickets today?" Laughter emanated throughout the mess hall as I passed with my dinner tray firmly in hand. I looked down and mentally focused on my bees, trying to let the other students' painful taunts slide even as they hurt so much. The bees were my hope - my ticket out of this stupid academy and away from these pompous elitist kids who only practiced the most popular magic and wore brand-name designer robes. Not a single one of them was even the slightest bit interested in bugs or raising the dead. They all wanted to be fancy high wizards that sat next to the Kings of the realm in court.
I stared into my bowl, vacantly studying the brown sludge that the Academy dared call soup while I ruminated in my thoughts. *One day they would listen.* One day I would use my powers to raise an army of millions of bees that could take any one of them down in a minute. Then and only then would they stop and appreciate me, forced to bow at the feet of my incredible prowess. If only I could get the spell right. If only they wouldn't immediately die every single time I got them to twitch. I aimlessly stirred the soup before deciding to toss it. No hunger was strong enough for this crap. I grabbed my bag and left the dinner tray on the table, walking outside to a gorgeous sunset of purple and gold.
"Finished?" a creepy voice came from behind.
When I turned, I saw a man in a black cloak with a drab gray face staring intently at me.
"Yes?" I asked.
"You don't know who I am, but I've been watching you closely. Perhaps I may be of assistance?"
He evoked the utmost suspicion, but feeling like I could use help, any help at all, I decided to continue. "Yes?"
"I know how to make insect zombies."
"Really?" It felt too good to be true. How had I happened upon this incredulous luck?
"Yes, indeed. I can help you, for a price of course."
"And what would that be?"
"Your allegiance to me for the rest of your existence, both mortal and immortal."
"That sounds like a steep price to pay," I looked at him carefully.
"Is it, though? For the first time ever you would have more than a sweet victory against the bullies who torment you. For once, you would be the winner. They will not only bow to you, but they will call you great. A force to be reckoned with. Your insect army will give every administrator in this school great pause, they'll even talk about you in the papers. Just think of all that power." He smiled, revealing no teeth.
Feeling disturbed, I backed off. "Hey, who are you, anyway?"
"Never mind who I am, child. Who are you? Without me, you'll never get those bees to fly a day in your life. Without me you're just the pathetic loser they say you are. Without me, the rest of your life will be one failed attempt after another of becoming anything at all, and you'll surely drown your sorrows at the tavern penniless and with no friends or family. You have one chance, now, to reach out and grab your destiny. Take life by the horns, or should I say the hive."
His words rang true. Deep down inside I knew he was right. Nobody had ever loved me, and nobody ever will. I was just weird.
"So what does being allegiant to you mean?"
"It means you'll follow my commands for the rest of your days. Through me, child, you will never be weak again. My commands will strengthen you, build you, morph you into the thing you always wanted to be."
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I still had some doubts but didn't want to lose this opportunity. This was my only chance to not be a loser.
"Yes, child. Come take my hands and we'll say the ritual together. Then I'll teach you how to channel your darkest energy, your blackest mana, the power you have deep within to reject the fabric of this ridiculous human society and its pitiful wizards."
The sun set below the horizon. A chill came over me as I reached for his hands.
\--------
My personal site - r/StoriesToThinkAbout
| 2022-11-10T23:02:28 | 2022-11-10T20:31:56 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] A young door-to-door salesman, who is also a renown serial killer, is craftily avoided by an old, best-selling crime novelist.
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*2317 Mueller Drive*
It's the next on my list. It is an unassuming single family home with an unkept lawn and large bay windows whose curtains are always drawn. Like any other house on the list, I will attempt to peddle some cheaply made kitchen gadget for an exorbitant amount of money the second the door opens for me. Where this house stands above the rest, however, is in its sole occupant.
*Knock knock, Kenny.*
Kenneth Strong is a novelist who's been selling people sensationalized accounts of my work for the last few years and I think it's time I sat him down and went over some of the corrections that need to be made in his descriptions of my technique. It's too bad he won't get to write about them. After a moment I raise my hand up to the door to knock again and it opens, revealing an unkempt man wearing a bath robe and sweats. He reeks of alcohol and squints at me like he hasn't seen the sun in weeks. For a moment I almost feel like I'm here to do him a favor.
"Can I help you?" he asks.
"Good morning, I'm going door-to-door in the area and I was wondering if you had a minute to talk?" I feign enthusiasm and do my best to inject a personality into my plastic smile. It's funny how charisma works when you're working with a blank canvas.
He regards me with a melange of suspicion and irritation that I can't quite place my finger on, but he doesn't answer.
"I'm not interrupting something, am I?" I motion behind him to the interior of his home, humoring him by pretending to think there's anything resembling a life or people who care about him on the other side of that door.
"No, no, sorry. Look I'm sorry, but I'm not really interested in magazine subscriptions or whatever it is you're selling." He begins to back away and close the door. This is my only chance, I can't let that door finish closing.
"Mr Strong, please, I promise you this will only take a few minutes of your time. I'm just trying to meet a quota here, you let me give you my spiel and I'll be out of your hair whether you want to buy something or not. You won't have to ask me twice to leave once I'm finished."
The door opens back up. He stares at me for a moment, thinking. "Fine, come on."
He turns around and I follow him into the house, closing the door behind me and quietly locking it. On his living room wall he has framed newspaper clippings detailing my work. In a trophy case below them he has perfect replicas of my knives. For a moment I forget what I'm in this man's house to do, I'm staring at all of the memorabilia he has and I'm speechless. A part of me feels like I should be flattered, but I'm not. I feel exposed, like this writer has taken the most private parts of who I am and aired them out in his living room. As trophies.
I can sense that he's staring at me from behind. I've looked for too long. "So are you a fan?"
I crane my head over my shoulder without turning around completely. I'm still fixated. "Huh? Oh, yes, I guess you could say that."
He eyes me suspiciously. A drink has appeared in his hand out of nowhere. "You guess? I'm not quite sure how to take that, but as long as you're buying the books *I guess* I'll take that as a compliment."
I turn around to face him. "To tell you the truth, Mr Strong, your house wasn't actually on my list. I just happened to realize where I was on my route this morning and I had a few extra minutes. I wanted to meet you to tell you what I think of your work."
He brings his glass to his lips and sips his drink without breaking eye contact. "If that was all you wanted, then why did you use the salesman pitch? I mean does that really get good results for you? 'Hi, I'm John Doe, would you like to buy fifty copies of Shoe Shine Magazine and by the way can I come into your place?'"
I don't actually know what to say at this point. Clearly ego is not the quick way to get this man's guard down. I just kind of stare back at him, slack-jawed and derailed. His expression hasn't changed since he first opened the door and I'm starting to think this isn't going to go down as smoothly as all the others. "Well, now that you've thrown it out there, what did you want to tell me about my work?" he asks.
*Your work.* It's *my* work, you obnoxious little prick.
"I... I just think--it's fascinating the way you capture the details of these crimes, it's like you're actually there when it takes place, watching him at work."
"That's it? After all that, that's all you came here to say? Don't waste my time, you could have read that off the back of the slip cover." He pauses. "Tell you what? I can see you're anxious, and this whole standing in the living room thing is starting to feel a little tense, why don't we step out into the backyard, I'll pour you a drink, and we can talk?" It's a rhetorical question. He slips past me and goes out into his backyard before I can even make an attempt to keep him in the house. I can't tell if he's a bumbling idiot who's incredibly difficult to kill or if he's onto me. My instincts tell me now is the time to back off, but I can't let this go.
I follow him out into the backyard and he's already seated in a lawn chair, sunglasses on, with his glass refilled and my drink poured. Without being too obvious I scan the surroundings. Two of the three neighboring houses have second floors with clear views of the backyard. I can't do it here. Shit. I drape my jacket across the back of my chair and sit down next to him, determined to see this thing through.
He lazily swings his head over and looks at me from the corner of his eye. "So why don't you tell me what you're really doing here. Are you some kind of fetishist with a hard-on for serial killers?"
"I-- no... what? What would make you think that I--"
"--Ya know, come to think of it, nobody actually knows if the killer is male or female, but you seem to suggest that it's a 'he.' What would lead you to that conclusion?"
Fuck. "I don't know, I was just talking, I didn't really mean anything by it."
Underneath the small table separating us I hear a gun cock. "Why don't you empty out that backpack and let me see what's inside it?" There is no way this is happening. I've been outsmarted by a goddamn drunk. I hesitate for a moment, but as the smile creeps across his face I can see he isn't bluffing. "Now, salesman. I'm not afraid to shoot you. Even if I'm wrong about who you are, they'll send me to prison and then I can just write a book about it."
Begrudgingly, I open the backpack and set my knives out on the table. He eyes them and even through his sunglasses I can see a glint of satisfaction. Without speaking a word, he's saying "gotcha."
He stares off into the distance, grinning like a kid in a candy store, and takes a swig of his drink. "I fuckin' knew it." He looks back at me. "What, no words? And they all said you had the silver tongue of the devil himself." My eyes flick over the knives on the table. One quick move and this would be over and that festering hole his words came from would close forever. "Don't even fuckin' think about it, bread and butter. Don't give me a reason to blow you away. Now, I need you and you need me, so here's what--"
"--I don't fucking need you."
He chuckles at my interjection. I want to stab him to death through his smug, stupid eyes. "You do now. See, I know who you are and where you live." He holds up my driver's license and then reaches into his lap to grab my wallet, which he throws out onto the table. He must have swiped it from my jacket somehow without me noticing. "I know who you are and where you live, and if you don't peacefully leave here today to go on doing what you do, I will have the whole police force banging down your door by the end of the day."
I stare at him for a moment before I grab my backpack to start putting my knives away. "Uh-uh," he says, "I'm keeping these." I glare at him, wishing I could cut him open right then and there and feed him his own organs. "Collateral. This is a once in a lifetime chance for me, salesman."
"Fine." I throw the backpack down, grab my wallet, and storm out. *I'm going to kill you, Kenneth, and you just made it that much worse for yourself when I can finally get my hands on you.*
|
The system had been down for a few days now. Three to be exact. They were going to come and fix it, this Friday, that’s what they said at least. Between the hours of eight and three, undoubtedly. And always when he was in the bathroom, taking a shower, or out back enjoying the summer sun. It made him wonder why he paid for the service at all, with the thing going down a few times a year, he never truly felt safe. *Shoulda’ bought a dog instead of this damn security system. Woulda’ been cheaper too.*
But there was no dog. No cat, no human being within one square mile of his home. Intentional, of course, as any living thing seemed to distract him from his writing. Except for the bird, of course. The birds were his companions. The one’s he talked to and the ones he mused over for his novels. Like some sort of luck charm, Winston kept his binoculars hanging from his neck. Without cable TV or internet there was seldom much to do for entertainment in the house. That and reading. Heck, he didn’t even get the newspaper way out here.
Just the way he liked it, too. There was something comfy, something cozy about being alone. He was never too good at companionship. As the years marched on, he secluded himself more and more. It let him concentrate on his work, on what he was actually good at. And he was good at writing. Crime novels, to be exact. He had made his living, bought this property and built a rather humble house (considering his net worth), because of a combination of words and sentences slapped on a few hundred pages. It surprised him, even now, how much money he had made for the novels he wrote.
It wasn’t what he expected he would be doing. Growing up, he wanted to an astronaut. As he grew older, his desire became more realistic and Winston got a degree in Economics. He was good at it. Great at it, in fact, but by fate, ka as his competitor called it, he was destined to be a writer. The house, his bank account and his retirement fund all pointed to the fact that he still used his economics degree, only less direct, he supposed.
That’s why the knock at the door surprised him. It was late afternoon, the sporadic crazed fan sometimes found his home, way out here in the boonies, but it was always early in the morning. Not when the sun was beginning to set in the West.
Winston dropped his binoculars from his eyes and cocked his head for the door. Again, there was a knock. He walked in from the porch and walked up towards the second story window. It jutted out from the rest of the house, giving him a bird’s eye view of his property. A window was placed on the side of the extremity, providing a sightline to the front door. He pushed the curtains gingerly and peered down to the front porch below.
There was a woman standing there. Young, attractive, probably in her late twenties. She looked aimlessly around and spotted movement in the curtains upstairs. He threw them closed and waited, hoping she didn’t spot him.
“Mr. Underlock?” she called from the yard below, “Mr. Underlock, are you there?”
He froze and waited, hoping what he thought was a fan or some sort of door saleswoman (though why would she be way out here?) would just go away. He hadn’t time for talk or tea, he was behind on his most recent novel and needed to finish it. That said, he spent most of the day watching the birds go about their business in blissful ignorance.
He moved to the other side of the house, silently as possible, and looked through a crack in the curtains at her. She backed away from the house, looking through the windows, searching for a sign of his presence. Reaching the edge of the path that lead to his house, she looked down at her phone and made a phone call. It was brief, an exchange of a few words, Winston supposed, then she ran walked back up the road.
*Where’s her car?* Winston thought, confused. It would be madness to walk this far, the nearest town was twenty-five miles away. She looked fit, but by no means the type that would walk twenty-five miles only to knock at a door and walk away.
Something wasn’t right about her, he deduced, not right at all. He brought up his binoculars and watched her casually trot down the gravel road that lead to his house. Fifty yards away, her figure was drown out by the great pine trees that surrounded his property.
He gingerly walked down the stairs, arm reached down to the railing and took each step one at a time. His hips hadn’t been the same since the car accident, any rapid movement made his bones cry out in pain. Finally, at the bottom of the stairs, he flipped open the panel. *Comcast Security System* was scrawled on the front of it. He pressed the button labeled TEST and waited.
*Sending Test Call…* was plastered on the screen.
Thirty seconds later, the screen notified him that the call “failed.”
“Piece of shit security system.” He uttered under his breath.
His tirade at the security system was cut short. Outside, he heard a car door slam shut, then another. There were voices beyond the wall of his home. He made his way to window in his living room and again pushed the curtains aside to look at the source of the voices.
The woman was back, this time with her car and a new companion. Another girl, years younger. He supposed she couldn’t be past the age of fourteen or fifteen. He looked down at his Seiko: 3:14pm.
“What’s someone that age doing way out here on a Wednesday?” It wasn’t holiday. It was the middle of the week. Surely she had school.
She didn’t have a backpack, or school books. Instead, she and the first woman were carrying two large gym bags. Black and chock full of something. He wasn’t sure the contents, only that whatever was in there jutted out in every which direction. Like spokes from a bike, they protruded and poked this way and that against the fabric of the bag.
Again, there was the knock at the door. This time, he didn’t freeze. He slowly walked to the couch and lifted his hooked cane from the arm of the furniture. With the artificial third leg, he made his way away from the door and towards the study.
Knockknockknock. Three swift raps on the door interrupted his movement.
“Mr. Underlock, I know you’re in there. Let’s make this easy on both of us and just open the door.”
He stopped, like a deer in headlights and waited.
“You’re just delaying the inevitable, Mr. Underlock.”
He didn’t offer a response. Instead his mind began to race. He shuffled through options like a Vegas dealers shuffle through cards.
He couldn’t run, that much was certain. He could barely outmatch the pace of leaves as the raced across his backyard. He could hide, call the cops and hope to scare ‘em off. But he wasn’t sure what they wanted. They weren’t crazed fans, that much was now certain to him, but they weren’t sales people either. They wanted something more from him. Were they going to rob him? Take his things? At this point, that would have been fine. The curiosity of the situation began to worry him. He practically hoped they were here to rob him.
Because there was a feeling in his gut. It was a feeling he oft wrote about in his books. His characters had it at the rising action of his tales. He was all too familiar with the feeling of being uneasy. The feeling that something wasn’t quite right. That feeling was happening to him now; and he was beginning to understand the disdain his characters felt. All of the sudden he felt bad for the fictional people in his dozens of books. Felt bad for their make believe pain. He felt like a mouse caught between two cats.
His thoughts were interrupted by a few swift clicks at the door. He heard it’s old hinges cry out for WD-40 as the door swung open.
“Mr. Wiiinnnstonnn,” a smaller voice called out in his foyer in a melodic tone.
He reached for his phone, silently, just fifteen yards from the intruders he did not want broadcast his position. Nothing made a reply, no dial tone or operators voice. The phone, like he was sure to be soon, was dead.
“And don’t bother with the phones,” the first voice scolded, “Come now, you know how this all works. Phones first, Mr. Underlock.”
Panic gripped his chest as he now understood they weren't here to steal his possessions.
They were here to steal his life.
-----
I have to head out but I wanted to post the first half here. I'll come back to it later today and finish it!
| 2014-03-26T10:12:04 | 2014-03-26T10:10:19 | 73 | 13 |
[WP] An alternate universe where Homo sapiens were not the only species of the Homo genus to survive to current time
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"Get off my lawn, you fucking orangutans!"
The old man waved his gun in the air; signaling for the Neanderthals to leave. He used to live in a nice quiet neighborhood before they showed up. The schools used to be good, land value was up, and everyone was cultured. He didn't really care about the consequences of his actions. All he wanted was to go back to the way things were.
He was a proud Sapien, almost the perfect specimen in his youth. He stood six feet even, had dark hair, and dark skin. Neanderthals were short, brutish, and had red hair. Their red hair and bad behavior often got them called "orangutans" by bigots. But they are very good at sports; much better than Sapiens. Their muscle structure was much better suited for contact sports and fighting. That's why most sports teams drafted Neanderthals. They just did as they were told while the owners exploited them. Not many had a shot of going into academics anyway. The ones who didn't get into sports just ended up on the factory floors. Sapiens got the nice desk jobs with great benefits.
Life has improved for the Neanderthals over the years. They used to be slaves for the Sapiens in Africa. The Sapiens would bring their large boats across the sea into Europe and take as many slaves as they could. They would be taken from their families and put to work on the brutal plantations. They would harvest coffee, tea, coco, and bananas under the blistering African sun. Often, they would die of melanoma, since their skin wasn't accustomed to the sun. Before they died, they would often look pinkish-red due to all of the sunburns.
The old man descended from the old plantation practice. His great-grandfather owned many Neanderthals and ran one of the largest plantations in Africa. Bigotry has run in his family for generations, but that was the only thing he knew. Neanderthals would always be inferior to the Sapiens. They weren't formidable, they weren't smart, they weren't graceful. None of them could possibly compete with the Sapiens. The Sapien race was better in every way our society valued. The Neanderthal was never meant to live on the African continent. That is why the old man secretly took pity on them. His father started the Back-to-Europe movement, in hopes of sending the Neanderthals back to their homeland. We didn't want them here, so the least we could do is let them live the lives they had, before this terrible thing called slavery.
|
They were taller, smarter, and stronger than us. That was why they were our best servants. They far outmatched Floresiensis, Erectus, and the monkeys.
‘Food!’
The call meant nothing to them but the intentions were quite clear. From across the spreading plains they hurtled homewards, the tall grass whipping in vain at their greying skin. A forlorn cloud watched with muted dejection at the state of human affairs, a tear slipping from its gaze onto the bald head of an old man. He looked to the heavens, where the otherwise clear blue sky stretched before him, a timeless ocean of a future hope.
‘Take the cow, Peter. It’s good for you,’ the human insisted. The meat slapped the ground in front of him, and Peter took it softly in his course hands, reflecting on its history.
‘Come on, for fuck’s sake,’ his human said, slapping Peter a little on the head to spur his hunger. Peter looked at the earth with a downturned expression. His human shook her head and walked down the line inspecting the others. The old man’s finger etched an outline of a contraption in the dust, one with wings and contrails and calculus surrounding the figure. He smiled to himself and uttered a few quiet gasps and a great brown leather boot came down upon his artwork, causing him to recoil and cry. A tall Nordic face dropped down to his level- dirty blonde hair, a high hairline, and neutral grey eyes met Peter’s.
‘Eat your fucking food!’
Peter ate his raw beef, pulling strings of sinew from between his teeth with overgrown nails. The humans retreated to their mansion as the servants went back to work.
‘The Italians have pushed further North. They’ve carved out a slice of land between Germany and France, all the way up to the Danish ice cap. This has come at a bad time- we’ve just sent out the three big fleets across the Atlantic. Spain is nigh defenceless across the Mediterranean, just as their troops return from above us- and in Africa, their muskets carve a path through the Sahara’s jungles.’
The man who had just shouted at Peter was now sat at his oak kitchen table, feet tapping on the dry marble floor. His wife stood above him, rubbing his shoulders.
‘We should’ve taken across the sea with the rest of them, Henrik,’ she sighed.
‘I can’t leave everything behind,’ he replied, wiping his brow and staring into the distance. ‘You saw what happened to the Chinese when they went to the far Continents, anyway. I don’t think Spain has even half the army they commanded and they didn’t even make it off the Straits.’
Peter had retreated to the barn, where his flying machine was hidden behind a huge wall of hay bales. It would soon be ready.
| 2014-06-04T11:47:29 | 2014-06-04T11:17:49 | 63 | 28 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror.
|
I never thought I'd post something to [/r/nosleep](http://reddit.com/r/nosleep), but here I am, after days or maybe weeks of just that -- I haven't slept in so long that I can't quite keep track of how many nights it's been.
How many nights I've huddled in my bed, blankets over my head, afraid to listen to the whispers. My only comfort is the warmth of my dog, piled on top of me, licking my palms, but she can't keep the shadow away.
My brothers don't believe me, but ever since we moved to this house, I've been seeing a shadow out of the corner of my eye, always slipping away when I try to look. And then one night I started having nightmares, always horribly violent, always stalked by the shadow. He was always just behind me, or just beside me, or just out of sight, but there was always the sound of his laughter.
Once, I was surrounded by these feral children, dirty and wrapped in the stinking furs of dead animals, half animal themselves, and they all shot at me, and laughed, and I tried to escape but they just shrieked with laughter, gleeful at the thought of my death...
Another night, my brothers -- my darling little brothers, they're only just innocent kids -- were captured by this painted cult, and tied to a stake, and all the men encircling them, closing in and closing in, tighter and tighter, and just as they touched the fire to the tinder I could see the shadow swooping in...
And once I watched, paralyzed, as this man had his arm ripped off by the most horrible creature, all scales and teeth and blood everywhere, and then the man turned to me, and his hand had become a weapon, and he came closer and closer and I couldn't scream...
In every one of these dreams, the shadow is beside me, laughing. And when I would wake up, I would hear it whisper, "we'll play again tomorrow night, won't we?"
So now I don't sleep. I just huddle under my blankets, trying not to hear it whisper, "let's play, Wendy..."
|
I saw a haunted girl walk past me. She used to be famous. Something about her scares me but I force myself to pay attention to my mother like a good girl.
"You start off small, but then they help you get better and better," my mother tells me.
She leans in close, the smoke from her methol cigarette wafting around me.
"You have to get them to trust you."
She hugs me. "And you'll do it honey. You're very professional."
I smile at her. This is the best day of my life.
******
I have a regular role on a Disney channel show now. It's nice. The people are wonderful. They help me so much. They tell me I'm professional and talented. They tell me I will go far. I smilc and thank them. I know I am. I'm driven.
********
Sometimes the whole day passes and I'm working - on the show, networking, interviews... Smile, smile, smile. Fight, fight, fight. :-)
******
They fuss over my hair. I stay still professionaly.
I'm working my way up rhe ladder. I had my first music video today. It was nice. The song they gave me to sing was nice. It resonated with me. They tell me I have talent. "You're so nice," they tell me, "keep that attitude and you'll go far."
I smile at them and say thank you.
******
Nearly there. I've joined the right charity now.
It was a tough selection, but I think rhinos will put me over. Ryan thinks so. He's one of my friends. I've lots now. My social pool is developing. It's easy - everyone wants to be my friend. They tell me I'm an inspiration and that I've come so far. I nod my head and smile. I know I have. I like partying. It's fine.
*******
Finally did my 'hot' makeover. My handlers delayed it as long as they could. They didn't want to fire off that bullet too early. That can cause problems. I like the new me. I can hide in her.
******
I'm the new girl, the next one in the cycle. I'm goin to be famous.
I dont want to be.
| 2014-08-04T08:23:09 | 2014-08-04T06:05:49 | 52 | 25 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror.
|
Gasping, I run through the woods, lungs exploding, throat burning, gasping for what might be my last taste of air. I splash into a creek, hoping to hide there for a minute and catch my breath. I only have a two minutes at the most. I have to keep moving.
I had a nice, comfortable home. I had a happy life. But of course, good things can never last. I can picture the nice small farmhouse. The oven cooking a chicken, the fireplace crackling.
I can hear shouting in the distance. It’s time for me to go. I bolt from my hiding spot, and feel that familiar burning in my chest coming back. I dodge branches and jump over a log. I hear a snap and a whirring of gears as I jump just in time. Bear trap. I've heard to many bones snap and wails of agony. I know what it does.To get my leg trapped in there means death.
I don’t know how much I can run. My heartbeat is echoing in my ears. My world is turning black. I stumble for a bit but my face meets the ground. I pull myself up but it’s too late. I come face to face with those brown eyes, those eyes I have known all my life. He sneers, teeth pulled back so wide I can count all of them. I close my eyes. I’m beaten.
We were best friends. How did it end like this?
|
We knew he was coming. Yellow-eyed, enormous and cruel. Dark, sinewy creatures from the desert. Thousands of broken, emaciated bodies, long since departed from life, had been used as the mortar in the walls we built to keep him out.
I have never been a man of religion, but the fear of death, brutal, merciless, senseless death, dominated your mind when you heard his name spoken. My only sliver of hope was that I would die before I lived to see my wife and daughters suffer what he would do to them.
He gloried in our fear, he grinned as he climbed, he snarled as he took life, he killed our children and burned our homes. Mountains and rivers could not stop him, my family fled as far away from him as they could, the able-bodied carrying the infirm and aged. I stayed, shaking and hopeless. I saw him, alone against a whole army. I saw him literally buried under an avalanche. I saw him at the gates of our city as millions trembled before him. He was invincible and ruthless in his triumph. It seemed the whole world would be his.
As strange as it sounds, a military veteran, a man who has lived his many days on the battlefield, in the end, it was not my self-reliance and combat skills that saved me. Nor was it our great armies and stoic leader.
It was the young girl who stole the equipment of her father and impersonated a man.
| 2014-08-04T10:54:13 | 2014-08-04T10:04:04 | 19 | 11 |
[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.
|
We first detected them after a great mass of energy was released on their planet, it was logged as a new species developing space flight and set to be investigated when they made regular journeys around their own solar system.
They didn't progress as expected so a scout team was sent to investigate, the last messaged received was "warning hostile indigenous life forms, local area known as Roswell, hard landing imminent".
Plans were set to invade, it took only 3 year cycles on Glargth before we left, destination: Earth. In the time where the invasion was planned a space ship was seen leaving the planet, reaching it's local moon.
I was given the honour of leading the invasion with a type 6 semi-permanent base ship, I was to land it, set up the forward base, have my team set up defences, and collect as much info as we safely could and everything went without a hitch, we landed, set up the base, built the defences, it was a strange planet, day cycles seemed to be seconds compared to back home, the weather was near unpredictable and the gravity was overly heavy.
Not long after we landed the team I set to find out as much info as they could captured one of the indigenous species seemingly capable of higher reason, I felt the need to show him the level of danger his species was in, I loaded my best weapon, a gunpowder propelled rifle, it could fire a metal ball 50m easy, with accuracy of only 5m of where it was pointed at full range.
I took him to a firing range we had set up and shown him first the guards weapons, the standard issue weapon of the military, he looked confused, I wish I spoke the language so I could truly gauge his fear.
Then I took out my rifle, aimed, fired one of the best shots of my life, near bullseye on the 25m distance range on the smaller target size of 3m across. I was smiling, my pride at the shot must have been evident to even the primitive creature, but then I heard it...he was making a noise...it almost sounded like, laughter.
|
It's been 1720 days since they arrived. I don't think they were expecting the resistance they would encounter when they first dropped out of the sky that otherwise normal May morning, but they are a resourceful bunch. Too resourceful. All they have on us is numbers, and sometimes, that's all the resources you need.
We first detected their ships accidentally, one day. Apparently some scientists were using some kind of new technology to be able to detect metals on far away objects, such as the moon or other planets in the solar system.. I don't know. Anyway, there it was, two giant ships suddenly appear just past mars. No one knew what to think - is this real? 6 months it took them to get from Mars to orbit around Earth.. and then the real horror began. Thousands upon thousands of these beings emptied from the bellies of these ships like flies from a corpse poked with a stick. They fought with their claws. Carapace like iron. No technology to speak of - I suppose they never really had to develop weapons to do their fighting for them.
Fortunately for us, we have spent the last few hundred years fighting each other, it didn't take long for our military experts and scientists to sort out an easy way to kill them - only needed a few corpses to play with and there we had it; depleted uranium rounds worked great, but there was a limited supply of those. AP rounds were the next best thing, we had LOTS of those.
Anyway, fast forward four years. We would have won a long time ago but they breed so damn fast. Furthermore they seem to come out of their.. gestation egg.. already knowing how to fight. We ran out of ammunition about 8 months after they showed up and true to our nature, science took over and developed all kinds of new ways of using our natural resources as weapons. From water jet sentry turrets that are as good as lasers at short range to actual lasers. Luckily for us, the only thing their ships appear to be good for was bringing them here, and floating around in orbit being useless. Even their landing vessels are useless. If they could have simply picked up their troops and dropped them strategically they might have had a chance but no.
| 2014-10-17T10:09:09 | 2014-10-17T10:04:02 | 94 | 29 |
[WP] In a failing utopian world, colour becomes illegal in attempt to maintain equality. A young boy watches a man being executed for breaking the law and sees colour for the first time as the man's blood is sprayed across a wall.
|
"Ouroboros."
I could the describe that arch forever. The way it moved, more alive than anything I'd ever seen, like a great snake breaking free of it's cage, snatching the very air in its maw. Red. Crimson. Scarlet. Mauve. Burgundy. Rouge. Rose. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. It fell on my tongue and burrowed until I could taste the history of it. I tasted centuries of wars, savoured the lips of countless lovers, watched, unbound, the naga. This was Shiva the destroyer. This was Fenrir swallowing the son. It was Surt engulfing me in a firestorm and making me reborn.
I was ten years old as I watched my father give life to the serpent. Fifteen when I was caught painting the symbol of my self-satiating rebellion. A red snake, swallowing its own tail. Fifteen when I ran my knife through an officer and set his snake free.
Sixteen when I joined the rebellion.
Eighteen when I led it.
Nineteen when I stood on the burning ground of the reclamation centre.
Ten when I found the god in me.
Twenty when I set it free.
|
He watched as the liquid flowed across the concrete towards him. It stood out against the dull greys and blacks of his surroundings. Kneeling, he tentatively reached out and touched it.
The concept of any other colour than black and white was entirely new to him. What was this called? He held his bloodstained fingers up to the light, the strange pigment refracting it beautifully. The greyness of his skin made it even more so.
An idea popped into his head.
Dabbing his hands in the blood, he turned to the nearest wall and placed his palms flat against the cool white bricks. When he took them away again, two handprints were visible on the wall. They glinted wetly in the sunlight.
Suddenly, the bloody prints glowed brightly for a moment. As the boy watched, the colour spread up the wall and out to each side. The bricks faded from stark white to a deep...red.
Red. That sounded right, somehow.
The wall was now bright scarlet, and the colour was beginning to spread to other buildings.
The boy smiled to himself as he dipped his hands in the blood again. Then he began to run through the streets, running his hands over every surface he could see. Even his own body was becoming coloured with patches of random pigment. The names of the new colours burst like fireworks in his mind. Blue, purple, yellow, green.
The revolution had begun.
| 2014-10-27T05:40:56 | 2014-10-27T04:04:43 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You have developed and ability to see how people will die when you look at them. Your entire life you avoided pictures of yourself, but today you forgot, and, brushing your teeth in the morning, looked in the mirror...
|
"Take him away." The man dressed in white was handcuffed by a few angry policemen, each staring at him with hateful eyes.
"You're not going to kill anyone anymore, Rodriguez."
Rodriguez. The name of my newest client, finally appeared in my dreams, the medium of which I can tell how people's lives end. Many consider me a true psychic, other consider me a scam. I am what I am.
I wake up slightly shivering. I have been doing this job for many years, but the fear of these dreams are still able to haunt me. I grabbed my phone and called him.
"Rodriguez. Meet me today later at... ten thirty later at the cafe."
"Sure thing, thanks a lot Mr. Aigo."
I tossed the phone, and walked slowly to the bathroom. Looking at the mirror, I took my towel and readied myself for a busy day. I was appointed to meet three.
Terrence dies in a car crash, a blue honda Civic.
Lilly dies by breast cancer.
Yoshua dies of old age at 74.
A man with grizzled hair and a pair of glasses -If only I remember the name- dies by a thief who stabbed him.
I grabbed my phone and called them as I walked to the cafe.
"You're there already? Okay. Good bye." I hung up as the phone was snatched from my hands.
"Hey!"
|
Hotel rooms. I hate hotel rooms.
Of course my house flooded with water. It had to be *water*. Fire or smoke or collapse, I could control. No reflections. But water?
New house. New place. New hotel room.
Hotel rooms are a pain. The only way I can stay in one of those fuckin' things is if I get blackout drunk and then start smashing. Just got to smash every reflective surface. And then, wake up next morning, huge headache, no memories, I don't know if I die or not. Simple.
Except this fuckin time, I think I drank too much. Or not enough. Who knows?
Anyway, I go to brush. Man's gotta keep clean. Put in the black dye into the sink, so there ain't a single reflection, take out the paste, and start brushing.
I haven't looked up into a mirror in years. I don't even put my head up to check a mirror while I brush, because there ain't no fuckin' mirrors. Usually.
*Usually*
And I see this guy. Brown hair, small scar, yellow shirt, looks hammered as shit. And he's brushing his teeth.
Teeth are yellow too by the way, should look into that.
But see, my shirt's yellow. My hairs brown. That scar? Veronica, that bitch, back in high school. Can't check my teeth, but whatever.
But I'm not dead.
I burned the shirt. Plastic surgery for the scar is today.
Does that make me immortal?
| 2014-12-04T08:00:00 | 2014-12-04T07:49:21 | 88 | 14 |
[WP] You have developed and ability to see how people will die when you look at them. Your entire life you avoided pictures of yourself, but today you forgot, and, brushing your teeth in the morning, looked in the mirror...
|
The taxi driver is lying in a hospital bed, eyes closed as the monitor to his right switches from the steady beep, beep, beep to a solid tone. A few seconds later alarms blare and the room becomes a bustle of activity.
“Buddy, hey buddy, we’re here, eighteen fifty” I glance up at the old indian man, he was wearing the same shirt he had in my vision. I hand him a twenty and tell him to keep the change as a step out in front of my hotel. I get short flashes from each person I see, each is their last moments. The bellboy is going to overdose, the check-in clerk: a car accident, his head horribly mangled. The maid in the hallway will be shot somewhere in Mexico, the doorman: old and surrounded by his kids, the guy at the bar of a heart attack at a casino.
My head is swimming by the time I get to my room, this is why I avoid cities, or people, because their deaths overwhelm me. I flop down on the bed and stare at the ceiling, closing my eyes and enjoying the silence for just a second. I had taken the train here and it sucked, but once I closed my eyes the visions stopped, so the hardest part was pushing through the crowd getting to my seat.
I rose from the bed and padded over to the window, glancing out at the people scurrying below, I knew that if I focused on any of the small ants scurrying along the sidewalk below, I would be bombarded by images of their demise, so instead I let my gaze slip quickly from one to another. I found myself caught on a woman in a red jacket just a little too long and saw her writhing in pain after giving birth. I shut my eyes and wished the tears would squeeze out, but they remained dry, emotionless. Too much tragedy left me immune to sadness.
The bathroom was a typical hotel affair, shower, toilet, sink, and a half used toilet paper roll, folded to a neat point as if to convince me that no one else’s shitty fingers had pawed at it before. I stripped down and hopped in the shower, careful to avert my eyes from the mirror, terrified of what I may see. The hot shower felt good and as I stepped out into the foggy bathroom, I noticed, satisfyingly, that the mirror had fogged up and I could brush my teeth like a normal person, with my eyes open, standing in front of the sink. I finished brushing and bent over to spit out my toothpaste and as I rose, I realized with a start that the mirror had unfogged and I was staring at myself in the mirror. It took a second before the vision crystallized, so I steeled myself for the oncoming nightmare. Instead I saw an old man, his face tanned and wrinkled by years in the sun. His hair had long since fallen out and he was smiling as he held the hand of an equally shriveled old woman. It was sunset and he was sitting beside her on a porch, staring out through a pair of sunglasses as the sun painted the desert. The bench rocked as the woman swung her feet and he saw a tear on her face as the old man pulled in his last labored breath. The old woman smiled, and got up from the bench, removed his sunglasses, kissed him on his forehead, and whispered “good bye” before she walked into the house. The sunglasses removed, I could see my eyes, creased hollows of skin still baring the decades old scars of eyeballs clawed out in a moment of desperation.
|
It’s surprisingly easy to fake a disability. Fake might not be the best word, though. My eyes work fine, but sometimes I walk around with a stick and a dog. Artificially self-imposed blindness. Imagine the mutilation I have to see every time I want a sandwich, or a beer at the pub. Anyways, people are nicer to you when they think you're blind. I *wish* I was actually blind, or better yet, that people walked around with bags over their head to spare me the horror. A sea of ancient faces, blue asphyxiated faces, sometimes no faces at all. Lifeless eyes, colorless lips speaking to me as if everything was okay. Everything is okay, really, but I see the inevitable end every time some asks me for the time, or tells me to have a nice day.
I got very good at avoiding mirrors. No reason to go down that path with myself. Not much I could do about it even if I did realize my own fate.
Sometimes I just saw people the way they looked at their eventual moment of death. Sometimes it came with a flash, a bit of story. All in all depressing crap. It’s hard to make life fun. I would be a real buzz kill if I had to deal with that for my own demise. I suppose I could just accept it. Maybe after a while I would become numb to the concept of death, seeing it in every face all the time, but at that point I might as well be a sociopath. I had decided that self-imposed blindness is better a long time ago. I just don't have the heart for it.
There’s even support groups for blind people. What few friends I have, I’ve found there.
I knew it would eventually happen, seeing my own reflection. Somewhere in the back of my mind. It was amazing that I went as long as I did without encountering it even once. Years and years. When it finally happened, I rolled out of bed and came face to face with myself in the reflection of a big, potted plant. I didn't own a mirror, but someone had dropped off the pot and i had never thought about the implications of its reflective surface. There I was, staring into my own soul, caught off guard, mostly asleep, and it ruined everything.
A bullet-hole just above my right eye.
Once I encountered it, there was no point in shying away. I studied it for a long time. A goddamned bullet hole. Judging by the angle, it came from behind, a pistol shot at close range.
For the first time in a long time, I felt a surge of please. A gunshot to the head. Not such a bad way to go at all. It occurred to me that there was no way I could even attempt to prevent this particular for of death. If I saw myself choking, it would ruin every meal for the rest of my life. I’d have to chew every bite with excruciating care and I would still choke to death. I wouldn’t be able to eat another pretzel for as long as I lived. If I saw myself in a car accident, every trip anywhere would come along with an anxiety attack. A bullet to the back of the head. It come at any time, in any place. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe that the ripe old age of eighty. A victim of a brutal home invasion. Maybe I would get involved with the mob and they would bury me in a swamp. It woulnd’t matter. Relief washed over me.
I decided to for a walk. I paused at the door. I took the sunglasses off. I decided to take my chances.
| 2014-12-04T09:00:53 | 2014-12-04T08:50:53 | 80 | 19 |
[WP] From birth, everybody has a word imprinted on their left arm. This is the last word they will ever say.
|
Nothing can prepare you for parenthood. Knowing suddenly, that everything's changed, and that you've now got a purpose much higher than any you've held in your life... your children can mean the world to you. And you'd do anything that's in your power to protect them.
In our strange little world, everybody knows at least a bit about the day that they pass. My wife, we know that her last words will be "*forgiven*." A bittersweet word to know waits for your death. Me, I've got "*ready*." That used to give me so much hope, because it meant that I could go on my own terms, once I'd accepted things.
Everything changed today, though, with the birth of our little Jacob, when the doctor read out his word, printed neatly on his left arm. "*Help,"* it said, in small black text. **Help.** Here I am, as a parent, trying to make his life happy, and I already know it'll end with him in desperate need of assistance. Oh, how that thought kills me inside.
On reading his word, I got a new perspective on my own. I don't think that one day, I'll come to terms with my death, and go when I'm prepared. If only that were still the case. I know, now, that one day, when I feel the life leaving me (for whatever injury or sickness it might be), I'll think of my son, and how he'll die when he needs me the most. I cry even now just thinking of it, and know that I'll pass saying "Not yet. I'm *not* ready."
|
'Everything's set?'
'Yes.'
The scientist nodded and turned his head to the microphone. Through the glass he saw David, strapped to his chair with a somber expression.
'Now David. Whatever you do, do not say 'goodbye'. Okay?'
The volunteer nodded. The scientist saluted, as did the rest of his research group. 'Perhaps, we might finally know why these words are getting imprinted on our bodies, and if the cycle can be broken. Thank you, David. You will be remembered.'
David, who has been alone for so long, who always wanted to make his own mark in the world, smiled. He was ready.
The machine started. David yelled in pain. The scientists watched with quiet interest. Some felt ill, and left the room. Others looked away. After all, it wasn't how he died that mattered. As long as they just hear what he would say...
David died. He died with a gutter belch of pain, but the sound didn't formulate into a word. He succeeded.
The scientist nodded. 'So it can be broken. Thank God.'
His assistant clapped his hands. 'Yes! We can make more tests. Perhaps we can...'
His voice lowered to a shocked silence. The scientist turned, raised his eyebrows. 'What is it?'
The assistant shuffled slightly. 'He said no words, didn't he?'
'None, you were there!'
'Yes, yes. But what did he say to his mother half an hour ago?'
The scientist stood still. The room quietened to an anxious silence. He lifted his hands, took off his glasses, and gently placed the palm of his left hand onto his pale face.
| 2015-02-05T15:51:27 | 2015-02-05T15:29:09 | 151 | 32 |
[WP] From birth, everybody has a word imprinted on their left arm. This is the last word they will ever say.
|
Nothing can prepare you for parenthood. Knowing suddenly, that everything's changed, and that you've now got a purpose much higher than any you've held in your life... your children can mean the world to you. And you'd do anything that's in your power to protect them.
In our strange little world, everybody knows at least a bit about the day that they pass. My wife, we know that her last words will be "*forgiven*." A bittersweet word to know waits for your death. Me, I've got "*ready*." That used to give me so much hope, because it meant that I could go on my own terms, once I'd accepted things.
Everything changed today, though, with the birth of our little Jacob, when the doctor read out his word, printed neatly on his left arm. "*Help,"* it said, in small black text. **Help.** Here I am, as a parent, trying to make his life happy, and I already know it'll end with him in desperate need of assistance. Oh, how that thought kills me inside.
On reading his word, I got a new perspective on my own. I don't think that one day, I'll come to terms with my death, and go when I'm prepared. If only that were still the case. I know, now, that one day, when I feel the life leaving me (for whatever injury or sickness it might be), I'll think of my son, and how he'll die when he needs me the most. I cry even now just thinking of it, and know that I'll pass saying "Not yet. I'm *not* ready."
|
Of all the words in every dictionary of every language, many would make a great final word. Not this though, not tapioca.
I avoided the stuff. I never even touched it, never talked about it. I don't think I've ever even said the word out loud. I built my entire life around not saying.
What do I have to say for that? Well, who else built a criminal empire on a drug no one had ever heard of. Yep, I introduced khat to the US, that was me. Sure, my monopoly was gone once it spread, but business is still great.
I was driving my Bugatti home, when a strange feeling hit me. I rolled up my long sleeves, which I wore so nobody new the word. Peered through the tattoos created to cover it up and the scars created while trying to remove it. It was still there, bright as day, tapioca.
The light turned green, and I hit the gas, heading up to my mansion in Malibu. My lieutenant had called me. Butterscotch said there was urgent business to be attended to. He and Yorkshire were already there. They wouldn't tell me what was happening. Figures, I know I have rage problems. They probably didn't want me breaking my phone again, or causing an accident.
There it is, up on the hill, the kingpin's estate. There, standing at the gates, were Butterscotch and Yorkshire. Such loyal men, I thought as I opened the door, immediately met with a gun in my face.
"This is a coup Groaty!" Butterscotch exclaimed, "Any last words?"
"Yeah," I replied. "Tapioca!"
| 2015-02-05T15:51:27 | 2015-02-05T15:10:56 | 151 | 18 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out.
|
I stood and tapped lightly on my glass until the room fell silent. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Most of you I know already, as friends or employees, but for those who I don't, my name is Peter. I have the honour of serving as best man, and I'd like to say a few words about the bride and groom on this joyful occasion."
"To his family, the groom is known as Richard, but to me he has always been my pal Dick. We've known each other all our lives, and Dick has always been my right-hand man. At school, at college, and then at the company I founded. Dick isn't just a friend, he's a part of me, and for the longest time, I didn't think any woman could make him happy. Then I met Christina."
"When Christina came to work for us, she was a wide-eyed innocent, fresh out of college. She lacked experience, and me and Dick had to whip her into shape. I'm afraid we had to ride her a little hard for a while. There was a lot of late nights and even a few weekends. There was a lot for her to take in, but she never said no. She would moan a bit, but she always came through in the end. Before long she had mastered the job, and since then she's excelled in every position we put her in."
"Now, Christina is a beautiful girl, and I'm sure every guy in the office noticed her. But right from the beginning, she only had eyes for my Dick here. I know she was a little intimidated at first. She's a petite girl and he's a big guy, but before long they were inseparable. It's wonderful to see her smile when she thinks about Dick, to see her face light up when she knows he's coming, and the love all over it when he does."
"And Dick, I know how happy Christina makes you. Whenever she's around you seem to stand up a little taller than you ever did before. I know you like to tease her occasionally, or to give her a harder time than she deserves, but I know that deep inside you only want to make her as happy as she makes you. And she's lucky to have you. You're strong and hardworking. You're handy around the house. Oh, and you're a great cook, old friend."
"Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll only reiterate that it gives me immense pleasure to see Christina and Dick together, and I look forward to that continued pleasure for many years to come."
|
It isn't jealousy that makes the words turn sour in my mouth. I have prepared trope about how I met my best friend in college and how I'd walk past him every night draped over the toilet seat. How it all changed when he met Maya. Maya, who really is unremarkable when you look at her. Slightly overweight. Her hair isn't shiny. She probably doesn't even use conditioner. She has brown eyes, brown skin and a confused heart.
I clear my throat and stand up, raising my sparkling apple cider high in the air. The sunlight streams into the room, mocking me and turning it golden. There is silence and anticipation, people ready to give me their best canned laughter. Maya watches me wearily. She's not scared, though, because she knows that I love her too much to betray her.
"Imagine this." I say. Imagine being a twenty year old kid in college and not really knowing much about life. Imagine being stupid, dumb and immature. Well, that's what this guy (now pointing at the groom) was. But Maya walked into his life luckily.
What can I say about Maya? She's the sort of person who makes you re-evaluate what it means to be a good person. The sort of person who knows the songs you like and makes you a cup of something steaming when you need it because you've had a terrible day.
I watched my best friend change slowly before my eyes as he grew older with Maya. I saw him learn what it meant to love someone truly. He stopped chasing beautiful girls with curves that smelled like perfume. Instead, he started hanging around the cafe where Maya liked to drink pumpkin spice lattes and eat brownies. Maya was never about restricting herself. She was and is about enjoyment, about eating whatever she wanted and in whatever quantity she wanted. Watching her eat anything chocolate is an experience in itself.
And my best friend, sitting right next to Maya? He became that way too. What was the point in restricting calories, and more importantly, experiences in life? Who knows if you truly live more than once? And so, their relationship became one defined not by societal mores or rules, but just from the fact that they enjoyed life together more than they did separately.
I put my glass down. My arm is starting to hurt, and my face is starting to hurt from trying to look happy.
"Best wishes on your new life, Maya." I mumble and look down. I may have fooled everyone else, but there's no fooling me.
| 2015-04-03T01:14:55 | 2015-04-02T22:10:37 | 214 | 14 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out.
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"YOU!!" The best man cheered while pointing at Michael
"YOU Michael, are the best FUCKING brother ever, we have shared everything, EVERYTHING. To those who don't know me, well I'm Batman to his Robin, Superman to his wonder woman!"
The best man takes a step back and chugs another beer.
"MICHAEL, MICHAEL!!!, MICHAEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"I'm rambling now, sorry all, sorry Michael, I had a speech prepared but I drank too much and I'm fucking the bride"
Silence took over, not that his speech was any good before but John seemed to had fucked it even more.
"APRIL FOOLS, I'M ONLY REALLY DRUNK!!!"
"Get him down he's not doing well."
Michael follows his bride's instructions without hesitation, it's bad enough already.
"John, your sense of humor has always been terrible but you over did it today. I now you have been worried about the speech, get some rest, yeah?"
"I was before but I really nailed it"
|
Congrats to my best friends Kyle and Erin on their recent marriage! Sorry about the lack of presence this week bud, I've been busy doing errands. I mean, its been tough keeping up with all of it. Just constantly running around with errands to do. First the thing at the yacht club. That was the first one. It was a huge secret, but I think we kept it a surprise for everyone! And I mean that one was rough. Like an hour and a half, two hours out of my day constantly for a week? Then it was at the rodeo. Yeah, errands and rodeos don't normally mix but it was a special occasion. I had to ride something before you two got married huh? I still cant believe that you chose Erin though. We all thought it was never a serious thing when you guys met at the frat party 10 years ago but here you are! Hopefully your marriage lasts as long as I felt those errands took. Cause we all knew that no one was coming, especially Erin, until the errands were done. Love you both! Congrats!
| 2015-04-02T22:31:17 | 2015-04-02T22:11:05 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?"
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As I pulled the trigger, my last memories were of the life I'd built and the fragile manner in which it had crumpled up in front of me, torn to pieces like a dried leaf.
For what seemed like eons, I found the inner peace I had longed after. Like everything else I held dear, however, this was soon taken away by a flash of red. I felt my eyes open, and felt miles of heat and pulsing infernal light flow into them. I was lying on a field of crimson, surrounded by pools of lava, sprawling spires of brimstone reaching towards a ceiling that seemed limitless, yet came to an end at several nearby caves. The dark light pounding at my senses, I had not noticed the shadow standing over me.
"Hello," a deep voice called, concise and clear yet seemingly distorted by darkness and suffering. "I've been expecting you."
I was not expecting this.
"Are... are you? Please, this is not happening..."
"Yes. I am the devil. You may call me Satan, if it brings you an ounce of satisfaction that you'll soon be devoid of."
Satan appeared to have no appearance. A veil of darkness floated where he stood, concealing whatever horrors he did not yet wish to unleash. Or far more terrifying, *could not*.
"What is your name?" The void inquired.
Falling to my knees, my head began to pound as I began to sob out the words.
"Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't be such a downer."
Wait... did he just...
"What?"
"I said," Satan snapped, sounding surprisingly sarcastic, "Your pathetic attitude is bringing me sorrow. Which disappoints me, considering you're the only company I've ever had."
"You... you're telling me I'm the only one here?" I glanced around, observing only potential suffering and noting a stark absence of kinetic suffering.
I lurched backwards in a sudden outburst of fear and confusion. "I'm the sole sinner ever so consumed to deserve this place? No man, woman, or child has committed themselves to deeds more dreadful than mine?"
I felt my fear replaced by anger. "All I did was for my home, for my people!"
A sense of defeat filled the deepest recesses of my core, interbreeding with rage to create something wholly pathetic and vicious in equal measure.
"I see now." I stared hard into where Satan's eyes should've been. "I'm here because I took the easy way. Because after all I've suffered, I took my own life rather than let others snatch it from me. Because I acted on the last shred of dignity I possessed, the last infinitesimal speck of humanity I had, God and you alike have forever damned me to suffer further?"
"No, Adolf," Satan replied, frustrated. "You killed six million people. You are literally Hitler."
"...Oh."
----
First post! Let me know anything I can improve upon!
|
"You really mean that I'm the *first* person to ever be sentenced to Hell?" I asked. "In *all* of history?"
"Well..." he said, "I haven't really thought about it very much; I've been so busy getting all of these creative punishments ready that I hadn't really noticed. Time doesn't really work the same for us angels as it does for you mortals. Feels like just yesterday that I declared war on Heaven."
"Yeah, but..." I was at a loss for how to explain things. "What about Hitler, or Stalin, or... or... Attila the Hun? Are you really telling me that they're all up in Heaven, or at least Purgatory?"
Satan shrugged. "I guess so. Who are those guys? I haven't been paying much attention to what was happening on the surface recently. I haven't personally made a trip up there since the Garden." He paused and thought about it. "No, never mind. I did have to run up there when Jesus was around. Still, it's been a while."
"They were genocidal maniacs," I told him. "Seemed like the type who'd be sentenced to eternal damnation, but I guess not."
"Well, I can look into it," he said casually. I got the impression that he would never give it another thought.
We came to a halt, surrounded by a vast, empty wasteland. It reminded me of photos I'd seen of the surface of Mars. Featureless rocks all colored the same dull brown.
"Well, that's the tour," he said. "I'm sure you'll be very unhappy here. I've got some other work I need to focus on, so I'll be leaving now."
"That's it?" I asked. "No tortures?"
"You'll find them," Satan assured me, then disappeared into thin air.
I've thought about that conversation so many times. Millions of times. Every single day, if you can call it a 'day.' There is no more sunrise or sunset. Just the dull yellow sky. No sun, no moon, no weather. Nothing to indicate any passage of time at all. I could have died a million years ago, or two hours ago. There's no way of knowing how long I've been here.
I've wandered for thousands and thousands of miles looking for anything. There are no buildings here. No plants, no animals. No mountains, no valleys. And no people. Just flat fields of sand and stone.
I've cried out till my throat was hoarse, and received no answer. I replay the conversation with Satan over and over in my mind, because it's the last real contact I've ever had. It took me forever to realize what Satan meant with that last little barb.
There are no rivers of fire and stabbing demons here. That's not the type of torture that Satan meant. The only punishment is loneliness and isolation, and it's the worst one he could have ever come up with.
And I'm beginning to think that I'm *not* the first person to ever arrive in Hell.
| 2015-04-09T08:36:58 | 2015-04-09T07:53:57 | 2,485 | 873 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?"
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I come to, remembering the delirium of my last days with perfect clarity. But my body doesn't ache. For the first time in months, there's no nausea, no exhaustion, no pain. It's confusing for a moment.
But only a moment, because then it hits me. Where I am. Fire and brimstone, rivers of blood, darkness, et cetera. The whole nine yards, as they say. Minus the screams of the damned, however, which I must say I find rather surprising, given the rest. I run my hand across my scalp and discover the old mop of fine, brown hair, formerly lost to the chemotherapy and now suddenly and inexplicably back in attendance
"Fuck," I say.
"Something wrong?" comes a voice behind me.
I spin around. Well, if I'm being honest, I jump about four feet out of my skin, land awkwardly, and then spin around. After righting myself, I am somehow not surprised to see Satan. Or to be precise, I am somehow not surprised to see a humanoid with red skin, cloven hooves, horns, and a barbed tail. However, as I am not, at the moment, familiar with the demography of Hell, I can only assume this satanic-looking fellow is, in fact, Satan.
"I suppose I didn't expect to be here," I say.
Satan arches an eyebrow. "You thought you'd end somewhere more ... celestial?"
I shake my head. "I didn't expect to be *any* place," I reply, "I rather expected oblivion. But if there is an almighty deity, then I shouldn't be surprised He sent me here."
"You should be," Satan says. "You're the only one He's ever sent here."
"Excuse me?"
"Well, aside from me. But yes, the good Lord has never condemned any other human soul to Hell besides you. Between you and me, I expect it was the Mother Teresa bit that broke the camel's back."
I can't help but emit a snort of derision. "That cow. I wouldn't take back a single word. So she's up there, I take it?"
Satan nods. "Along with Hitler, Saddam Hussein, and Pol Pot, among other notables. Forgiveness is a rare and special thing," he says, positively dripping sarcasm. "Even Henry Kissinger is guaranteed a spot when he dies."
A sardonic smile creeps across my lips. "Well, at least I'll be spared ever having to see him again. Thank God for small favors."
"Indeed," Satan agrees.
"So what now? Am I to be tortured eternally?"
"Goodness no," Satan says, looking, I admit, somewhat offended. He then glances around, and his demeanor softens. "Ah, the decor is rather grim. I can see how you might have come to that conclusion. It's a reflection of my state of mind, unfortunately. I've been in solitary confinement quite literally for aeons. Angels are built rather differently to humans, but eternal loneliness wears on even such as us. Speaking of that, I'd appreciate it if you could brighten it up a bit."
"What? How?" I say, genuinely puzzled.
"Just wish for something. Want something. This is all ... well, there's no real word for it as you'd understand. Let's call it primordial matter. All of this is built from primordial matter. It can be shaped by thought. Try it."
Seeing as there's nothing to be lost by giving it a whirl, I close my eyes and concentrate. When I open them, there's a lit cigarette in one hand and a a lusciously full cocktail glass in the other. I bring the cigarette to my lips and inhale a glorious lungful of tobacco smoke, and then take a sip of what is possibly the most perfect gin martini I have ever tasted.
Satan laughs with a sudden exhalation of pure relief. "Seems like you've already got the hang of it. So, what would you care to do next?"
"Well," I say, taking another sip, "if we've both been condemned to an eternal party, what say we make it a *good* one?"
The landscape around us brightens and begins reworking itself into something resembling a London park on a lovely spring day. Satan nods with approval. There's hope -- dare I say even joy -- in his eyes. "That's the best idea I've heard in ages, Mr. Hitchens. Count me in."
"Please, if we're going to be friends, you should call me Chris."
*In memoriam 1949-2011*
|
Fred closed his eyes, the morphine finally kicking in. The car had come out of nowhere.
When he opened them, he screamed. The hot, searing pain of broiling flesh as his feet touched the brimstone beneath was just the beginning. It went on forever, a never ending wasteland with gouts of flame bursting forth from cracks in nature-free brimstone. The heat caused his flesh to crack, and the scream died as thirst overcame even the pain from his feet.
"Water..." Fred gasped, barely able to speak, and his eyes once again surveyed the desolate terrain before him. He was alone. Completely alone. No matter the direction he looked, no matter how far on the horizon he searched, there was nothing but the same fiery hell. Desperate as he spun, Fred crashed to the ground, and it began to broil his sides and back as he struggled, the very landscape attacking him.
Almost by magic, a hand suddenly appeared in aid, and Fred grabbed desperately at it, letting out a sigh of relief as he was hauled back to his feet before gasping at the figure before him. Terror began to ooze down Freds face as realization dawned on him. "I'm in Hell." he gasped, still desperate for water.
"Ah, well..." the figure fumbled, "... about that." Surprisingly, it offered Fred a jug. "Yeah. You kinda are." Fred eyed the jug warily, and the figure shook it, letting its contents slosh.
Fred grabbed the jug greedily, popping the rudimentary string and stopper before recklessly glugging down its contents. Liquid relief poured down his throat, and he gagged, and coughed some back up. When he recovered, Fred returned his gaze to the figure, curiosity on his face as he thought about what just happened "Water?" he asked.
"What else would it be?" The figure asked, surprised at the question. "No, ah, no..." It said, interrupting itself. "I have questions of my own... you see, I have this bet..."
Fred interrupted the figure, who was not as confident as Fred had been led to believe. "The one with God, right?"
"Oh! You know!" The figure was visibly pleased, and Fred found himself smiling back. "That makes this much easier. Well you see... things haven't been going so great on my end." It was Freds turn to look surprised.
"What do you mean?" Fred asked "Isn't Hell bursting with people?"
"Look around!" the figure yelled, its arms spreading to the landscape "Do you see anyone?"
"Well... no...."
"You're the first person buddy! Actually, what do I call you? I think we'll be spending a lot of time together, but I'm not entirely sure how this works...." The figure seemed almost self concious as it spoke, and Fred started awkwardly squirming, while desperately trying not to move his scalding feet.
"Fred. My name is Fred." Fred found himself desperately trying to grasp at the situation as he replied.
"Fred! Got it!" the figure replied, suddenly pilfering a pair of sandals from nowhere and offering them. Fred took them, shaking his head as he did so, but letting another sigh of relief out his feet were freed from the furnace below. "So ah, Fred..." the figure began, but halted, grinding its foot on the ground awkwardly in a fashion Fred found awkwardly familiar.
"Yeeesss...?" Fred replied, not unlike he would when others used the same stance.
"What, ah... what did you do? To get down here I mean?" The figure was visibly distressed as it asked, concern strangely dripping from its features.
"Well, ah..." It was Freds turn to stutter "I always thought I was a pretty decent guy in all honesty." He said, wondering if it is actually true as he surveyed the landscape once again. "Though I guess not..."
"What do you mean, 'you guess not?'" The figure looked confused, so Fred continued.
"Isn't that the deal? With God I mean? Bad people go to hell?" The figures reaction was not what Fred expected, and as he watched something he'd grown up to live in fear of suddenly have abject terror on its face, his own face began to mimic it.
"I didn't get told that bit!" The figure cried, pleading at Fred "What did you do that was so terrible!?"
"I don't know!" Fred shouted back, the situation rapidly deteriorating. "I drank. Does that count?"
"Why would that count?" The figure shouted back, Fred defusal attempt failing. "Drinking bad things kills you! It doesn't get you to Hell!"
"Well then I don't know!" Fred was getting frustrated at the situation, and stopped, suddenly thinking. "Thank you for the sandals." He suddenly found himself saying. "And the water."
"That's what others are for. To help." The confusion on the figures face faded as it spoke.
"I... I think I know what's going on."
| 2015-04-09T11:30:16 | 2015-04-09T07:56:32 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] Pranksters from various subreddits hack into President Obama's teleprompter during the State of the Union Address. This, being Obama's last year in office, just decides to go with it.
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WASHINGTON (AP) -- The nation remains in shock one day after a baffling State of the Union speech delivered by President Barack Obama that many political experts say will live "in infamy."
For days, it was speculated that President Obama would touch on the recent economic upswing, the country's warmed relations with Cuba and Iran, among a checklist of other improvements made within his last year as United States President.
"The State of the Union is typically an occasion in which the President delivers a tame, positive message to the country," said speechwriter Harold Davies. "That was not what happened last night."
Though the President's speech began without incident, he paused before addressing the nation with apparent rage. "What the f--- did you just f---ing say about me?" began his lengthy diatribe.
Within the address, Obama revealed that he had amassed "over 300 kills" during clandestine Al-Quaeda raids. Officials at the Department of Defense have declined to comment on the nature of these secret raids, though one high-ranking navy official has come to describe the President's claim of being a current member of the Navy SEALs as "patently false."
Though the public is still at a loss for what "little clever comment" so angered Obama, social media activists on sites like Twitter and Facebook have called for a staged internet blackout in protest of the secret spy network that the President unveiled during his speech. "Your IP is being traced right now," warned Obama.
In the final moments of the speech, Obama looked into the camera and gave an explicit warning to Jason Kiddoe, the Republican Senator from Kentucky and a late newcomer to the presidential race. "I have no idea what I may have done to offend the President, but I take his threat on my life very seriously and am in the midst of seeking legal council," said Kiddoe.
|
I am trying to write based on subreddits that I follow.
Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President, Members of Congress, my fellow Americans:
We are 15 years into this new century. Fifteen years that dawned with terror touching our shores; that unfolded with a new generation fighting two long and costly wars; that saw a vicious recession spread across our nation and the world. It has been, and still is, a hard time for many.
But tonight, we turn the page. Tonight, after a breakthrough year for America, I have bought N3dsXL. the battery life is better than ever and i have bpught the new Fire Emblem faceplates. Speaking of which. I am excited for the new Fire Emblem if, but slightly miffed that I have to buy two to play each campaigns. But the designer said that it was totally worth it and there will be amiibo support.
Tonight, for the first time since 9/11, our combat mission is not over. Winter is coming. The rumours abot duck is not true. Sansa storyline is getting darker. Fuck Ramsay Snow.
America, for all that we have endured; for all the grit and hard work but there will be no donuts for bad cop. Freddie Gray did not break his own neck. Hands up; don't shoot. Black lives matter.
At this moment -- with a growing economy, shrinking deficits but not at Manchester City, hey hey, Arsenal is the best team in the Premier League. Bayern Munich just signed a new deal with adidas worth milions of pounds. Bayern just used a new formation, their third in three matches due to the increasing injuries to star players.
This is getting ridiculous, but One Piece is out there!!! Gear Fourth looks ridiculous---ly awesome.
I am just going to stop here
| 2015-04-30T08:20:30 | 2015-04-30T08:07:05 | 503 | 13 |
[WP] The bombs stopped falling. Slowly, you opened the bunker's door. You did not expect what you saw. Make it as scary as possible. Now, take this story and tell it to a five year old without frightening him/ her.
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I slammed the door shut and threw the bolts, almost knocking myself off the ladder in my haste. I climbed down, and leaned heavily against the wall at the bottom of the ladder well. I could see Kira in the doorway, peaking around grandad's legs. God, why did those little eyes have to look so bloody HOPEFUL? With a deep breath to steady me, I shooed both of them back into the shelter, deliberately and solidly- please, god let it be solidly enough- locking the second blast doors behind me.
"Aren't we going out to play now?"
I paused, hand on the last lever in the combination, before pulling it down solidly.
"No, we can't go outside to play yet, sweetheart" I said without turning around "I'm so sorry. It looks like mummy was wrong. It's still thunder-storming outside."
"Oh..." It wasn't the sadness, but the sweet, simple acceptance in her little voice that made me turn around again. Quickly, I dropped down to my knees, as she darted over for a quick hug.
"Will there be more hail again? I didn't like the hail sounds. I didn't like it when they went ping."
Outside, there was a dull roar- the first blast of the new wave must have been right overhead this time.
"I think it might hail a bit more sweetheart. Come on, lets turn on the music again- that makes the hail harder to hear."
So this was how the world ended... listening to the heat shield slowly warping and pinging out of shape with Elmo singing the soundtrack.
Silently, I wished that the episode wouldn't end before it failed.
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My muscles tensed in anticipation of the explosions. As the whistling sound grew in intensity I knew the moment had arrived. We held hands and prayed while the children slept through their fiery pending deaths.
*SQUONKA SQUONKA*
What the hell?! The sound continued, sometimes close by, then farther away, but over and over that bizarre sound replaced the expected boom of the bombs as they dropped. It went on for what felt like hours before silence once more filled the air.
We crept towards the shelter doors, confusion mixing with dread as we threw the bolts and slowly pushed the doors open enough to peek through. What we saw haunts me to this very day. Instead of the ruins of our city, smoldering buildings and craters in the ground, what we saw chilled us to the bone. A flash of color at first, darting through the mist with an awkward gait. The low sounds of the horns and tittering evil laughter. Horrid smiles painted on white creamy flesh. Large, bulbous red noses that should have caused feelings of mirth, image ruined by the sharp teeth and bloodied mouths.
I will never forget the sight of thousands of clones of that evil, twisted persona, Pennywise. I knew that death truly had come to us all. Not the quick and painless kind, but true horror awaited those who stepped outside. One of the children pushed forward from the back trying to get a glimpse of what was going on.
I needed to give them their last moments without fear. "Oh child, it's nothing. Just a circus come to town and not the war after all. Go back to sleep while we handle this." It hurt, lying to a child.
| 2015-05-11T05:16:04 | 2015-05-11T03:25:56 | 148 | 61 |
[WP] Write the biggest plot twist you can in ten sentences or less.
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I have a vision of a great utopia.
I believe that I am noble, decent, and good - I am even a vegetarian.
I have fought for my country, and will continue to do so until the bitter end.
I will turn our nation's economy around.
I will raise armies to protect our people from a terrible scourge.
I will do whatever is necessary to keep us safe.
And productive.
And happy.
I believe that God is with us.
I admire Charlie Chaplin's mustache.
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I love the way she smells. I love the way she looks at me when I caress her. I chose to be here with her, a year to the day I first saw her to show her what she means to me. I wipe my mouth from the delicious cut of meat placed in front of me and look at her. She is seated perfectly, staring at me with those big beautiful eyes. I get up and walk over to her and her on my knees. She gasps at what I have in my hands, it glistening in the candle light. I tighten the restraints and begin carving again, she isn't escaping this time.
| 2015-06-18T19:20:49 | 2015-06-18T19:05:50 | 49 | 29 |
[WP] Superman announces on the news that he is going to kill each person on earth, one by one, until humanity is wiped out, in alphabetical order.
What would happen? What would happen from a local to a worldwide level?
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The Kryptonian had just concluded his announcement to the General Assembly of the United Nations, and the hall was deathly silent.
Silent, that is, apart from a low hum.
As Kal-El watched, a large spacecraft materialised in the middle of the hall.
Long legs extended to the ground.
A walkway opened up, and a tall, alien creature appeared in the mist that often accompanied such entrances, cloaked in extravagantly draped golden robes with a peculiarly alien collar design.
The alien's gray-green skin shone in a particularly lustrous way.
Its flattened head moved from left to right, and settled upon the Kryptonian, whereupon its slitty eyes may have opened a bit wider, though it was difficult to tell.
It held some kind of exclusively alien device in its alien hands.
The creature approached the Man Of Steel.
The assorted heads of state in attendance were rapt in attention. Who was this being? Perhaps it was an instrument of destruction for the human race, summoned by Superman? Perhaps it was a new protector, here to save humanity?
The visitor took one look at Superman, looked down at its device, muttered "Oh, that's right" to itself, looked back up, and uttered in a derisive tone: "Pompous git."
The crowd waited.
The creature sniffed. "Right, that's you told." It tapped at the device, as if to cross something off a list, and appeared satisfied. It turned back towards the ship.
The crowd were unsure what was happening, and murmurs began to break out.
Suddenly, the alien stopped, turned its head back round to humanity's former protector (and current avowed destroyer) and commented:
"I heard what you said, by the way. Seems a bit extreme to me, but whatever works for you, I suppose. However, I must say - only one planet? In linear order, in normal spacetime? Bloody amateur."
Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged (for it was he) hopped into his ship and buggered off to wherever and whenever the computer told him that the next irritating lifeform due a verbal barb was to be found. Did that count as two insults? Probably, but he'd done it before to that naive twerp Arthur Dent, and the Kryptonian probably deserved it and more.
He didn't stick around to hear the screams. They didn't really concern him. When he was ready to insult those examples of humanity that he hadn't yet got around to, they would all be healthy enough to realise they were being served.
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It was like elementary school again. The ones at the top of the attendance looking down at those at the bottom. Getting their choice of seats, being dismissed first, and just generally benefiting from being born in to the right family with the right last name. Except this time, those at the top of the list were screwed. They'd be killed first. The benefits from earlier in life would come crashing down. It was almost like karma.
Right from the get-go everyone was scrambling. CNN was running their 24 hour coverage bullshit when they had their signal interrupted by Superman, who announced that the world would be killed one by one in alphabetical order. Nobody knew the rate. Nobody knew whether he would sort by first, middle, or last name. Nobody even knew how he was going to kill. The only thing everyone knew was that their death would come. People were calling relatives to check on them. The internet exploded. Government officials had to figure out what to do in order to calm down their citizens.
Then that scrambling turned to madness. The court systems were overwhelmed with people trying to legally change their names to Zzzzzz Zzzz Zzzzzzzz, for fear that Superman may sort by something other than last name. Suddenly, whole communities had the same name. Eventually, whole states and even countries had names starting with Z. The trend was so big that after a year, 75% of the worldwide population had a name starting with Z.
However, the deaths didn't start. Of course, natural deaths and accidents and whatnot still occurred, but no noticeable trend emerged from the deaths. Nothing indicating that Superman was getting to work on his plan. In time, people began dismissing it as an empty threat to scare the human population.
Just as life was beginning to return to normal, Superman appeared on CNN with Zzzz Zzzzzzz, formerly known as Wolf Blitzer. The interview was tense, seeing as one was an almost immortal being with the ability to literally end the world.
"So Superman," Wolf began. "You haven't delivered on your little . . . umm . . . how do I put this? Threat."
"Yes. Is there a question in there somewhere?" he replied.
"Well I'm just wondering, along with most people in the world, why haven't you killed anyone yet? Not that I'd want you to."
"Oh, well, you see, there's a great reason. I was simply testing the reaction of the human race."
"And did we pass?"
"Lol no. I'm going in reverse alphabetical order now, bitches! Who's the smart one now?" Superman yelled, as Zzzz Zzzzzzz lay helplessly dying in his chair.
| 2015-07-12T22:00:28 | 2015-07-12T21:53:29 | 120 | 48 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you.
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I’m a bad person. Really, I am. So when they executed me for all the people I killed, I figured, “Straight to hell!!” I mean, honestly. I killed quite a few people, robbed a few, and then killed some more. What can I say? I like the thrill of the kill. I like hunting the enemy, the biggest enemy out there- and that’s a human being. Screw the smaller ones, I want the big meat.
Ooh. Gotta compose myself here, getting off track. Where was I? Right, hell. So when I died, it was poison, that’s how they killed me. When I died, I was like “aight. I’m ready for Satan. Maybe we can become buds.” Turns out, that wasn’t gonna happen.
You see, some dipshit up in the political system of heaven- and believe me, I’ve heard an earful of what happens up here in terms of politics. One day I’ll write a book over it- maybe I’ll even run. Anyway, some dipshit politician decided that people like me deserve a different ruling than ‘just God’s’ (his words, not mine). I think it’s because he’s a sexist, but that’s a story for another time. He thought it’d be just a grand idea if we let the animals assist in the ruling of who goes where. When the question was raised about people like me, criminals, getting into heaven, he spat some bullshit about how we all abuse animals.
‘All criminals abuse animals’, now that’s a pretty big statement there. I have no interest in killing any animal- even hurting them, for that matter. No, they’re too small for me. I kill people. So when I went in for my trial, my old dog spoke up on my behalf.
“Okay. Okay, yes. Master, master killed. Yes. He did. But master also saved. Master saved me. Me!!!!!! And called me ‘good boy’, MASTER CALLED ME HIS GOOD BOY! Master gave many pets. Now. I saw many bad things master did. However. HOWEVER. Master pet me every day. You try to find someone who gives as many pets to me as master did- and you cannot. Master gave me at least 60% of the pets I ever got in my whole life.”
Yep, I loved that dog. So now I’m living the good life, and sometimes something really fun happens.
I get to see someone I killed burn for eternity.
|
Alexander came into the 3rd floor apartment with a stutter, his glasses and awkward unshaven appearance left him unappealing. When my roommate, Casey, had told me he was bringing his friend over and that he was a little strange, he wasn't exaggerating. Casey had forgotten to mention a very important detail to Alex. The detail that we have a pet.
"Wow, you have a golden retriever!" Alexander seemed as excited as we were when class got cancelled. "That's a good dog, I can tell just by looking at him." "Oh yeah, he's pretty cool. I got him to fetch the news from the front too, doesn't even need a leash." "He's not your slave you know, this guy is his own individual, with his own hopes and dreams. He might have smaller aspirations and simpler drives, but they are there all the same." Casey and I just looked at each other, he didn't even ask who I was and I would be clueless to his presence if not for Casey telling me about him beforehand. I limply held my playstation 4 controller in my hand on the living area couch, unsure how to proceed. "I don't suppose that I could talk to him for a bit?" Now Casey and I were really confused. Did he really want to have a conversation with our dog? "You can learn a lot from animals, trust me. One of them told me something very important once, something that I can't talk with anyone else about. The gist of that conversation is to be good to all animals, trust me." I sat with my mouth agape, thinking if he was for real.
Without even attaining permission, Alexander immediately began sitting down and chatting with our dog. "What's your name man?" He asked inquisitively, and he seemed to expect an actual answer. "I see, well it seems like a good life." Casey and I were stunned. I couldn't even believe what was happening, and Casey started to realize that bringing him over was a really bad move. "You know, I eat 100% vegan. No animal products involved in my diet, absolutely not. I know it might not mean much to you, but I just can't eat meat or anything that an animal had to suffer for." This gross, unkempt man came into our house to spout off his vegan nonsense? I was about to say something but Casey immediately propped up and said "Yo, Alex, I think maybe we should hang out somewhere else, maybe your place? Alex responded "Sure, sounds like a plan." "Hey, see you later David." As Casey and Alex left the apartment, he waved to David, our dog.
| 2016-03-24T14:12:16 | 2016-03-24T12:50:08 | 78 | 11 |
[WP] A group of Viking encounters a Siren at sea, her voice is luring the men to their doom - except one. Now it's up to a closeted gay Viking to save the day.
|
"Therrrrrrrreee..."
"Where?", interrupted the Captain. " You can't see them through this mist!"
The First Mate swung around, gasping in frustration. "Our fellow sailors will lose their souls to the wretched wailing of these hags! To break the spell, we must break the melody!"
The Captain took a step back, and covered his ears.
The First Mate cleared his throat.
"Therrrrrrrreeee's no business! Like show business! Like no business, I know..."
|
*Too long, didnt write: Vikings are used to strong women, even the gay ones like poon, and vikings are called vikings for a reason. They did seriously fucked up shit....*
... The Siren's song turned to screams of horror as the vikings violated then disembowled her.
"Thank goodness youre partial to the cock", Bjork said to Ragnar.
"Sure, the cock is great, but then again, theres nothing like a good fuck with a terrified virgin", Said Ragnar as he went to town on the siren's mutilated torso.
| 2016-05-09T14:04:02 | 2016-05-09T13:00:54 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] The four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are here. Their names are Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa-Laa and Po.
Edit: Thanks guys these are awesome! Please keep them coming.
Reddit Edit: Coooool. Gold and front page, what a day to be alive!
Edit some more: Wow, this really blew up. Thanks for all the submissions. Please keep going.
|
**Over the hills and far away, Teletubbies come to slay...**
Even after eighteen months, Jenna could never get rid of that tinge of panic upon hearing that inhuman voice announcing the new day.
The remaining survivors prepared their weapons, feeling comfort in the process, but knowing they did nothing. As a golden glow began spreading from the edge of the hills, muscles tensed, faces hardened, and grips tightened on their last rifles.
Jenna took a deep breath. She forced herself to forget the names of those she had to abandon yesterday, and faced forward towards the warmth.
The angry eyes of an infant began to rise from the horizon. It was beginning.
*One.*
A purple rider, bow in hand, was the first to appear from the dark abyss. Tall, with a vicious smile that never disappeared from his cheeks.
*Two.*
A bile-like yellow. Holding nothing but an old rusted blade, but still fresh with the blood of her former comrades.
*Three.*
Draped in green, and holding the largest weapon, a battleaxe. She had seen entire squadrons wiped out in one blow just from that.
*Four.*
Red. The smallest. The one who had taken Jenna's family away from her, all those months ago. Red carried nothing, but it was because of exactly that reason why Red was the cruelest.
Silver, metallic speakers began rising out from the cracked earth. A tinny voice began to repeat:
**Time for Teletubbies. Time for Teletubbies. Time for Teletubbies.**
They braced for impact.
*Tinky Winky.*
The four began joyfully skipping down from their hellish perch. Purple happily shot his bow into the clear blue skies. Several seconds later, the flank on Jenna's right was immediately wiped out, pierced by a barrage of arrows.
*Dipsy.*
Green spun around, swinging his battleaxe left and right. Those that it touched who weren't granted a hasty death, immediately fell to the ground, their flesh suddenly become plagued the same green with disease.
*Laa-Laa.*
A disembodied arm flew across Jenna's face from her left. She could see nothing more than a blur of yellow as bits and pieces of her friends fell.
*Po.*
Red walked silently behind the other three. What was she waiting for today?
*Teletubbies! Say hello!*
The carnage suddenly stopped, as the four gathered in the center of the destruction, and gathered their hands.
*Eh-oh!*
It was at that point Jenna realized she was the only one left. There was nothing left of the others. She began to run.
Lungs aching.
Desperate for survival.
Suddenly, she hit something soft. Red and soft.
Oh no. No. No. No.
Red began to grip her tightly. She knew what was coming next. She had seen the aftermath with her family, but never thought she would ever have to see it again.
Let alone experience it.
Green appeared from her left.
Yellow appeared from her right.
Purple behind her.
As her world slowly began to fade to black, she could only hear Red say one thing.
**Big hug!**
|
In retrospect, nobody can remember for sure where, or how the Four Horsemen appeared. Varying tales of that night, 8th July 2016, are so dissimilar and disparate that it's a mere postulation at this stage.
Tinky Winky appeared on the North, South American continent. Dipsy in Africa. Laa-Laa in Europe. Po's horseman could teleport so represented the rest of the world. Their purpose? To foreshadow tales of misery and despair that were to befall the planet. The coming of an asteroid in 2022 that would send Earth back to the stone age, eradicating humanity. I'm sure you can imagine the hysteria that ensued.
Twinky Winky promised exaltation to the planet of Twinky for the whole of humanity. In return America would provide a sacrifice of 20 million persons.
Dipsy promised exaltation to the planet of Dipso for the whole of humanity. In return Africa would provide a sacrifice of 20 million persons.
Laa-Laa promised exaltation to the planet of Laa for the whole of humanity. In return Europe would provide a sacrifice of 20 million persons.
Po promised exaltation to the planet of FuckThePoPo for the whole of humanity. In return Rest Of World would provide a sacrifice of 20 million persons.
Wars ensued. Society spiralled out of control, into oblivion. People stopped working. Everyone became an activist and a racist overnight. Humanity had 6 years.
It is 2021. Australia, Russia, most of the world really, has been destroyed by nuclear bombs. Africa has been spared because of their poverty, but mostly because Europe and America are planning to use the Africans as pawns to escape to Dipsy.
Society, or any connotations of the word, has completely disintegrated. People have died from starvation, guerilla fanatics, government. But that's probably just a conspiracy, like my idea about the Africans.
Dipsy, Laa-Laa, Tinky-winky and Po all maintain palaces, fortresses, awaiting humanity's decision. Sipping wine and doing drugs all day; they seem to really like the drugs. Waiting for a decision, for sure, that will never come. Would you trust your country, your government, the person who made the decision to kill off 20 million of your people, even if it provided exaltation for the whole of humanity? Fuck no.
So it's 2022 and nothing has happened. It turns out the Four Horsemen were actually a super-advanced civilization from some planet called LOL and they decided to play some form of game with humanity. Some form of film, or something beyond film outside of our imagination but certainly analogous to a film of sorts. Probably in 5D or something. Something like Big Brother. Some form of reality show. Actually, exactly like that come to think of it. Earth's current population? 0.
I bet your wondering how I'm alive then? Well I'm Po. I drank all the wine, took all the drugs. Ketamine was my favourite. In fact I only went for the Ketamine. My horse loved it. You wouldn't get that sort of shit back on LOL.
I'm certainly disappointed though. The film we came here to make was scrapped at the Box Office. Shame.
| 2016-07-08T08:37:07 | 2016-07-08T07:44:26 | 47 | 16 |
[WP] Prison sentences have been replaced with math problems. Small offenses are questions like "What is 200 times 135?" while life in prison are math problems that has yet to be solved.
|
When Jonathan was passed over for tenure, again, he went for the next best thing and shot all the members of the tenure committee in the head.
Then, he put his life’s savings into hiring the best attorney he could afford. Not to help him walk free, obviously. The whole point was to spend the rest of his life devoted to mathematics, without having to worry about three square meals and a roof over his head. The lawyer’s job was to make sure he got sent to a facility with plenty of other lifers. He wanted monkhood, not hermitage. He wanted a collegiate atmosphere, with brilliant colleagues he could talk to, solving hard problems like him. That’s part of why he’d wanted tenure, after all.
And he had succeeded.
What Jonathan hadn’t expected, however, was the way his sentence would work. The security around problem assignment was so tight that all convicts were issued a chemical lobotomy before parole, much less freedom. It wouldn’t do to have the answers leaked, after all. They were given shots that killed any recall of their period of incarceration. The drugs had the convenient side effect of permanently impairing cognitive skills - making any future attempts at solving prison sentences that much harder, effectively discouraging repeat offences. The upshot of this tight lipped system was that you only knew what math would hit you once you got to jail. Nobody was getting their problems early, or enlisting outside help, for sure.
So, Jonathan couldn’t be blamed, not really, for miscalculating (ha!) the whole affair. He couldn’t have known that he would wake up on his first day in jail, brimming with glee, only to open his government-issued manila envelope to reveal “Math Made Easy: Kindergarten Workbook.”
“What did you expect, man?” said the prison guard, as he hauled Jonathan off to a stint in solitary, in response to his disruptively obscene howls.
“You ever start a video game right at the final stage? Naw! You got to work your way up! You start at level one, and play your way through!”
Jonathan had twelve cumulative life sentences, one for every member of the committee he’d offed. It would take him a couple years to get through twelve rounds of K-12 math homework. Then, a few more decades for twelve rounds of undergrad coursework and PhD programs. He’d get to play with Monte Carlo simulations again in a century, perhaps - depending on his sanity and all that.
|
It's amazing the advances we've seen in the past few years. Breakthroughs in astrophysics, quantum calculations and computing. The new Rehabilitation through Education program really seems to be working. People will commit infractions, and "Teachers" will come and pick them up, have them do Advanced Mathematics to do some brain modeling, a tweak here and there, and then release them back as a productive member of society. Murder, theft, rape, all have been reduced to virtually 0%.
It's supposed to be that "Students" solve problems equal to the difficulty of their offense. You steal some bread for your family, and you solve a list of Algebraic equations. You murder someone, and you spend your life solving the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture.
Frank seems to be the exception. A hero of our times. His mathematical prowess is unparalleled. That's the problem. Frank is systematically working through the Book of Offenses. We aren't even sure if he's being caught for half of them. Even worse, I'm not sure I can explain his solutions to you because I don't understand half of them myself.
Last week, Frank executed the daughter of "Our Fearless Leader" on vid. He looked in the camera, and told us all this was just the beginning, and that us "Sheep" should fear for our lives. Then he went and provided a solution to the Riemann hypothesis, which gave the "Teachers" a throw, especially when they realized the implications to phase equilibrium and thermodynamics.
Standing here in this crowd, on "Archimedes Day", I get to see Frank in person in his non-descript bulging black sweat shirt. The "Teachers" are keeping a close on him, but he's completed his solutions. He is heading to the front They aren't moving in. I can hear two of them arguing behind me. They've been instructed to leave him alone, they need the solutions he's providing.
He's walking to the front now. There's a crowd out tonight, at Sagrada Familia. Everyone is here to listen to hear Frank's solution. That must be why he's here tonight. It's mira...Wait! He's taking off his sweater. He's got some sort of device.
He's going to blow us all up! He's laughing.
I can't hear it, but I can see his face.
We are all "Sheep".
(Always love feedback, especially since I only started responding to these a couple of weeks ago. Thanks in advance!)
| 2016-10-24T13:34:45 | 2016-10-24T12:48:01 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] After brushing your teeth in the morning you go downstairs to fry an egg, but when you try the frying pan buzzes at you and text appears reading, "level 18 cooking required to use object".
|
I tilt my head at the frying pan. *God damnit*. I pick it up once again just to be safe. It buzzes again and the same message appears. *Son of a bitch. Seriously?* I reach out and try to pick up the blender. It buzzes as well as a message pops up claiming I did not have level 20 cooking to operate it. Well, that settles the fact that it is not the frying pan malfunctioning. *Alright... I'll figure out what happened to my points after I eat breakfast.* I reach for the juice squeezer.
**BZZZ** *Level 8 cooking required to use object.*
*Alright... let's work downwards from here. Maybe the toaster?*
**BZZZ** *Level five cooking required to use object.*
*That's... something. Okay. Let's try simpler. Simple bread with butter*. I reach for the knife.
**BZZZ** *Level two cooking required to use object.*
*Cereal? Come on the spoon is the absolute minimum anyone can-*
**BZZZ** *Level one cooking required to use object.*
I practically kick down the door to the living room as I call tech support from my phone, my free hand idly scratching the subcutaneous microchip installed on the back of my head. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with your service, but it is saying I can't even hold a fucking spoon!" It was kind of depressing and infuriating how apparently I had less cooking skills than a toddler right now.
"Please place your phone's reciever close to your microchip for diagnosis." Said the man on the other side of the line. I comply and count to ten before answering the phone again.
"So?"
"A fault with the microchip. It currently lists your cooking skills at negative one-twenty-seven."
My stomach is rumbling. "Great. That's great. Now can you fix it?"
"Tech support will be arriving shortly... estimate... five hours. Have a pleasant day."
I grit my teeth and hit my head against the wall three times, trying to think of a solution. At that level I couldn't even open the fridge. I take a deep breath and consider my options before finally deciding which was the least humiliating one and making the phone call.
"Hey mom, hi. Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Listen, this is going to sound really weird, but you know how you used to spoon-feed me when I was a little baby?"
|
The words were still flickering there.
With a trembling hand, Alison tried again to crack the egg into the pan. A light shock raced up her arm as she encountered what felt like a slight force-field.
"No, this isn't real," she said calmly. "Not real, not real, not real."
A nightmare, it had to be. After she'd badly burned her hand with the pan a few ago, she'd been slightly afraid to cook for herself again. It made sense that fears about it lingered in her subconscious. She'd also played way too many games lately...this whole 'level 18' business made sense, in that context...
She pinched herself to wake up, and felt only sharp pain. But the words were still there. The force field, still there.
Alison moaned and rocked on the spot as her sense of reality trembled and began to disintegrate.
----------
"What's wrong with you? The simulation is ruined!" Andy snapped at Russel. Just his luck, having to train the dumbest intern in the lab. "What were you thinking, activating the words? The level requirements? That's for *you* to see, not them, numbnuts!"
"Sorry, sorry," Russel babbled, switching it off in a panic. In the stimulation, Alison stopped moaning and gingerly tested whether the force-field was still in place.
"She would have burned herself again, I must've activated the back-up safety measures instead of redirecting her activity..." he muttered.
Andy rolled his eyes. "Well, activate shizophrenia, I suppose. That will provide a rational explanation for her. Pull yourself together man, do you want to be taken off the project?"
-----------
"There, the stimulation came up with the idea itself," Professor Anderson announced to his colleagues crowded around the massive screen.
"Russel is unsuitable. Get rid of him. Make him quit, car accident, natural disaster, a stab in the alley, I don't really care - just bring in someone competent. He almost derailed the entire thing. This is the first time in history a simulation has successfully initiated its own simulation. We can't afford any screw-ups."
"What if we're in a simulation ourselves?" Tina suggested.
Anderson rolled his eyes. Not that tired joke again. As if their perfect, intricate society could be a mere simulation. His genius, a simulation.
"Please, Tina. There is absolutely no proof of that," he said. "Get real."
----------------
*Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.*
| 2016-10-25T06:03:52 | 2016-10-25T05:49:40 | 67 | 50 |
[WP] You are pretty sure your cat just saved your life. Thing is, now the dog seems determined to outshine the cat and save you too, even when you really don't need it.
I'll be honest, this is *not* the prompt I expected to make it to the top.
|
"Winston, c'mon, stop that!" Lisa yelled at her dog, bounding out ahead of her as she tried to leave for work, growling furiously at people walking past the house.
They sped up, looking nervous. Lisa stroked the basset hound's head to calm him down.
"What's the matter with you, boy?" she muttered.
Moxie had yowled furiously just as two masked, armed men had tried breaking into the house last week. It had given her just enough time to call the police. Ever since then, Winston had been acting downright strange and hyper-vigilant. As if to make up for the fact that he hadn't woken up that night.
She planted a kiss on top of his head, and he whined with anxiety as he suddenly caught a whiff of the chocolate in her handbag. Poison!
She reared back as he bit into the handbag and tried to tug it away from her. It split open, the contents rolling out onto the concrete.
"Winston!" she groaned, exasperated. "Now I have to go get another one..."
She returned to the house, muttering under her breath. Maybe she should take Winston to the vet. She caught sight of him as he padded in after her, tail wagging furiously. Looking immensely proud of himself. She sighed and sank down, hugging him close.
"It's alright, I'm fine," she said. "I love you."
He growled and sped through the house in triumph, looking for Moxie. He'd saved her, from poisoning, too! She loved him! Lisa hadn't said that to Moxie after what happened last week, she'd just petted her.
"I saved her! She loves me more," he barked at the cat, preening herself in the corner. Moxie stretched lazily, her green eyes slits as she listened to Winston.
Truth be told, she'd yowled because it amused her to do that, sometimes. The robbers were a coincidence, albeit one that had led to treats and extra tummy rubs.
But Winston and Lisa were too stupid to know that.
"She loves me more, she said so!" Winston repeated, tongue lolling out.
Moxie sneered at him as she swept away, tail high. That dog was an insufferable moron. Loved him more? She'd show him.
She'd save the human again, knowingly this time. On an epic scale. Just to see the dejected look on that mutt's face. See him running around trying to beat her.
But first, there had to be danger. Something to save Lisa *from*. Something horrible. Couldn't expect robbers to come by every night. Well, she was good at creating chaos. It would be easy.
She was a cat, after all, and infinitely smarter than them all.
--------
Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
INT. LAUNDRY ROOM - NIGHT
DEZZY, 7, dog, sits staring unhappily up at LULU, cat, who crawls back and forth on the washer/dryer unit.
DEZZY:
Damn you, cat! That was no fair.
LULU:
What ever do you mean, Dezzy darling?
DEZZY:
It was fake! You used a toy snake. You ran off with a toy snake and she thought it was a real danger.
LULU:
My goodness. The imagination you have Dezzy, it's wonderful really.
DEZZY:
That was no fair.
LULU:
(sigh)
I know we agreed upon fairly vying for her affection, I do. But you forget one thing Dezzy: I'm a cat. A clever, conniving cat.
DEZZY:
Damn you, Lulu. My Mom was right. Cats are bad news.
Lulu laughs her scheming, purring laugh.
DEZZY:
If those are the new rules...
(gets up)
Fine by me.
LULU:
And to where do you think *you're* going?
DEZZY:
None of your bees wax.
Dezzy lift his nose, pleased with his retort.
LULU:
Then screw Dezzy, screw. I have some well-deserved yarn awaiting me.
DEZZY:
(under breath)
Cat bastard.
Lulu watches him go.
EXT. DOWNTOWN - LATER
Dezzy ambles down the walkway, casting glances around, looking for something. Clamped in his teeth is a wad of cash.
ALLEYWAY - LATER
Dezzy extends the wad of cash in his mouth toward a STRANGER.
STRANGER:
What the -
(accepts cash)
Um... good dog.
DEZZY:
Listen closely.
The stranger hears only barks.
DEZZY:
I want you to pretend to threaten my owner.
STRANGER:
(kneels)
What is it boy? What's wrong?
DEZZY:
Damn it, human.
Dezzy thinks. He noses under the man's jacket and nudges the gun tucked in his waistline.
DEZZY:
This. This. Now follow me.
Dezzy starts off. He looks back at the stranger.
STRANGER:
Trouble, huh?
(to self)
Or... was I just paid by a dog?
(palms gun)
To kill someone?
(a beat)
Frankie is goin' to some real lengths these days.
The stranger shrugs and heads after the dog. Dezzy pants happily and leads the way.
INT. LAUNDRY ROOM - LATER
Lulu plays happily with her ball of yarn.
BEDROOM
CASSANDRA sleeps peacefully.
LIVING ROOM
Dezzy slips through the doggy door into the house, panting, excited, and scampers O.S.
Footsteps approach the door outside. The cocking of a gun. The door handle starts wriggling.
| 2016-11-10T08:25:48 | 2016-11-10T08:12:52 | 90 | 26 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much!
|
There once was a mage from North Bergen,
Who wove spells of healing like sermons.
Each Sunday at 10
Before women and men,
She swore to relieve what was hurtin'.
Before long her name became famous
To her, self-promotion was shameless
"If more people are healed
By the power I wield,
What right do I have to stay nameless?"
She slept, at the peak of her power,
In a glistening, glamorous tower.
She helped all she could,
If the money was good,
But soon her spells began to sour.
A wound that, once healed, now would rot.
The sick would not get what they bought.
For greed kills all things,
And ruin, it brings,
If this simple rule is forgot:
"A terrible curse be upon
One who uses a spell or a song
To increase one's own stock
Beyond that of the flock.
Fail and all of your spells will go wrong."
The healer had fattened her chests,
And each evening ate only the best,
But she paid for it all,
When the curse came to call,
To rip her from her gilded nest.
|
"Why? Why are you doing this?"
"So that all may benefit."
"Please, it hurts, it hurts so much."
"Now, now. Relax, let fingers massaging into your arms and shoulders bring the warmth your body craves. You're freezing, your practically a cadaver."
"But it's so warm there, just let me go!"
"Hush, no more of that. Let *MY* warmth take over. You can feel it keep you breathing; keep your heart pumping; your mind working. Otherwise you'd die and then what?"
"Yes! Yes! Please just let me die you damn white devil!"
"But you're no good to me dead. I can't observe life in a corpse. I can't see the very magic of life itself if I let you die. But! In the transition that's where it must lie. To observe the moment when what is becomes what is not. Therein lies the secret. And I will find the secret. I will know it. I will have it. No matter how many times I must heal you and bring you back."
"But it's been centuries! I'm as the living dead!"
"Oh, but time won't matter if we have eternity..."
| 2016-11-12T11:01:29 | 2016-11-12T09:05:54 | 80 | 16 |
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