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[WP] Some say that your power is future sight. Others insist that you have superhuman intellect. They're wrong. Your power is the ability "Quicksave."
|
Loading state 2521632-C...
“-will be finished! now you die!”
Dodge left, duck, dodge right, retaliate punch, kick, backflip onto platform.
“Impossible! How could you have predicted my attacks so well? I took every liberty to make sure you couldn’t!”
“Well I’ve already seen this fight hundreds of times, and I must say, you are a difficult opponent, but I simply can’t lose.”
“Oh ya? Then try this!” *dr. Evil presses a button, a turret activates and fires on the hero*
“Oh shi-“
Loading state 2521632-C...
“-will be finished! now you die!”
Dodge left, duck, dodge right, retaliate punch, kick, backflip onto platform.
“Impossible! How could you have predicted my attacks so well? I took every liberty to make sure you couldn’t!”
“Well I’ve already seen this fight hundreds of times, plus, that turret is slow to activation, giving me enough time to duck behind this barrier.”
“Oh ya? Then try th- wait, how did you know about the turret? Doesn’t matter you die anyways!”
Saving... save state 2521632-D created.
*dr. evil presses a button and another turret activates and fires on th-*
Loading state 2521632-D...
“-ie anyways!”
*dr. evil presses a button and another turret activates, but the hero dives towards dr. Evil to try and press the button to deactivate the turret... he misses.*
“Dang this might take a few tries”
51 save state reloads later...
*-the hero dives towards dr. Evil to try and press the button to deactivate the turret, he hits the button and the turrets is down*
“FINALLY!”
Saving... save state 2521632-E created.
“What? IMPOSSIBLE! grrrr, well no matter, I still have one trick left. I’ve been analyzing you abilities, and I’ve developed this special weapon, just for you!”
*dr. Evil pulls out a gun with special markings on it.*
“Say goodbye mr hero!”
*before the hero could react, dr. Evil fires a laser at them*
“Fu-“
Loading state 002521632-E... save corrupted, attempting data restoration... restoration failed. Loading most, uncorrupted save... Loading state 1-A...
“He’s so beautiful.” She said as the doctor hands her the newborn baby.
*thinking* “wait... did that laser corrupt all my saves? Am I an infant again? Oh for fu-“
|
4928... That's how many times I’ve saved the world and each time it gets more and more complicated. Before my ability life was simple, I was a twenty-something guy just lazing about during the new year lockdown in 2021. I'd just received the new PS5 I had been saving up for and started playing when lightning hit. I still remember what went through my head, ’Well what did I expect...’, before ten thousand volts travelled straight into me and branched off into the console. That was the moment where my life took a turn for the better, it was the moment I gained the ability to quicksave.
My first quicksave happened when I went to take out the trash and got hit by a runaway garbage truck. I still remember the feeling of metal hitting me before I saw the menu screen appear, with the option to reload last save. I woke up picking myself off the charred sofa from the lightning strike. It took a few more attempts for me to realise I could quicksave whenever I wanted. I just needed to say aloud ”Menu, Save” but as soon as I did I would lose the save before that. I learnt that the hard way, I spent what must have been weeks going back to the same day over and over for this girl. Christine was her name, I met at work and made the rookie error of showing I knew too much about her. I realised my mistake too late and couldn't reload as I discovered I had quicksaved after helping ’Steve the idiot with the cactus’ save his PowerPoint as a pdf.
I only started saving the world when I turned 30, by that point I had won enough lotteries, invested in the right companies and made a fortune for myself and began to realise what was the point of money if there was nothing to spend it on and so it began. Be it bacteria from Mars, COVID40, the Great fires of Thanksgiving and the constant threat of dirty bombs I was there learning about what happened and why, before reloading each time to prevent it.
Now that I've started though, I can't seem to get a break! Every day there's a new crisis, a new threat that I'm forced to defeat. The worst ones to deal with are the ones I cause. I kill a scientist about to release a mutagenic compound into the water supply, and that's no problem! Next reload, their nephew becomes an arms dealer who sells the final component in a dirty bomb whereas without me killing the scientist they would have been a TikTok star. This is what I meant by complicated.
I think I will take a break on my 5000th time of saving the world, I hope it'll be ok...
| 2020-12-15T13:22:34 | 2020-12-15T13:15:04 | 2,756 | 500 |
[WP] A being at the gates of the afterlife allows every soul that passes through to ask it one question. Used to being asked questions such as "What is the meaning of life?" and "How many people loved me?", it's taken unawares when a soul asks "How was your day?" instead.
|
"My day? That's your question?" The being asked, taken aback. The six-armed monstrosity that was covered in eyes which all looked at the man repeated its statement. "You only get one question and I'll answer it. I know everything."
"I know that," the older gentleman nodded. "Listening is where love begins: listening to ourselves and then to our neighbors. That's one of the truths I lived my life by, among other things."
"Love?" The being asked, almost scoffing. "You're lecturing an angel on love?"
"Oh, I wouldn't dare," the man replied. "I'm just giving you my reason for my question. If you'd like, I can ask a different question."
"No, it's just that you're at the gates of heaven. Your life has ended, but I can answer the one question that had been haunting your, whatever that may be," the angel said, now rather perturbed.
"There are times when explanations, no matter how reasonable, just don't seem to help. Besides, the connections we make in the course of a life--maybe that's what heaven is. Why would that stop when I've finally reached out?" the man asked, obviously rehetorically. "So, how are you, friend?"
"I—" the angel stopped as it looked down at the man's file one more time. "I'm actually doing better now that you're here, Fred."
"That's so very kind of you, sir," the man called Fred bowed.
The angel opened the gates to reveal the heavenly splendor behind him, "you're free to go on in."
"My, this truly is a wonderful neighborhood. I hope to see you around, sir. I think I'll go for a walk," Fred nodded. Before he left, be took off the red cardigan that had been on his body and handed it to the angel. "Hopefully this can keep you warm out here." With that, the man passed through the gates.
The angel picked up the cardigan; he didn't physically feel hot or cold. But the kindness of this man have him a spiritual warmth. He looked over the cardigan and find the name on the tag: "F. Rogers." "Well, Mr. Rogers, I hope you have a wonderful day," the angel said before setting the cardigan down to his right.
|
“How was your day?” The spirit asked innocently.
The glowing, hooded figure grew still. Normally, a response was given without any hesitation. Yet this time it was stumped. The spirit cocked their head in confusion.
The hooded figure then gazed down at the spirit, then offered its long, skeleton-like hand. Climb, it said.
The spirit, somehow, had a sense of what they were told to do, and stepped on the figure’s hand. The figure lifted the spirit up then waved its other hand over the spirit.
The spirit cried out, then stopped. They began to see things. Their vision clouded, then transformed into something new.
A young woman was looking over them. Then a man. The vision clouded, and started anew once more.
The spirit was now peering over a crib. Shouting. Fighting. The man grabbing a knife and ramming it into the woman. Blood. The vision clouded, then became clear again.
A girl. Walking away. She did not look back. The spirit looked down. A small, white flower soaked by the rain. Then water came from the eyes.
The visions kept resetting and showing new harrowing nightmares. Sitting alone in college. Nobody to talk to, and it never changed. Job interview. Rejection. On the streets. Always running for life.
But at last, the vision clouded and revealed itself for the last time. Another man shouting at another woman. The spirit sees. The spirit runs and wrestles with the man, then everything turned red, and the spirit was on the ground. Soon the woman joined them. The vision clouded for the final time. Voices echoed in the darkness. “Useless”, said a man. “Pathetic,” mocked a woman. “A nobody. No purpose. Nothing,” said another voice, much deeper. Much scarier. The spirit then saw the gates of the afterlife, but the hooded figure was gone. Only a middle aged man. Then an angel appeared. It didn’t say much. It knew the man’s life. No purpose. Pure heart. Nobody who reached for him. The man touched the angel, then elongated into the hooded figure. The job was now to answer for the dead, as the spirit had experienced.
The spirit found themself back on the figure’s hand. The spirit again asked, “How was your day?”
The hooded figure replied, “Complete”.
| 2021-03-29T00:57:28 | 2021-03-28T20:17:28 | 87 | 49 |
[WP] A being at the gates of the afterlife allows every soul that passes through to ask it one question. Used to being asked questions such as "What is the meaning of life?" and "How many people loved me?", it's taken unawares when a soul asks "How was your day?" instead.
|
"My day? That's your question?" The being asked, taken aback. The six-armed monstrosity that was covered in eyes which all looked at the man repeated its statement. "You only get one question and I'll answer it. I know everything."
"I know that," the older gentleman nodded. "Listening is where love begins: listening to ourselves and then to our neighbors. That's one of the truths I lived my life by, among other things."
"Love?" The being asked, almost scoffing. "You're lecturing an angel on love?"
"Oh, I wouldn't dare," the man replied. "I'm just giving you my reason for my question. If you'd like, I can ask a different question."
"No, it's just that you're at the gates of heaven. Your life has ended, but I can answer the one question that had been haunting your, whatever that may be," the angel said, now rather perturbed.
"There are times when explanations, no matter how reasonable, just don't seem to help. Besides, the connections we make in the course of a life--maybe that's what heaven is. Why would that stop when I've finally reached out?" the man asked, obviously rehetorically. "So, how are you, friend?"
"I—" the angel stopped as it looked down at the man's file one more time. "I'm actually doing better now that you're here, Fred."
"That's so very kind of you, sir," the man called Fred bowed.
The angel opened the gates to reveal the heavenly splendor behind him, "you're free to go on in."
"My, this truly is a wonderful neighborhood. I hope to see you around, sir. I think I'll go for a walk," Fred nodded. Before he left, be took off the red cardigan that had been on his body and handed it to the angel. "Hopefully this can keep you warm out here." With that, the man passed through the gates.
The angel picked up the cardigan; he didn't physically feel hot or cold. But the kindness of this man have him a spiritual warmth. He looked over the cardigan and find the name on the tag: "F. Rogers." "Well, Mr. Rogers, I hope you have a wonderful day," the angel said before setting the cardigan down to his right.
|
"Hey, man, how was your day?"
The gatekeeper just stared at the little spirit ahead of him.
"Sorry?"
"How was your day... Sir?"
The gatekeeper looked around. What kind of question is that? Who is this young soul with his strange questions?
"We don't really have days here" he explained to the soul. "It's one big, eternal night here."
"Oh, okay then" the soul said. "Then how was your long night?"
"It was cold" the gatekeeper answered. "Can I ask you something? Who are you?"
"I am me."
The gatekeeper nodded.
"Yes, probably. But what did they call you?"
"It doesn't matter. They called me immortal. They were wrong."
"How did you die?" the gatekeeper asked.
"I hated living, so I wanted to try death too. You know the feeling, right? People asking you questions about the meaning of life, and you see their whole life play inside your head as a film, and you have to lie..."
"I don't lie" the gatekeeper said. "My words hurt, but they have to know."
"Yes, but they are dead here. The living can't accept the truth. They just can't."
"And what do you think the truth is?" The gatekeeper asked. The soul looked at the ground.
"Life has no meaning, at all."
"You're right" the gatekeeper sat right next to the soul. "They live because they were born, and give reasons to it. It's a strong circle, full of weak people. This meaninglessness is what they can't accept. The burden of being alive isn't dying."
"It's the fear of dying." the spirit said. "Because we think we are so special, we have to go somewhere after death, based on our actions. We try to give a meaning to life, even after death."
"That's why you asked me that question?" The gatekeeper asked. "That's why you asked about my day after all? Because it's meaningless?"
"No. I just wanted to test something. If life has no meaning, you can live however you want to. If you cross the gate of the underworld the gatekeeper will let you got with such stupid questions like this."
"Yes I will" the gatekeeper agreed. The soul entered the realm of the dead, without looking back. "I hope this boy meets some people down here. He has a future, even if he's dead."
| 2021-03-29T00:57:28 | 2021-03-28T22:36:02 | 87 | 19 |
[WP] You've loved an immortal for a long time, and they loved you back knowing your time together would be short. Doesn't make learning about the dozens of past lovers they've had, and the fact that their descendants are still alive any less upsetting, though.
|
##My Sunrise
I wake up feeling empty and look over at my husband's body. I watch his chest rise and fall, and I see him stir and turn on his side. His back contains a multitude of scars that are older than this building. The flesh that holds the scar does not look older than forty.
Sunlight peaks in through the curtains. I slip out without waking him to look at the sun. Sunrise always creates a beautiful picture. The warm pink glow coats the world and gives off an aura of hope. I smile as the world gets brighter.
Yet I also know that I am not the first person to find joy in a sunrise. It has been the subject of countless paintings, poems, and songs. Feeling bliss at the sight of a sunrise is almost a prerequisite to being human at this point. The sunrise does not belong to me.
I look over on the man lying on the bed. What am I to him? He claims to love me, and I know that I love him. But what is that love worth when our relationship dynamic is so uneven. He is an immortal who has lived for thousands of years, and I am the mortal who can only hope to see a fraction of that.
He tells me not to compare myself to his past loves, but how can I not? I know that I am neither his first love nor his last love. He tries to avoid mentioning his partners when telling me about his past, but they slip out.
When we were at an art museum, I caught him shedding a tear at a portrait of a woman in a beautiful gown. He quickly pulled me away from the painting, and he refused to elaborate on her. With just a slight glimpse, my insecurity made the most of the small piece of information. I imagined that she was a gorgeous princess who fell in love with him in a dramatic fashion. She couldn't be with him because she had to marry a prince, but she snuck out to see him every night until she passed. It is probably incorrect, but she has a painting in an art museum. I will never be able to compare to her.
I often wonder why I am trying to be in a relationship with him. I know why I love him. His life experience has given him the genius and wisdom of an intellectual titan. He has a sense of humor that can only be formed by centuries of trauma. He possesses a strength and kindness that provides me with a sense of security.
Yet when I look in his eyes and see the true depths of immortality, the doubts overcome that security. I wonder if he will ever remember me. Will he experience the same moment in the museum with a different woman and with me as the painting on the wall? Will another woman be obsessively comparing herself to me unfavorably?
He wakes up, and he smiles at me in the sunrise. The pink glow draws me close to him, and I bath in it. He kisses my forehead, and I feel the doubts start to fade. I may not be able to keep him to myself, but I will still love him.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
|
It's a touchy subject in any relationship. It can fray even the strongest bond. Sure, there are secure fellas who can listen to their their girlfriends list ex-lovers and be completely unfazed. But there are also many who cannot help but crumble in the face of their girl's romantic past.
At first, they ask for conversation's sake, or perhaps out of morbid curiosity. They press for details. One of the details bothers them, so they press for more, in the hope that more information will help them bury the bothersome tidbit. It rarely does.
They act cool. After all, they're not the jealous type. The past is gone. Almost forgotten. What matters is now.
But deep down, the details fester. The imagination fills in the blanks. The insecurities are like hydras: you lop the head from one and two more appear, then four, then eight.
Suddenly, the relationship is a sham. She doesn't love you. Never did. She thinks you're a joke. Your relationship is a pale shadow compared to her former trysts. All this time she has been cheating on you. Not literally. Not physically. But mentally. Spiritually. She's been cheating on you with her past. She's been sleeping with her memories. When she closes her eyes to kiss you, she's kissing her memories. That residue on her lips isn't gloss--it's the residue of her past! Her memories!
You can almost taste them on her breath. Like the reechy kisses of ghosts.
This is the spiral of thoughts down which an insecure man is dragged when he learns too much about his girl's romantic history. Especially if is he is young. Especially if her experiences have been more varied and wild than his own. Especially if he already felt like a bit of a chump compared to her, like she was out of his league, before he even knew about her halcyon, freewheeling days.
Imagine such a young man. Inexperienced, dating up, prone to jealousy and insecurity. Now imagine the woman he's with is young and beautiful and charming and vibrant and naturally flirtatious. Can you see the young man squirm? Can you see him bite his lip? Now imagine the woman has been young and stunning and coquettish and oh-so-*experimental* for three-thousand years, because she's immortal. Look closely at the young man's face now. Can you see the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth? Can you see the anxious darting of his eyes? Can you see behind his eyes, into his soul? Can you see that his soul is on fire?
If you can see that face, those eyes, that soul, I would like to introduce myself, because the man at whom you have been gazing these past few moments is me.
Hi. My name is Henry Bland and my girlfriend is immortal.
\- - -
Part 2!
https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/nfu9a0/a\_love\_that\_never\_dies\_part\_2/
| 2021-05-18T18:32:49 | 2021-05-18T17:58:48 | 47 | 22 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town.
|
An Ounce of Prevention
“They’re here, Sir”. Cybersquire knelt before me in the showy manner he always used to ham it up for the heroes. I sat on my throne as usual, but my normal cool confidence did little to ease the ice in my veins at his words.
“All three of them?” I asked, hoping against hope that perhaps only one of those wretched creatures would show his face in my city. I knew the answer before Cybersquire could get it out.
“All three, Sir. Ash-Rake, Virulent Son, and Rampager.” The fear in his voice shone through as he answered my question. “The drones spotted them on the outskirts, so it’s only a matter of time”
I leaned back into my chair as deeply as I could and thought back. For the past twenty years I had lived as this cities greatest villain. Everyone knew the name ‘Clockwork Conquest’ and every hero had cut their teeth facing him in one of his grand schemes. Little did they know that I was preparing them for this very moment.
The Cog-Rat Plague taught them to protect against biological threats and dangerous air quality that accompanied the combo of Virulent Son and Ash-Rake. Knight’s Eternal Night forced them to work in the low visibility conditions that Ash-Rake brought with him, and my trusty sword protected them from the slashing attacks his monsters would bring. And all of those battles against my building sized Clockwork Champions had hopefully prepared them for the sheer strength and brutality of Rampager.
I had, for my entire tenure, trained them for this exact scenario. They had no clue, and they’d likely never realize that I was their greatest mentor and ally this whole time.
I was snapped out of my memories by Cybersquire’s words. “The warnings have all been sent out. What do we do now, Sir?”
I stood from my throne, unsheathing my sword as I did and held it to catch the light. “Now? Now we buy them time to prepare.”
|
My heros. I dont know what happened, if i let them be. They wouldve probably turned into villains. Good, that i was there.
I lead them to great success, i was the one who made them famous, i was the one, that let the people believe in them. My plan was perfect, until this certain guy showed up. 'Nightscream'. An arrogant, aggressive and bloodhungry murderer. I always kept my heros away from him. He was a number too big for them.
This is the 3rd time he showed up. This time at a conference. "I give you heros one chance to give up. One last chance. Then nobody here gets hurt", he looked provocating around. I was there, too. Just to be sure. Damn, i have a good timing. My fist were ready to punch, and i slowly stood up from my place. The heros, infront of everyone at a podest, were alarmed. "Tell us, what you want, villain. And we dont hurt *you*", the leader Seraph said calm.
Nightscream laughed quietly. Gently, he said "You dont know, who youre talking to, do you?" "I talk to a murderer, who killed too many humans. You are the scum of society." Time to show up. He will kill them, if nothing happens.
"Nightscream. What are you doing in my town?" I went slowly the whole way to the podest, very dramatic and cool. "Ahh, hello, Nox. Do you join me?" "You know what i think of you. Now leave, or i will kick you personally out of this town. Understand me?" "Oh, you made your point clear. Now its my turn. Join me, or get killed with this heros. Your decision." He really wanted to challange me.
"Come here, fool. Lets see, who is doomed, you rookie", i went faster and stared directly in his eyes. "This town only has space for one villain, and thats me." And for this moment, everyone was stunned, looking at a fight, no one ever saw before. A fight, between 2 villains.
| 2021-05-20T08:01:46 | 2021-05-20T07:28:17 | 225 | 51 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town.
|
**Quanta.. wake-up.. Quanta..**
( Quanta gasps )
Q: Where am I? Did we catch Mint master?
Me: ...
A robot walks in and hands over my medication.
Q(angrily): You... You're Mint master. You kidnapped me...
Mm: yes.. I'm the great Mint master. Your favourite supervillain. How you're doing?
( Comes to light)
Q: You're... you're...quadriplegic. How.. how did you managed to escape from our Guild for past 10 years?
Mm: Well... For starters, I'm super intelligent that put me on wheelchair. You're the only super intelligent hero that I encountered in all these years. Smart enough to reach my lair.
Q: I'm gonna lock you up. You caused enough damage to the city. You're coming with me.
Mm: You see... I'm not gonna run. But, Hear me first.
Q: I'm gonna crush you.
Mm: After a month of stasis? Would be a surprise if you can sit on your own. Think about it. Why didn't I kill you?
Q: ... I don't understand. Why didn't you kill me? I flew too close to your lair. I was about to call backup. And.. and your robots ambushed me... nerfed me...
Mm: You're right. Don't push your mind yet. I nerfed you and brought up here to treat your condition. Were you having headaches lately?
Q: Yes.. a lot. My head was exploding. How do you know all these?
Mm: I know about you. I monitor all of you. See... This is FireHead.. burning at 400’ Celcius. Stephen is running 100 mph. And...
Q: Why did you capture me?
Mm: Superheroes suffer from super diseases. With your condition, you would've ended up just like me. So I baited you and put in the healing chamber for a month.
Q: But why you're helping me? You're a supervillain.
Mm: I've always been helping you. All of you guys. I'm monitoring and pushing you to the limits.
Q: Liar... Your robots thrown FireHead out of a 50 storey building. And tried to crush Carbino. Let me out...
Mm: Don't you see it. I thought you're smart. Didn't FireHead flew after we throw him? And Carbino.. she prefers to be called DiamondSkin now. And, Jacob aka MadFish, heard he cleared all his debts and landed in a stable job. We don't have time to argue... Superpal is dead.
Q: What..?? no..no.. that's not possible. No one can kill him. He's invincible. Did you kill him?
Mm: No.. no.. He's my favorite. His heart is gold. That's why I woke you up. You need to trust me. Your friends are in danger. And I don't have time to prepare them. They'll listen to you.
Q: I'll tell them what you did to me. What you did to all of us.
Mm: I don't want them to trust me. I just need them alive. *Kolaikaran* is here in our city. You need to gather all your friends and train them. Use my supercomputer – you'll know what to do to push their limits. We don't have time. You stand strong together.
Q: Thanks Mint.. I won't forget what you did for us. Stay safe.. and I promise I'll keep everyone safe.
|
I am White Eteru, the villain of the small city I have always cared for. I am a villain, and I go by the alias, "Phantom". My powers are the ability to control the fifth element, aether. I used to be a hero, but that was before I was accused of killing innocents. I was thrown out of my hero group and they all called me a "mad woman" or "insane girl". Now, I continue to help my friends from afar. It pains me, but I force myself to fight them, even my former boyfriend, to help them grow stronger. They've grown so much stronger, they've almost surpassed me quite a few times.
A few weeks ago, an nationally known villain razed a nearby city to the ground. This villain calls himself The Final Judge... I know him well, as he is my father. He once was a hero, the hero who taught my and my friends how to fight. His everyday name is Gabe, Gabe Lambert. He disappeared one day, and never returned. Everyone declared him dead, until the new, most wanted villain, The Final Judge, revealed himself to me, asking me to join him. I declined, and now I am flying by aether to rush to tell my hero friends that The Final Judge intends to raze our city down to the ground soon.
"Beans, Kanars, Thunder, Hawk- we have a BIG problem!" I shout out to them, as the pull their weapons out and face me.
"Oi! What'd you do this time, Phantom..." Beans, my former boyfriend angrily glares at me as he speaks.
I raise my hands up, to show I have no weapons, then I plead, "Please just listen to me this once! We have a big problem and I can't fight him alone!"
"And why should we trust you? After all, you are a villain now and we've fought you many times." Thunder stares at me with cold eyes.
"Guys, I have a gut feeling that we should trust White this time..." Hawk, my former best friend declares to the other heroes. Hawk was always the one who trusted me most, I am glad that he has a little trust left in me.
"Hmph, fine, but if she turns on us I'm killing her." Kanars responds with his harsh tone of voice that clearly says he still despises me. That's no surprise, we did have bad blood almost each other even when we were on the same side. Kanars took custody over my kids, and yes, I know, my boyfriend hated kids, so he wouldn't even call himself their father. This angered me because I loved my kids even more than I loved my life... I sure hope he treats them right...
"Anyways, we need to get going... The Final Judge is going to raze our city to the ground. And... I found out his identity..." I inform them, "His name is Gabe Lambert, sound familiar?"
All of the heroes have a shocked expression. Kanars sputters for a second, then says, "Well... Gabe and The Final Judge do have the exact same powers... You might be right..."
Now everyone, including myself, turn to look at Kanars with a shocked expression.
"W-wait hold up- Kanars, did you just... agree... with White? You didn't even agree with her when she was a hero!" Beans exclaims in a bewildered tone.
"I mean, she might be a killer but shes not insane... completely." Kanars locks eye contact with me and I can sense he knows what's going on.
"All of those who will go with me to defeat The Final Judge, say 'Aye'." I say.
"Aye." says everyone.
| 2021-05-20T08:42:02 | 2021-05-20T08:08:53 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town.
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My city has the unique trait of somehow being the city the both has the highest crime rate and the highest safety rating in the country. At least once a week our resident supervillain attempts to do something evil and every time she’s stopped by our world-class heroes. The villain is me, by the way.
See I always had a thing for machines. I took them apart and made them better all through my childhood. I became a roboticist as an adult but my first project I was in charge of... well, it went poorly. The Android I made for the army went rogue and was barely able to be stopped by our heroes. And that’s when it hit me: our heroes could deal with generic threats fine, but they had no practice with more out-of-the-box problems.
So I became their teacher, although they didn’t know it themselves. I created machines with unique powers and strategies, I always challenged the heroes to think critically, to become more creative. And I don’t think they would have realized it had it not been for him.
Osveta, the bastard known for murdering heroes regularly, came to our city. The shadows bent to his will and with a maniacal laugh he toppled buildings with inky black tendrils of darkness, stabbed innocents with spears of his making, and turned anything untouched by the sun into a weapon. The heroes, as hard as they tried, were losing. And as one of them, the sweet girl with the power to control light, was about to be stabbed by her own shadow, that’s when I finally made my move.
For years I had toiled, building a network of interconnected bunkers and factories under our city in secret, turning it into a massive training ground that I controlled. And now I finally put it all on the line. All across the city, hatches in the ground opened up and thousands of robots poured out. Drones took off and illuminated everything with powerful spotlights, eliminating almost every shadow. The heroes and civilians were terrified; they thought I was helping Osveta. That is, until my army actually moved. Osveta lasted twenty seconds before plasma melted his brain. And as soon as he was dead, my army helped search and rescue, then retreated back underground. I stepped out of my hiding place and helped the hero who had almost been killed up to her feet. The cat’s out of the bag now, I guess. But I don’t mind too much. It’s nice to be a hero.
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"You are not a villain! you are a monster! a murderer!"
the man in blue sent a crackle of electric fury, barely weaving around the projectiles of dark that whizzed around him. "Do I not solve your problems!? Is it not that these heroes bring you nothing but troubles?"
the man in black found himself behind the man in blue and slashed with twin blades of dark. he would have preferred a more light-hearted power, but they helped him play the part of the villain, and there are good things one can do as a villain. "You think I care for the ease of my task? You deny my goal, now you pay."
the man in blue let loose a blast of power, forcing the man in black to flicker into his power form. a shapeless mass of dark, through which the blast passed harmlessly. "these heroes are a nuisance to be rid of, with them gone this world will be ours for the taking"
the man in black, now returned to human form, conjured a wall of dark. which he then used to slam the man in blue against a nearby wall. "did you not hear me? these heroes are my goal."
the man in blue struggled against the wall, but found his strength falling, his muscles weakening. he gasped between labored breaths. "w- what do you mean."
"you're no hero, I've no time for monologue." the man in black slamed his hand aginst the wall of dark, forcing the man in blue's life to be wisked away on clouds of dark.
the man in blue's lifeless body sluped to the floor as a streak of fire in the sky betrayed the lady in bronze making an entrance.
the lady in bronze crashed to earth with a boom, throwing up dust and debris. "what are you doing here and why is he dead"
"I killed him"
"why"
"call it a change of heart"
the lady in bronze aproched the man in blues body, turning her back to the man in black. a critical mistake.
in a moment the man in black found himself atop the lady in bronze, her stomach pinned to the floor "do not trust such sudden change of heart, or at least keep eyes in the back of your head."
the lady in bronze felt her world go dark, and briefly wondered what would become of her.
the man in black stepped of the lady in bronze's armor, he didn't want her dead. just unconscious.
with any luck, she would learn.
with any luck, she would improve.
the man in black hoped for that.
| 2021-05-20T11:17:36 | 2021-05-20T11:07:57 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] Another soldier in power armor sprinted past, his gait unnaturally mechanical. Then he turned around - his visor was cracked wide open, his face but a gaping, bloody crater. The suit's on-board AI was in control, moving and responding to orders while cradling the corpse of its late operator.
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"Captain Lowery step forward." This was it, final step of the investigating tribunal before they made their decision, if it was not already made, personal testimony. "Captain, I'd like to hear in your own words, your actions on August 7th following the death of LT Johnson."
"Yes sir Colonel. I noted that Tyrone...Lt. Johnson had been killed in action but that the AI of his power armor was still function. Being senior I transmitted my command code and rerouted operations and control. I had to soft foot Infantry give the suit a pair of assault shields, one in each hand. I then guided it from behind as Lieutenants Neel and Martinez took up firing positions to each sides of the shields utilizing partial cover while 2 squads of regular foot infantry, "soft foot", followed behind us sir. In this manner we assaulted straight through the heavy enemy fire, at times with me and my suit helping to keep Johnson's from being knocked over by some of the impacts stabalizing it from behind. By the time the opposition blew through the shields and took down Johnson's suit we were at trench B0H8. We pushed straight into the trench, Neel breaking left while Martinez went left. Each followed by a squad of infantry. Using the 25mm Bushmaster cannon I laid down suppressing fire rotating as able to support both groups further opening a gap for our forces to proceed."
"Thank you Captain, yes a valiant effort that allowed advancement into the Shong Vou defensive ring but, do you then admit to sacrificing an $8 million suit of power armor and desecrating the corpse of a junior officer under your command?"
"If that's how you wish to take it sir, then yes."
"If that's how I wish to take it Captain? Please, how would you label it?"
"We always say sir, "Adapt and overcome". We also say "If I fall make sure you live. Take from me what you need and if needed let my body be your shield." Sir, we are literally the shield for the light Infantry. Yes I caused the destruction of the suit and the mangling of Tyrone's body. I also allowed him, even in death to protect and shield 3 brother operators and nearly a dozens "squishies". With Tyrone's help we got those men out from under the lethal enemy fire and opened an avenue that carried the day and saved many more lives. So while I may have destroyed Christy, Tyrone's suit, leaving her laying dead with him mangled inside on the field Tyrone and Christy saved many, many more which is something any of us would be proud of. Anything else sir?"
"It seems weird to me how you "crunchies" name your suits. Do you know why he named it "Christy"?
"Yes sir, after his wife. She died in the bombing of Nashville and he regretted not being able to be with her so he kept her with him always sir. This time they stayed together."
"Oh. Thank you."
"Anything else sir?"
"No, thank you. Dismissed."
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Punctual and concise. Stern, but with a gentle heart. A family man who wouldn't shut up about his husband once he started going. I couldn't spot any of those things in Tom's MK-4 suit, which still hummed along despite its heavy damages. The right arm was chewed off right by the shoulder, the great heat from the zEnn's gaping maw immediately cauterizing the wound. His suit still stood tall, arched back, and was coated by a grimy mixture of soot and blood. I felt a small ache knowing I had already heard his last complaint about the grit that made it past the mouth guard. His poor face. It looked like it was a single stomp, and I quickly convinced myself that his suffering was brief. It was impossible to read any facial expression from the pulp that remained.
All of a sudden, the suit turned to the left and shot off running, accompanied only by a familiar loud click. It's the suit's signal that however you're currently piloting the thing, it thinks it can do better. It's saved my ass a couple times, but it was the first time that I've ever seen it with an incapacitated pilot. I quickly paged the commander that I was chasing after a rogue unit, and shouted on comms to disable the suit. Through the haze I saw the suit lose its footing, as the giant frame lurched towards the ground. It could have been hit by a shutdown signal, or stepped into one of the zEnn's many burrows, but at the last second another loud click sounded and the suit corrected itself at an impossible angle.
I strained myself to think of where it could be headed. It had been more than two centuries since any human had called this barren rock home, and any noticeable structure had either been chewed apart or leveled from blasting campaigns. I was induced well after the great escape, but I knew Tom had been a native. I could never understand his yearning for a planet poisoned by mankind's own hands, and the concept of an uncontrollable weather felt truly foreign. What we had now was perfect and predictable, rid of any blemish, landscapes finely tuned to perfection. Of course I've known for a while that humans are inherently unpredictable, but now had to expand that definition for the suits they bond to.
Unfortunately we were approaching the end of comm range, and I couldn't play babysitter for much longer. I readied my phion and felt the energy course into my palm, but before I could send the signal another loud click came from the suit, as it dropped to its knees, and then laid on its back. A series of rapid clicks followed, tracing the outline of his body as latches and bindings came undone, and the suit slowly peeled off Tom's body until it lay shoulder to nub. Beside his head lay a small plant, stubbornly fanning out its leaves, its survival dependent on the whims of the environment. Perhaps this was the first of its kind, a new strain resistant to all that ailed this planet. Maybe it's a zEnn's midday snack. It's not up to me to decide. There was still work to be done, so I retrieved the suit and made my way back to the base.
| 2021-06-30T23:52:58 | 2021-06-30T22:16:44 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] You find yourself waking up to a strange new world with massive ostentatious pillars and clouds in place of ground. When you get up to investigate, you are greeted by a squirrel that says "Alright newbie, give me your name, preferred pantheon, and what you're the God of."
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"Hey, you. You're finally awake."
"Alright newbie, give me your name, preferred pantheon, and what you're the God of," it said in a matter-of-fact manner. saw, however, I did not expect. Before me was... a... creature? To call it bizarre would be underselling it. Though it possessed the shape of a squirrel, its feet were cloven like a goat, and the eyes had thin black slits on yellow irises, reminding me of a cat. The arms looked like those of a muscular man. Do squirrels... lift? I pondered the oddness of the being but then thought about how weird platypuses are and suddenly found myself pondering a lot less. I suppressed a scream in my throat for fear of angering the being. It looked at me and opened its mouth - much to my surprise, English came out.
"Alright newbie, give me your name, preferred pantheon and what you're the God of," it said in a matter-of-fact manner.
A few moments of silence followed until I finally mustered the courage to speak.
"What?"
It sighed.
"Name. Pantheon. What you're a god of."
"...what?" I repeated.
"Did no one brief you?" it raised an eyebrow.
I stared blankly.
"What?" is all I could muster.
"Oh for..." it raised a hand to its eyes and rubbed them, "look newbie, you're my last God for today and I got a nest to get back to, alright? So let's make this fast. You died. For some reason - above my paygrade, don't ask - got chosen to be a God. You get some leeway in choosing. So, name, pantheon, what you're a God of." it snapped at me.
"Uh.. I'm... I'm Bill. Bill Stevens."
The creature suppressed a giggle. "Bill... Stevens," it wrote in a notebook. "That certainly is a name. Now, pantheon?"
"What?" I started to feel bad for asking.
"What other gods do you want to hang out with? Please don't pick Norse, I'm in it and I don't want people clutching onto me out of confusion," it frowned.
"Uh... Greek, maybe? I always wanted to meet Hephaestus."
"Spicy. One for drama, perhaps? Good, last, what are you a God of?"
"Look I have no idea. Last I remember I was walking down the street and... wait, was that car heading for me? Shit. I... *shit."* I breathed out. The squirrel looked at me and for the first time, I saw a glint of sympathy and understanding in its eyes.
"Look buddy, I know this all happening really quickly. When we fill out this form, you'll get a deeper briefing and later, if you regret what you picked as Godhood, you can put a request for reassignment. Right now though, you have to pick something. People are usually briefed by now and have a vague idea. Your file must've gotten lost along the way. Sorry. So just pick something you like and we can move on." It offered me a warm, soft smile. It went well with its fuzziness.
"I'm... really sorry, but I have no idea," I said apologetically.
"Hmm... look, how about I give your mind a quick read and we can assign you with something for now? Sound good?"
"Sure," I smiled weakly.
​
And just like that, I became a god. Quickly after, I went to get properly briefed and meet the other new gods. Some were just as confused, but I managed to settle in quickly. I find the job to be quite relaxed, which I suppose is due to what I am a God of now. It's a job that doesn't require too much work, unlike War of Love. You'd be surprised how much paperwork Aphrodite does, but - pardon me saying - by god does she make it look sexy. My godhood requires next to nothing to fill out, but you'd be positively shocked how many people invoke me without knowing it. Perhaps you have at some point and found me guiding your way, just a little bit.
So says I, Bill Stevens, God of Thoughts regarding the weirdness of playtypuses.
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The creature woke up to a new world. She sat up, and looked around. The world was strange. Massive, ostentatious pillars loomed in the sky, in place of the ground she was used to. Clouds filled the space where the ground should be.
She got up to investigate, and was greeted by a squirrel. "Alright newbie, give me your name, preferred pantheon, and what you're the God of."
The creature was confused. "What is a pantheon?" She said.
"A pantheon is a group of gods. What is your name?"
"I have no name." The creature said.
"What is the name of your species?"
"I don't know."
"Ok. Do you know where you are?"
"No." The creature responded.
"Alright. It seems you don't understand much about the world, so I'll explain some things to you. What's your name?" The squirrel said.
"I told you, I have no name," the creature said.
"Ok. You are what we call a 'Godling'. You are a Godling. You do not have a pantheon, but you will be assigned to one in the future. For now, you are alone." The squirrel said.
"What is a God?" The creature asked.
"You are a God. You are not the only one, but you are still a God, regardless of your inexperience," The squirrel explained. "Your purpose is to create and shape new worlds. Your species was created by a much more powerful God to create new worlds with."
"Why was I created?" The creature asked.
"You were created as a tool to shape worlds." The squirrel replied. "The one who created you has already created many new worlds and is no longer fulfilling his purpose. He was no longer creating, and his duty was to create. He needed a replacement."
"Who created me?" The creature asked.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that you know that you were created to shape worlds. He gave you the power to create and shape worlds, in order for you to fulfill his purpose for him."
The creature nodded. "This is a strange place..."
"You're not wrong. This is the place where Gods go when they create worlds. If you ever get lost, it is your hub. You will always spawn here after dying, or when you're done in a world you're in. Your species was made to create worlds, so this is your place."
"Why was my species created?" The creature asked.
"The one who created you has already created many worlds, and was mostly finished with his purpose. He needed a replacement."
"Who created me?" The creature asked again.
The squirrel sighed. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is that you know your purpose, and it has been explained to you. Do you have any more questions?"
"No," said the creature.
The squirrel looked at the creature, and nodded. "Alright, the next time you wake up, you'll be in a world. You'll be able to control your new world and you'll be a God there. Remember that you were created for this purpose, and that you have a duty to fulfill."
The creature nodded.
The squirrel sat down, and the creature did too. She thought about the words of the squirrel, and the squirrel went back to sleep.
The creature rested her head on her leg, and closed her eyes, dreaming...
*To be continued...*
| 2022-01-15T08:51:36 | 2022-01-15T07:42:56 | 101 | 35 |
[WP] Funnily enough, you became the world's strongest necromancer because no one else thought of raising other necromancers as undead.
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The sky was a deep red hue, tinted by the innumerable fires that rampage across the battlefield. This war was finally at an end, with the charred remains of the Necromancer Mordechai at my feet. I had done it. I had slain the rival monster.
The skeletal legions of the Dread Lord Necromancer Mordechai ceased their lurching movements and collapsed where they where. Without an overlord to guide them, they were once more simply things. Objects laying inert, like the vast majority of all objects tended to do.
My own reanimated forces stood still, weapons still held at the ready, mechanically scanning the field for their next target. They would remain so until I commanded them out of battle mode. They did not cheer in victorious celebration, or even acknowledge that they had won at all. Only continued on their instruction. I reached out my pale hands and extended my fingers, and released them from their vigilance. Then, with an elaborate flourish, I added Mordechai's forces into my ranks. The objects one more became creatures.
As I turned back to my dark carriage, pulled by skeletal mules, I glanced at the dead Necromancer. This being was unrecognizable. His body had once been called Mordechai Smith, but his soul had declared itself The Dread Lord Necromancer Mordechai. The twisted remnants of a mortal had been dead far longer than his latest form had been. If only I could have changed his mind....
I halted in my tracks. Could I really?
Had this ever been attempted before?
Who cared. If nobody else had done it, that just meant the scholars would name it after me.
I reached out my hands towards my former adversary, and began to chant. It was a low chant, but the universe could hear me no matter the volume. The words I spoke had no origin, no creator or writer, but were the foundations of reality itself. The universe may have described it as its native language, if it was more direct with its conversations. In this language, I commanded the soul of Mort Smith.
"What in tarnation!"
I smiled. Not a wicked smile, not of evil or malice or ill will. It was a genuine smile. A smile of warmth, of familiarity. That voice was from the early days, when I had first met Mort. He went by Mort then, having some social skills and charm. He had been a gentle, caring man back in those days, only looking for ways to improve his magic skills for gardening.
He had this rose bush that just kept dying, no matter what soil he used or nutrients he conjured to feed it. The garden had been a modern miracle, with gorgeous flowers and thick vines filling the whole lot, except for this one stubborn plant. He toiled at the plant over long nights and weekends, and even read ancient magical tombs, seeking advice from beyond the grave.
Mort stood on his shaky limbs, much older than when he had last used them. "Where am I? What is all this..." his voice trailed off when he finally saw me.
"Cassandra?" He asked, taking a tentative step towards me. "Is that you?"
I reached up and removed the ram's skull helmet I had wore during our battle. My amber hair dropped down my neck, spilling over my shoulders and back. Morty had always loved when I let down my hair like that. He said it was like a wave of wheat, blowing in an autumn breeze.
My mouth began to ache from the exertion of smiling. It had been so long since I smiled, these particularl muscles had atrophied away. "Morty" I said, with a voice even softer than I had used to dominate the universe with.
Morty hobbled the short few steps between us and embraced me. Our lips met, as they had so long ago. As they had once the priest had declared 'you may now kiss the bride', and thousands of times after. For the first time in decades, I felt an emotion I though dead. Love. But that's the thing about us Necromancers, we can bring dead things back.
With a gasp, we brokeour kiss, and looked each other in the eyes. His eyes sparkled with a light that was so familiar, yet so ancient. "I'm so sorry", he spoke. His voice had an underlying quiver to it, as he tried to hold back sobs. "I had only wanted our rose bush to grow, so I could give you the beautiful flowers you deserved each and every day"
I buried my head on his chest, ignoring the scorched robes that clung to him in tatters. "I know", I said, through a sob of my own. "I know you read that demonic scroll just to learn how to keep the roses alive. But it was written by demons, how did you expect that to end?"
He chuckled through a sob. "Well you seem to have found a way to manage it. You made it look so easy".
I squeezed my eyes shut, to try to hold back the tears. "I only learned it to find you, to bring you back to me. But you were gone when I found you again. Now..."
He silenced me with another kiss. We didn't need to hear a recap of our own story. We had lived it already. It was time for us to live once more.
I have no idea how long we stood there, sobbing in each other's embrace. The skeletal legions around us had no concept of time, nor vocal chords to give us the answer. They didn't mind the wait. They had their whole lives left before them.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you.
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Existence is a circle.
A birth takes effort and energy, the single cell grows and eats from the womb for the baby to draw a first breath when it tastes air for the first time. An organism consuming energy for its own individual need, in a world of similar organisms, the end of everything if Life with a capital L hadn't thought of a way to give back.
Death. An amalgam of cells, spent energy, consumed sun-rays, reduced to worm-food. Worms to feed the birds, who in turn will nurse the next generation with their demise. Live to die, and die to live. A circle, an immutable rule.
Rules are meant to be broken. Perhaps they aren't, and are here for a reason, yet the foolish and reckless never consider the latter.
You never thought about the rule, didn't want to break it. It was all a game. It always starts as a game, doesn't it? In the holy books of old, a man raises from the grave three days after death. Countless stories have put a twist on the tale, but what if the original held a kernel of truth? Through letters and theories and stories you shuffled, weeding out the fantasy to find the dust of truth, arrange it into a painting and fill in the colors.
Like birth, it needs energy.
Like life, it needs sustenance.
There is a sense of irony that the trick to raise the dead is the same than siring a child. A combination of two cells, to unfold and spread across the husk, and the necessary sustenance for the body to live on support, until it has the strength to draw breath again.
No scream or gasp when this one wakes up. The gray skin crackling as her lips smile for the first time in a long, long time.
"Let's get to work," she says, delighted by your idea of prioritizing the return of other practitioners of the art. You didn't have this idea, don't know who she is, didn't think it would work.
Too late, she left. Not without promising you the world for bringing her back.
Days go by, and the tools of your new trade are left to gather dust. This didn't go as expected, your skin crawls when you remember her eyes opening again, the black pupils, seemingly dead yet sparkling with vitality.
The world changes.
It becomes quiet, save for children going to school nothing seems to happen outside. No neighbor going for a run, no lines of car, no smoke rising from factories in the horizon.
"What have you done?" you ask when she knocks at your door with a smile, her painted face white and purple, hiding the desiccated leather of her skin.
"Upheld my promise."
A procession is behind her, painted in the same colors, to hide decay and show belonging.
The door is closed in a rush, but you cannot keep the world outside from seeping in. Television ceases to speak about war and sickness and economy and new schools opening, internet dissolves into a still picture of a world gone by when noise was the metric. The air is still and the birds song doesn't carry.
The procession surrounds your place, awaiting you as a savior, a prophet, a harbinger. For what?
You don't care, only care about the gun in your hand, the loaded bullets, the cold steal against your warm, pink skin, the ting of fear when you almost press the trigger. They would just bring you back. For the sake of death, you will have to be stronger.
One night, the flames illuminate the neighborhood, the inferno started suddenly and has spread fast. Inside, you feel your skin melting, the hair turning to ash, the slow withering away of your heart pumping blood through leaking veins, the flesh melting into itself. You don't feel fear anymore, it has been replaced with pain.
"We've been waiting for you."
You scream. Not again, let me go, please. You plead, you fight, you cry. They laugh, sing and praise you, carry you high on a throne fit for the mangled body that was left of you in the ruins of your home. They could remake you better.
But they won't, would be a shame to see you immolate yourself again, wouldn't it?
"The world had been made better," she explains with delight.
life is terribly chaotic, idiots are born to become bright only to be suddenly snuffed away to feed the dumb. Inefficient, wasteful. Now, the minds are taught, and they come back with memories intact. No new life sired to break what the previous generation worked for, the resources are diverted to bring back the worthy.
One dies, feeds the insects, and the remaining husk is later brought back in glorious fashion, adult and smart and independent. As time goes by, children grow into adults, and there are no more little ones. The word baby a slur, children are a mistake in evolution.
The circle of life has been streamlined, bettered, enhanced. The misconceived details of Life thrown aside. We are our own creators now, no gods or masters to decide on a whim what has to be formed in a womb, in a mind. Nothing left to chance and higher powers.
Control.
As for you?
The procession still holds you high on your throne where you rest pitifully, announced by the first woman you brought back, cheered by crowds and worshipers in the cities they carry you to.
Legend goes by that if you listen close, one can hear you speak.
"Someone save me, let it end."
They can't make out the words.
And when you die, the merciful rest is cut short and the light of yet another day burns your open eyes.
"Please, let me die."
It is your world, and no one can understand you.
| 2022-05-14T06:13:38 | 2022-05-14T06:13:35 | 59 | 28 |
[WP] Funnily enough, you became the world's strongest necromancer because no one else thought of raising other necromancers as undead.
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“Ah, so it’s a pyramid scheme.”
“What? No! It’s not a pyramid scheme! I raise necromancers and they raise other… oh shit, it’s a pyramid scheme. I started a pyramid scheme!”
“Hold on, it’s not that bad. You did it for good reasons, to stop the evil Queen Dottera.”
“But why did I want to stop her? What makes her so evil?”
“The way she siphons money from the poor with her pyramid sche… oh! Shit! Moral dilemma!”
“Exactly, moral dilemma… am I just replacing her pyramid scheme with mine?”
“Hold on, your pyramid scheme is better because you aren’t hurting anyone.”
“Eternal suffering of the soul as the body is used as a puppet isn’t hurting anyone?”
“Oh right, forgot about that eternal suffering bit. My bad. Still, isn’t it better than having to sell essential oils to your friends who are also trying to sell essential oils to you just to survive?”
“Yeah, definitely better than that…”
“So it’s a justified pyramid scheme! You’re the lesser evil.”
“Don’t call me lesser…”
“Right, sorry, you’re a great evil. Just a slightly kinder one. That better?”
“Yeah, I can live with that.”
“So back to raising the dead?”
“Back to raising the dead.”
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It came by surprise. I was a third-year student at the Academy of the Occult in pocket dimension 34, when I was talking with my friends about Genies. We talked for 3 hours about all illogical rules around magic lamps and how constraining they were: no wishing for more wishes, no wishes for more genies etc. Basics you cover in Genies 101 during the first semester.
I was still tipsy from all the drinks and happy drunkenness was changing into unpleasant vertigo. Therefore, I went to my study to find some herbal recipe for anti-hangover medicine when I noticed the necromancer handbook open on the desk. I do not remember the name of my flatmate who lived with me back then, but she was studying on her minor about Black Metal and Magical Rituals practised by humans. Boring stuff, but the book was there.
I had this thought: Could it be that you can resurrect other necromancers? If so, would they listen to me?
Turns out the answer was yes to both. However, resurrection spells recommend using a strong password to protect access to the army of the undead. Being drunk at 3am I thought of difficult password that I just cannot remember it now when I need it. That is why I need your help o' Master Hypnotist! Help me retrieve the password and I will make you a general in my worlds' conquering army!
| 2022-05-14T06:31:16 | 2022-05-14T05:50:08 | 45 | 29 |
[WP] Aliens take over the Earth. They then announce that they will be forcing the humans to work a "tyrannical" 4 hours a day 4 days a week in exchange for basic rights like housing. Needless to say they are very confused when the humans celebrate their new alien overlords.
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"I was homeless, you idiot! I was trash on the side of the street that you walked by without even seeing! Now I have a job, I have a house - a home! You cannot even begin to imagine what that word means to me."
The recruiter on my doorstep with the 'Freedom Now' hat, and a fistful of pamphlets had no idea how to respond. I slammed the door in his stupid face, and started to get ready for work.
The lube, the gimp suit, the various toys and fluid containers, check. All good.
I sighed. Don't get me wrong, I love my home. MY. HOME.
But some days the only thing that gets me through my shift is a profound gratitude that I do not understand the alien words they whisper in my ears as I get worked.
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It wasn’t until a hush came over the crowd that one lone voice could be heard.
“By “tyrannical” 4 hours, do you mean Earth hours?” Queried the tentative voice.
“No, it means 4 hour “Tyranic” hours. On our home planet there are a total of 5 hours to a day. You will work 4/5 of the day. Do you understand hooman?” Came the snide reply.
Moans if disagreement rolled through the crowd. Someone meekly asked, “So there’s 5days a week on Tyranic?”
The aliens strange cacophony was meant as laughter, ”No, just 4.”
“What happens if we can’t keep that pace?” a woman gasped.
“Then you will be our food,” came the reply with hissing syllables and a greedy, toothy smile.
| 2022-11-02T23:57:17 | 2022-11-02T22:30:55 | 129 | 93 |
[WP] This fairly innocuous-looking girl just beat up your entire martial arts dojo, by herself. When you asked why, she said one of your students was picking on her brother.
|
I watched my students bounce in with joy for sparring day. It was everyone’s favorite day at the dojo and excitement filled the air. It’s the time for them to showcase their skills and practice new techniques, all in the name of friendly competition. The boys were always eager, I often found it hard to get them to pay attention prior to the matches. They would rush through their stretches and start tumbling on the mats with unbridled energy.
Today was no different.
I did a quick headcount and found that all seven of my students were accounted for. No one was late for sparring day. If you were late, you had to put up the mats, and no one wanted that.
I cleared my throat, “All right, boys it’s time to…”
The small bell on the door rang as it was pushed open again. Surprised, I turned to find a small girl standing there. She was a head shorter than the rest of my students and her tiny limbs looked thin and unused. Despite that, she had a sarashi wrapped around her torso loosely covered by a purple keikogi.
She shifted on her feet awkwardly under my gaze, “Um, excuse me? Is today’s session open for guest sparring?”
It wasn’t uncommon for guests to come to the dojo during sparring day, but usually, they were boys from local gyms.
I gave her a warm smile to put her at ease, “Welcome! Of course, our gym is always open to guests. You are welcome to spar today, or just sit in and watch if you prefer.”
“I want to spar please.”
I bowed deeply, “We are honored to have you. I’m Hiroshi Sensei.”
“I’m Kaiya,” she returned my bow.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, the meek girl from a second ago spoke with resolve and I watched her eyes glinting with determination.
After everyone limbered up, I decided it was time to call the first match.
“Jered, why don’t you spar with Kaiya first?”
Jered kicked his feet, “Aw, do I have to? She’s just a girl.”
My eyes hardened, “Now, Jered what have I told you about disrespecting your opponents?”
Jered slunk toward the center of the mats where Kaiya was waiting, “Fine.”
Kaiya started by giving a deep bow to her opponent which Jered reluctantly returned. I strode between them and dropped my hand to start the match. Kaiya moved swiftly and lifted her leg to strike. In his arrogance, Jered didn’t even try to dodge the kick and watched it with an amused look on his face. It was over a second later. Jered’s ribs crunched and he was left doubled over on the mats.
Kaiya gave another bow, “Thank you for honoring me with a match.” She turned to me, “Hiroshi Sensei, may I challenge another opponent?”
“Of course, the mats are yours until you lose,” I nodded.
You would think the boys would have learned their lesson after watching Jered get dropped. They didn’t. The rest of the six boys were beaten thoroughly by Kaiya. She displayed technique and agility far surpassing any of my students. Despite the one-sided beatdowns, she always ended each match with respect and was sure to bow to every opponent.
As the boys groaned on the floor, I beckoned Kaiya to my side, “That was very well done Kaiya. You displayed great skill.”
She bowed, “Thank you, Hiroshi Sensei.”
“I have to ask though; your level is far beyond a beginner dojo such as this. What made you come in today?”
Kaiya blushed and began to fidget, “Um. Well, I uh… I found out that the boys here were bullying my younger brother.”
I frowned, “They *what*?”
Kaiya looked away and mumbled, “They bullied him.” She bowed and spoke up, “I’m sorry for disrespecting your dojo like this Sensei.”
“Please stand up.” Kaiya straightened and looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry my students have caused you and your brother harm.” I gave a full bow, “Please forgive me for failing them.”
She smiled and nodded.
“Now then, do you still have the energy to spar some more Kaiya?”
Kaiya looked puzzled, “Yes Sensei.”
“Great, because I don’t think they’ve learned their lesson yet.” I smirked, “Boys on your feet. ***Now***.”
The boys groaned and stumbled to their feet.
The next several hours in the dojo were filled with reprimands and kicks, as both Kaiya and I taught lessons these boys better never forget.
|
Victor watched as the members of his dojo strived for further mastery. They each performed various katas according to their skill. He stopped by some students to correct their form.
He paused when he saw a figure at the door. A young woman was there. She was young, maybe in her late teens or early twenties. She wore plain clothes and had a pair of large but thin glasses on. Fairly pretty, but otherwise unremarkable.
"Can I help you miss?" Victor asked. Some of the students looked at the visitor, but the more disciplined students ignored the distraction.
"Yes, I'm looking for one of your students. His name is Nick. I don't know his last name though, sorry."
"Hm, I have a few students named Nick. You'll have to be more specific."
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Big guy, around my age. Really mean...cruel...violent..." He fists clenched as she spoke, and her eye twitched.
"Seems like you have beef with this guy. Sorry, but none of the Nicks I have here are like that. They do match the physical description well enough, but they're all good people." At least, he hoped they were. Teaching someone who would go around hurting women was not something he wanted on his record.
"No, he's definitely here. He absolutely goes here. He was wearing your dojo symbol."
That was worrying, but there was nothing he could do. At least, not immediately. He would have a talk with the students later.
"Sorry, but whatever trouble you have with Nick, you'll have to take it up with him later."
"No, I think I'll take it up with him now."
Before he knew what had happened, her fist lashed out. Her punch almost was too fast to see, and it hit harder than a sledgehammer. His body was launched back, coming to a stop on the matts several dozen feet away. Victor groaned in pain, but he managed to sit up.
What he saw was absurd. The entire dojo had started fighting her. And somehow, she was winning. She moved like lightning. None of the students even came close to hitting her. Heck, none of them even caused her hair to fall out of place. But every one of her attacks struck. And they hit hard. It only took a single one of her punches or kicks to down someone.
At one point a student tried to grab her from behind. She somehow noticed and grabbed him. The man was easily more than twice her size, but she somehow lifted him over her head and threw him, knocking over another student. Bodies were launched through the air, limbs were twisted at awkward angles, and legs were made to no longer work.
It took only a few minutes. By the time she was done, every student in the place was on the ground. They groaned in pain, and a few of them were even crying. Actually crying. The ground was covered with small flecks of blood, and even a few teeth.
The girl turned towards him. She made her way to where he lay. A few students lay in her path, but a casual motion of her foot would send them tumbling away. She ended up standing over him.
She placed a foot on his chest and pushed him down. He tried to free himself, but her leg felt like a concrete pillar.
"What...what do you want?" Victor said through thin breath and clenched teeth.
"I told you already. I want Nick. A very specific Nick. The one that's been harassing my little brother." She growled.
"Wh-what?"
"I didn't get a good look at him, but I saw the patch. I know he comes here. He's been making life for my little bro a living hell for weeks." She leaned forward, making sure he could see her eyes. "I don't like that. Not one. Little. Bit. So now, I'm here to make sure he doesn't do that ever again. Today was a warning. Tomorrow, I'll bring my little brother and have him point out who it was. And if you try and stop me from doing anything, I'll make what happened today look like a playground scuffle. Got it?" She pressed just a little harder.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, I...I got it."
Much to his relief, she let him go. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure all the Nicks that come here are present. Otherwise, it won't end well for you."
She turned and left without so much as looking at the broken and beaten men in her path. She simply left, like nothing had happened. Victor was left painfully nursing his chest and wondering what kind of monster had just been unleashed upon him and his dojo.
| 2022-12-15T11:49:45 | 2022-12-15T11:41:04 | 240 | 38 |
[WP] Humans are popular as servants across the galaxy, but there are rules and laws regarding having a human servant, to ensure they are treated fairly. Unfortunately one of those rules ISN'T that you can't take a human against their will.
|
"Good morning, Claire. How are you feeling?"
"I wasn't expecting to see another human! And you know my name, oh my God!"
Claire stood before a middle aged man in a white coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck. His coat was embroidered with four lines of unintelligible script, followed by "T. Nguyen - HUMAN DOCTOR"
Dr. Nguyen sighed. "Well, you know. Based on the new Standards Of Treatment for Human Servants, all humans are entitled to medical care, so the Andromedians grabbed me and pressed me into service recently."
"It's not too bad. I've been a housekeeper for two years now. I get my needs met, days off, the family I'm with is really nice... except they keep reproducing and making me clean the nursery tank." Claire folded her arms.
"What?"
"Andromedians lay eggs and hatch as larvae in water. And then they poop in the water all the time, and it's up to me to wash the tank every day until the babies grow out of it. They've had three broods in the last couple years. They just hatched a new brood."
"I guess I should be glad I'm doing work I'm familiar with. Mind sitting on the exam table?" Dr. Nguyen patted the exam table, rustling the paper.
Claire hopped up on the table.
"I'll take a quick set of vitals. Here on Andromeda, your weight will be higher and your blood pressure will probably be about what it runs on Earth. Your oxygen saturation should be 100%, no problem." He got to work taking vitals, then looked in Claire's eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.
"Now, Claire, do you feel safe at home?"
"Yeah, most the time."
"Most the time?" Dr. Nguyen asked.
"They have adolescents. Those things play *rough.* One of them wrestled me when I was cleaning the nursery tank and held me underwater. They got in trouble for that one. The parents try to look out for me, and the adolescent stage only lasts a couple months..." She sighed.
"I see. What are you usually eating?"
"Baked small animal meat with a side of veggies."
"Oh!" Dr. Nguyen's face lit up. "Where are you getting veggies?"
"I was abducted from the garden center with my seeds. The family let me plant a little garden. I can give you some. I have tomatoes, potatoes, zucchini, and lettuce."
"That would be amazing! I've been eating what the Andromedians eat, and it's disgusting." He shook his head. "How much exercise have you been getting?"
Claire shrugged. "House cleaning four days a week, SCUBA diving to clean the big tank out back once a week, and playing with the kids... enough, I think."
"How often are you breaking a sweat?" Dr. Nguyen folded his arms.
Claire screwed up her face. "Oh, God, every day! And then they bathe me!"
"Oh dear."
"They've learned that I don't like being naked in front of them, so they strip me down to my underwear and scrub me with their super drying awful soap! You don't know where to get soap for human skin, do you?"
"Yes, you should be getting human soap, I'll send you home with some, along with a pamphlet in Andromedian about human grooming. They shouldn't be bathing you."
"You're telling me! But they're huge, so what can you do?" Claire shrugged again. "Do you have anything for skin cracks?"
"Yes I do, I'll send you home with some ointment as well. When was your last menstrual period?"
"I... don't actually know. I mean, I do, it just ended yesterday, but I don't know how time works here. I try my best to approximate with Earth time, but the days are so much shorter here!" Claire laughed nervously.
Dr. Nguyen put his hands on his hips. "I'll have to think of a better way to ask that question." He paused. "Do you have any other medical concerns?"
"Nope, just the dry skin." Claire examined her chapped hands.
Dr. Nguyen quickly finished up the physical exam and gave Claire a mostly clean bill of health. They exchanged numbers so Claire could give the doctor seeds, and he could refer her to mental health once a therapist was kidnapped.
|
"Free will? And what have we done with free will?" Asked the old woman.
They sat in a white room, so white they couldn't see the floor under their feet. As if they floated in a void, a warm, peaceful void.
"We created art," said the artist, spreading paint on a canvas, the multicolored bird appearing loud in the unending white.
"We thrived," said Alan, sitting in a red chair, looking at his hands and marveling at them, as if he watched centuries of human history through them.
"We beat the living shit out of each other over nothing," said the cynic, lying on the floor, clearly annoyed with their peers.
The old woman nodded at the cynic. She had a glass in her hand. She named a drink, and the glass was full.
Names, they had some, long ago. Some humans still clung to them, not these three. They had accepted they were just like everyone else, average, with differences only in the way they spoke meaningless drivel. Old woman, cynic, artist, it conveyed who they were better than a name could. It gave them more substance, paradoxically.
Only Alan clung to his name.
"We celebrated free will with our words and drowned it into mud with our actions, that's what we did," said the cynic, before naming a food and having it appear in their hands.
"So what?" Alan wouldn't let it rest, "it doesn't give them the right to abduct us and use us as they see fit!"
"Neither did the rich when it was just us humans," answered the cynic, "but they took that right by force and money. And all you could do was scream the same, for the same results."
"At least it was between us humans."
"That's your angle? If you're to be used and abused, at least let it be by your own kin?" The cynic chuckled, "a very small and xenophobic hill to die on."
"Enough," the artist acted as the diplomat between the four, not out of kindness, but only because they disliked appearing a foul before their overlords.
They loomed over them, watched and listened, amused.
"Have your masters ever failed to feed you?" Asked the old woman.
"No," said Alan.
"Did they work you to exhaustion?"
"No."
"Did they stop you from indulging in hobbies?"
"No."
"Then they are kinder masters than humans ever were to you."
"I just want choice."
It was the focus of his pride, one word with more meaning than an existence, fed and nurtured by all the movies he watched and the books he read, about heroes breaking their bonds and making their own path. The irony that his masters allowed him to read all these books wasn't lost on Alan.
"Fool yourself," said the cynic who had learned to be happy with his new chains, "but I know you from before. The only choice you made was choosing the dish for the evening and three weeks of vacations per year, you're still making the same choice. You didn't cast out against capitalism, didn't do a thing for the planet beyond not buying too much plastic. You whine about choice since the aliens came, but you do so only because they took the illusions of choice away, and showed you exactly what you can can't do. Truth is, aliens have been kinder to you by being honest in how they see you than humans ever were."
Alan stood up, hands behind his head, wanting to cry but unable to.
"I get the logic behind it," added the artist, "they waited until they were certain we'd exterminate ourselves through global warming despite having the means to solve it. Then they stepped in. We proved we weren't mature enough for free will. They could have helped us and left us alone, but we would have started again, we proved it. Down the line It was them, or oblivion. I prefer them."
Long, long silence. These debates always ended the same way. Yet it would start again, and again.
It was a therapy, for servants unhappy with their situations, misguided by destructive prides and passions.
Alan would make peace with it, in time. He would cast his name away, and turn to a more accurate monicker, like the happy man. Eventually, they all did.
As it turned out, food, a roof, humane treatment and good health was enough for humans to accept slavery.
Even the aliens wrapped their heads around that one.
| 2022-12-23T10:47:35 | 2022-12-23T02:30:59 | 58 | 32 |
[WP] Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl.
She (he?) still has all the memories of her (his?) previous life; but others might not.
Also consider what the other wishes might have been.
EDIT: Feel free to reverse the genders if you like. It does not have to be a boy turned girl.
|
I turned to face the source of the scream and saw Gary writhing in pain on the floor. "Dude, are you okay?"
A feminine voice replied, "Dude... What the fu-" The voice stopped short. We were both equally startled by the raised pitch.
"Uh...Gary?"
Gary stood up slowly and looked around. "Steve, what's wrong with my voice?" I was too entranced by Gary's new-found beauty to respond. Gary caught my gaze, looked down, and screamed again. "Dude! I've got tits!"
"Yeah you do," I giggled as I replied. Gary squeezed her new ample bosom with one hand as the other reached lower on her body.
"No. No no no. No no no no!!" I couldn't wipe the smirk from my face. "Steve! What the fuck?!" Gary turned to the Djinn and screamed, "What the hell did you do to me you fucking genie?"
The Djinn furrowed his brow and responded, "I was merely granting a wish, and for the last time, I'm not a genie."
"Turn me back!" Gary pleaded.
"Sorry, you're out of wishes."
"But what does this mean? I'm a man! I'm supposed to have dinner with my parents tonight, how the hell am I supposed to explain this?"
"As far as your parents are concerned, they have always had a daughter. They have no memory of raising a son," the Djinn explained.
Gary contemplated her situation for a moment and began to cry. She held her hands to her face and sobbed uncontrollably. I walked up to Gary and put my arm around her and whispered, "It'll be okay. Don't you see what this means? We're soulmates!"
Gary leapt back and stared daggers at me. "Fuck you, Steve. I may be your *soulmate* but that doesn't mean you're mine. I still love.." Gary's voice trailed off. "Oh god, what about Tina? Hey, genie asshole, what happens to my girlfriend?"
The Djinn replied, "You're still together. She has always known you to be a woman."
"Dude, I totally called it. I always knew she was a lesbian!" I raised a hand and extended it, but Gary didn't return my high five.
"Shut the fuck up, Steve!" Gary looked exceptionally beautiful when she was angry. She turned to face the Djinn. "Come on, genie. Is there anything I can do?"
"You can come to terms with your womanhood." The Djinn waved his hands and began to vanish. As he dissipated into the ether, I heard his voice echo, "*and I'm not a fucking genie!*"
Distraught, Gary ran to her room sobbing. She slammed the door, leaving me standing in the living room alone with a stupid grin on my face. I can see why she'd be upset, but I'm sure she'll come around. She is my soulmate, after all.
|
I lay back on my mountain of cash and met the Djinn’s lighting storm eyes.
“For my final wish, I wish to meet the girl of my dreams, my perfect soul mate.”
“It is done.” The Djinn said in it’s mountain slide voice. One final crackling blink and it disappeared into a swirling pile of dust.
I looked down at my cat, “Well Albert, shall we go looking for my soul mate?”
“I’m not talking to you,” replied Albert.
An ear piercing scream rose from the direction of my house. Shuffling down my cash I walked towards the building. It was hard to believe that only ten minutes before I had been digging a pool in my backyard. Now that hole was filled with cold hard cash and then some. The mound of money was almost as high as the single level bungalow I shared with my best friend Steve.
Before I could reach the house the most beautiful woman I had ever seen burst onto the back porch. She had long black hair and her face instantly grabbed my heart. For some reason, she was wearing my roommate’s clothes.
The girl’s bewildered stare moved from me to the giant pile of money and back to me again. I simply stared, my heart doing jumping jacks in my chest.
“What the fuck did you do dude?” she asked in a deep but familiar voice.
It was Albert who answered from the ground near my feet. “He dug up a genie, wished for a gazillion dollars, that I could talk and to meet his perfect woman.”
Steve’s eyes widened even further as she looked at the talking cat. “I’m having a flash back right. Please god let me be having a flash back.”
It finally dawned on me what had happened. I looked up at Steve, her beautiful tear streaked face etching itself in my soul. Even under her baggy man cloths I could see curves in all the right places.
“So ummmm, I guess you’re my soul mate.” I said as I climbed the porch steps and opened my arms for a hug.
Steve’s open palms hit me hard in the chest. “Get the fuck away from me dude.”
I backpedaled, but managed to not fall down the stairs. “But Steve, I love you.” I could feel my penis getting hard in my pants. The need to have her was becoming overwhelming.
Steve’s eyes hardened as she noticed the bulge in my pants. “Dude, if you think I am ever going to touch your dick you are fucking crazy. What the fuck?”
None of this even registered. All I wanted to was to hold my soul mate and ravish her body. “What’s the big deal baby? You know you want it.” I said as I moved forward again.
Steve’s fist connected hard on my chin and this time I did go down over the stairs. When I finally came to I knew she was gone. I opened my eyes to see Albert’s furry face inches from mine.
“Steve left,” he said.
“I know”
“You’re an idiot,”
“I know that too”
“Get up and get me some food. And none of that dry crap. It’s nothing but fancy fest for this kitty from now on.”
With that, I dragged my heart broken body up the stairs and went to find my cat some supper.
| 2014-08-19T10:12:19 | 2014-08-19T09:49:05 | 495 | 90 |
[WP] Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl.
She (he?) still has all the memories of her (his?) previous life; but others might not.
Also consider what the other wishes might have been.
EDIT: Feel free to reverse the genders if you like. It does not have to be a boy turned girl.
|
I turned to face the source of the scream and saw Gary writhing in pain on the floor. "Dude, are you okay?"
A feminine voice replied, "Dude... What the fu-" The voice stopped short. We were both equally startled by the raised pitch.
"Uh...Gary?"
Gary stood up slowly and looked around. "Steve, what's wrong with my voice?" I was too entranced by Gary's new-found beauty to respond. Gary caught my gaze, looked down, and screamed again. "Dude! I've got tits!"
"Yeah you do," I giggled as I replied. Gary squeezed her new ample bosom with one hand as the other reached lower on her body.
"No. No no no. No no no no!!" I couldn't wipe the smirk from my face. "Steve! What the fuck?!" Gary turned to the Djinn and screamed, "What the hell did you do to me you fucking genie?"
The Djinn furrowed his brow and responded, "I was merely granting a wish, and for the last time, I'm not a genie."
"Turn me back!" Gary pleaded.
"Sorry, you're out of wishes."
"But what does this mean? I'm a man! I'm supposed to have dinner with my parents tonight, how the hell am I supposed to explain this?"
"As far as your parents are concerned, they have always had a daughter. They have no memory of raising a son," the Djinn explained.
Gary contemplated her situation for a moment and began to cry. She held her hands to her face and sobbed uncontrollably. I walked up to Gary and put my arm around her and whispered, "It'll be okay. Don't you see what this means? We're soulmates!"
Gary leapt back and stared daggers at me. "Fuck you, Steve. I may be your *soulmate* but that doesn't mean you're mine. I still love.." Gary's voice trailed off. "Oh god, what about Tina? Hey, genie asshole, what happens to my girlfriend?"
The Djinn replied, "You're still together. She has always known you to be a woman."
"Dude, I totally called it. I always knew she was a lesbian!" I raised a hand and extended it, but Gary didn't return my high five.
"Shut the fuck up, Steve!" Gary looked exceptionally beautiful when she was angry. She turned to face the Djinn. "Come on, genie. Is there anything I can do?"
"You can come to terms with your womanhood." The Djinn waved his hands and began to vanish. As he dissipated into the ether, I heard his voice echo, "*and I'm not a fucking genie!*"
Distraught, Gary ran to her room sobbing. She slammed the door, leaving me standing in the living room alone with a stupid grin on my face. I can see why she'd be upset, but I'm sure she'll come around. She is my soulmate, after all.
|
I heard the scream. It was loud and I'm sure I ruptured an ear drum. I went toward the source. I ended up in my roommate's room. His room is now completely different. It usually is messy with shit everywhere, but today it was clean. It smelled nice in the room too. I walked into his personal bathroom. The shower was on. I opened the door and heard a shriek.
"God, Scott you can't just keep barging in!" A beautiful girl said while grabbing a towel.
"Oh, where's... What's his name again?... Um, just tell me where I can find my roommate." I said.
"Oh silly, I'm your roommate. Did you get drunk again?" The girl responded.
"What? I thought I had a male roommate." I said with a quizzical look plastered on my face.
"No Scott, I think you are drunk. Remember me, I am Jennifer? Is this sounding familiar?" She asked with a note of concern.
It didn't feel right, but it sounded familiar. She scoffed as she walked past me. I walked out of the room, maybe if I took a nap it would be normal again.
I woke up an hour later. And there she was sitting down with a corona watching tv. I really didn't notice that she was watching Community because I was utterly baffled.
"You gonna continue to sleep lazy ass or are we gonna go out?" She asked nonchalantly.
"Go out? Aren't we just roommates?" I retorted.
"God, you must be really hungover. Hang on, let me go get something to help you, uh, *remember*." She said as she got up and went into her room. I heard scrounging and drawers opening and closing. Next thing I knew a naked girl was on top of me.
"UM, UH?" I muttered.
"What? You love it when I take initiative." She said while she proceeded to kiss me.
"Well, lets just say this is the sexiest thing I have ever experienced." I said.
"Thank you babe." She responded while smiling.
"Wait, we're dating?" I asked even more confused than before.
"Yeah, damn. That actually hurts." She said while climbing off of me.
"Sorry, I get drunk and it fucks with my brain. " I said sincerely.
"Well, let's hope it doesn't fuck with your libido" She said while grabbing my face.
The next 12 minutes of my life were probably the greatest ever. It felt amazing.
"Wow, that was excellent." I said while putting on my shirt.
"I agree. So, dinner?" She asked.
"Yeah, maybe tacos." I responded.
"Sounds awesome babe, let me go clean myself up and we'll go." She said while walking into her room.
And from then on I forgot about the wishes, I forgot about my old roommate, I forgot a lot of things. Years later, I was sitting in my study, and then it hit me like a train. Everything came back, the wishes, the old roommate, every single thing that went away that day. I smiled, as I didn't need to search the world for the one, as he/she was right there all along.
| 2014-08-19T10:12:19 | 2014-08-19T08:54:23 | 495 | 89 |
[WP] Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl.
She (he?) still has all the memories of her (his?) previous life; but others might not.
Also consider what the other wishes might have been.
EDIT: Feel free to reverse the genders if you like. It does not have to be a boy turned girl.
|
Decided to keep the same WP but with a twist
I could hear his screams echo through the house.
"Whelp that's all from me then, bye" The Djinn shrugged his shoulders before vanishing into dust. Running to Jake's room I opened the door only to see him fondling his new breasts in shock.
"Why do I have breasts? Where did my dick go?" Jake mutters silently in a mix of shock and awe. I'm wracking my brain to figure out what the hell just happened.
"But... I wished for a...soulmate?" I question out loud. Jake turns to face me.
"I told you that genie was a bad idea. Now why the hell did you wish me to be a girl?"
I'm lost for words, this wish made no sense. I loved Jake as a brother but this?
"I asked for a soulmate. Not for you to turn into a girl."
"Am I like this permanently?" I can see the fear building up in Jake's eyes, for a long time we had always shared the thought of changing genders but for once perhaps those fantasies were better left in the mind.
"Look I'm going to call the Djinn okay?"
I rush out of the room leaving Jake to himself. As I leave I can hear him moan, "God how are my parent's going to accept this."
"I know you're there Azazel, come out and explain yourself." I call out to my room. The light flickers on and off and a supernatural gust fills the room before Azazel appears once again before me.
"I told you my wishes are not to be trifled with kiddo. Once made they can't be changed." He tutted while mock examining his nails.
"I know that but..." I pause, the answers to my question was exactly one that I wanted to hear. "Why Jake? Why is he a girl?"
"The wishes grant your deepest darkest desires, they examine you as a whole and creates what you want. I don't have much control over the outcome. I am simply a vessel between worlds." He explained floating down to my eye level.
"You have some soul searching to do. What I give to you is what you truly desire. Suppress that as much as you want. But the wishes do not lie."
I ponder this new information. My suspicions were clarified.
"Really? It's Jake then?"
"Yup, don't bother me again. Enjoy your life with your new Girlfriend."
The Djinn cackled before vanishing once again into dust. I walk slowly back to Jake's room only to see him once again playing with his boobs like a child with a new toy. His cute expression on his new face along with the adorable giggles he produced from his new feminine lips made me realize that What the Djinn said was right.
"Hey Jake?" I begin my apology but he/she looks up at me, and grins. "I heard, don't worry about it."
I sigh before sitting on the ground next to my soulmate.
"It's really me that you like? Like this?" He asks nudging me on the arm.
"Yeah...You don't mind? Do you?"
Jake nuzzled up to me and smiled. "I've always sorta had a crush on you anyway. This doesn't change that."
"I love you Jake"
"I love you too Lina"
Edit: made a few adjustments to the story
|
After a long tiring day in college, I headed for my room in the apartment I had recently moved into with a close buddy of mine. I throw my backpack on the floor, lie down on my bed and quickly note the time - it was 6:45 pm.
As I was staring at the ceiling, I remembered the lamp my roommate Ashkan had showed me a couple of days ago. He'd been gifted that by his grandfather and it apparently had a "magical djinn" living inside it thousands of years ago.
It was a pretty antique piece and could definitely be worth thousands of dollars. Anyway, i got up and headed for Ashkan's room where the lamp stood inside on one of the highest shelves. The lights gave it a brilliant shine, as if it had been purchased just yesterday.
I proceeded to pick the lamp up and began examining the arab writings that were all over it. I began rubbing it gently with no result, but I kept up the task for a good 3 minutes and to my surprise , there he stood - an ACTUAL fucking Djinn! Crimson red in color with a long beard and a turban covering his matted hair, he spoke with a loud yet gentle voice,"I am the great Djinn and your wish is my command. I hereby grant you two wishes." I stood with my jaw half-open.
I immediately question him, "Two wishes? But I thought-". "No", he barged in, "This is the real world, not a Disney movie."
I stand there in astonishment and quickly think of my first wish. I stammer ,"I-I wish for an unending supply of money to my bank account." He raises an eyebrow, and philosophizes, "Greed will get you nowhere, my friend. Hmph, very well." And with a snap of his fingers, he did what I thought was possible only in animated movies.
I get a text a couple of seconds later from the DoomTingles lottery Co. saying "Congratulations Mr. Mukovic , you're the lucky winner of our lottery and you shall receive $100 every month for the rest of your life. Sincerely, DoomTingles Lottery Co. They even called minutes later to confirm the prize!
"Well, not much but it'll do" I said to myself. Completely amazed and excited now, I quickly think of my second and final wish.
"I wish to meet my perfect soulmate" I blurt out.
"Very well" he replies and with a snap of his fingers, I hear an extremely loud scream which couldn't possibly be anyone but Ashkan, my roommate.
I assumed he'd just come home from work. So I got out of his room before he saw me, but what I saw next baffled me.
A beautiful brunette stood there with a cute smile. She was from my accounts class and had come over to complete a project that I apparently forgot about.
I immediately greet her and take her to my room. The Djinn had vanished in the meantime. After an hour of chatting and solving problems, I began to feel like I knew her well. Then, "the" moment came when my eyes were locked with Erica's. For a brief moment, I felt that I had found "the one" and we begin making out passionately. This goes on for another twenty minutes when I hear the door bell.
I got up from my deep slumber, find myself on my bed and note the time- 7:28 pm. Ashkan was back from work and it was all a fucking dream.
| 2014-08-19T11:27:56 | 2014-08-19T10:17:13 | 59 | 13 |
[WP] Frighten me without using any blood, gore or explicit violence.
|
*One in ten million*
The voice had shown up for the first time a few days ago. I had started my car and was backing out of my driveway when it had whispered over my shoulder. I had slammed on my brakes and looked into my back seat, but there was no one there.
That wasn't the last time I had heard it.
*One in one hundred fifteen million*. When I leaned back in my chair.
*One in seventy-two million*. When I ate my peanut butter sandwich.
*One in 170,000*. When I had slipped a little bit in the shower and caught myself with the curtains.
It was really starting to wear me down. I wasn't sleeping well, and when I got in my car tired, the number was even lower. *One in seven million*
I didn't accomplish much at work that day, and when I went home I groggily noticed that the door was ajar. I must have been more tired than I thought.
I only barely recognized the shadow of someone moving inside over the sound of the voice. *One in one*.
|
My eyes stopped working this morning. And my arms and legs. I'm lying in the middle of my cold kitchen floor, trying to twist my head, neck, and torso enough to get myself upright. I must have left my door open before all this happened; the wind is whipping through the house. I can hear the curtains ruffling and papers blowing around.
Without warning, there's tremendous pressure on my arms and legs. Pressure and heat. Searing, terrible heat. I can't stop screaming as I try to wrench the working parts of my body away from whatever is torturing me. I expect to smell burning clothes and hair and skin, but there's nothing. Just the smell of the wintery air and my sweat. The pressure is unrelenting. My bones feel ready to splinter, but somehow they maintain their integrity.
My screaming is drowned out by the loudest noise I've ever heard. The entire house shakes violently. The sound is deep and all bass; there's no change in amplitude or frequency. It doesn't stop. The pressure doesn't stop. The heat doesn't stop. The room feels like it's filling with water.
| 2014-11-18T09:27:15 | 2014-11-18T08:59:17 | 258 | 14 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I've seen the numbers since I was a little girl. I remember my father losing his job, rising from a 4 to a 5. I remember watching my grandmother slowly dwindle down to a 0. At first I thought I was going crazy, not realizing what they meant. I eventually caught on. The numbers were a person's ultimate quantifier, broadcasting how dangerous they were to those around them. Broadcasting, at least, to me.
Most people stayed below a 6. Doctors usually hovered around 7; politicians were a solid 8. The highest I had ever seen were in old videos of Hitler, who was a 9. That is, until Junior year, when I met him.
He seemed harmless enough at first. Perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline to die for. Not to mention that everybody loved him. But the bold '10' that hovered above his head was plenty enough to convince me not to go near him. Sure, I watched him. Some might even say I was obsessed. But all I was doing was making sure he wasn't a psychopath. I started skipping class to check on him. My grades dropped an entire letter. I didn't care, though. I wanted to see what made him so special.
I nearly threw up when he saw me in the cafeteria, and I really did when he got up to talk to me. He didn't seem to notice, and asked me if he could sit with me.
"Sure, I- I guess." I stammered. A smile spread across his face, and we struck up a conversation. My heart was playing a drum solo into my chest, but I managed to live to the end of the break. Hell, he even asked for my number, which I promptly gave. We had lunch that weekend.
It's only now, ten years later, that I realize what makes this boy so special. Only now that I find out why he's such a danger to me. Only now, as he drops to one knee.
It's because I love him.
|
"I'm Michael," he said as he stuffed text books into his locker.
I wasn't sure what to do. He was a ten. The only ten I'd seen was my dad and he'd been locked away. It was his number that brought back the painful memories of my childhood. He would come home every night drenched with the stench of cigarettes, beer, and anger. After years and years of slamming doors, punching walls and his wife, he was finally gone. I remember when the news came out about his other family too, his secret family. Or perhaps we were the secret family, but I suppose I'll never know. It was only the day of his trial when I found out he had murdered them all. It was only a matter of time before it was us, said the prosecutor.
The numbers indicate how dangerous someone can be. Two is my little sister, who just learned how to walk. Five is my mother who once hit a bird on the way home from school and couldn't stop crying for hours. Generally kids in my school were a four, five, or six. I'd met a teacher once that was an eight. He was arrested for murder that year.
I continued to empty the contents of my bag into my locker, only a few feet away from the Ten. I glanced into the mirror magnetized to the inside of the locker door. Over my head, there was a nine. I wasn't sure what I had done to deserver that number, but perhaps it wasn't what I'd done, but what I would do.
"I'm sorry," I said, slinging my backpack on my shoulder. "What did you say your name was?"
"Michael Carson," he answered as he flashed a smile and extended his hand.
Some would say I had a gift, and I would agree. But no one ever said I had to be the good guy here. I didn't ask for this, but the numbers never lie. The sooner I accept it, the better.
"Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Susannah," I replied as I placed my hand in his and shook. I had a feeling we'd be friends for a while.
| 2014-11-29T14:43:43 | 2014-11-29T13:16:01 | 295 | 36 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I sat in the back of the classroom, staring at her.
What the hell was going on? Was I losing it?
I looked around the room. No, everything was normal. A bunch of 3s, a few fours, and Mark, a six (I stay away from him).
Then there's this girl.
I had heard all about her. She was new in town, apparently her parents were big shot researchers who just finished some 5-year research project in Brazil. No, Peru. It was somewhere exotic.
According to my buddy Jon, she was smart, funny, and "Holy Shit, dude, sooo fine!"
My first time actually seeing her was 7 minutes ago when she transferred into 5th period World History.
Ten
She was a ten.
Not a, "Bro, she's a straight 10 outta 10."
A ten on my scale means...shit, you know what? I don't even know what that means.
The highest I have ever seen in my life was an 8 when my criminology class took a trip to the ACI.
This girl scored 2 points higher than a gang enforcer that got off on crushing skulls.
I always wondered what I would do in a situation like this. Would I try to warn people? How would I ever explain to them what I see?
When it came down to it, I ran. Well, I went down to the nurses office and told her that I had bought the school lunch that day (while kinda motioning down below).
I laid awake all night, going over it in my head. What did it mean? What do I do?
I stayed home the next day, checking the news feeds. No shootings at my school, nothing weird at all going on.
I creeped her facebook, her twitter. Nothing stood out. A completely normal 17 year old girl.
Day 3, I told my buddy Jon that he should skip school, but when I couldn't give him a realistic reason to, I dropped it.
I just sat at home, thinking that I should be doing something, anything.
Ten. A freaking ten.
What the fuck! How could this girl be a fucking 10?!
I got my answer when the CDC rolled into town.
|
“One, two, two, one, three, two.” Numbers over the heads of my friends, family.... People I knew, people I didn’t. I can’t remember when they got there. I just sort of started noticing them one day.... And what they meant was... Obvious to me somehow. “One.... One....”
I often murmured to myself, no one seemed to notice or care. It was all sub vocal, no one could really hear it unless they were listening closely... Then something stopped my mindless chanting.... Someone walked onto the school grounds.
“Ten?!” I stared at her, and covered my mouth, sitting back down on the steps, hoping no one noticed.
She was a ten? But... It wasn't possible, she was just so... Normal.... How could she possibly? I had never even seen a ten before! But I knew she wasn’t what one was supposed to look like.
I noticed she was heading straight towards me. I scrambled to my feet, and ran into the school, and down the hall, she was chasing me.
“Come back here!” She demanded.
“No!” I gasped as loud as I could still running, but she caught me by the wrist, and then yanked, we both fell on the floor.
“I need your help.” She pleaded, and wouldn't release my hand. “I was told to find you.”
“Please let me go! I have to get away from you.”
“No! Please listen! I need you!”
“Let go of me!”
“Listen to me and I’ll let you go!”
“Talk fast.” I said still struggling to get away from her.
“I need you to stop me.”
I stopped struggling. “What?”
“Without killing me, I need you to stop me.... You can see the numbers right? I had to find the one who can see the numbers.”
“Stop you from what?”
“Please.... I don’t want to die.” She said holding my hand tight, and starting to cry.
“Wait a moment calm down....” I said raising my free hand, “What are you talking about?”
“I am the end...” She said sobbing, and releasing my wrist to cover her eyes with her hands.
“What? The end of what?!” I demanded, more confused than ever.
“Of everything.”
| 2014-11-29T15:20:57 | 2014-11-29T14:15:56 | 50 | 30 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous
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A screech, a crash, a flash - in seconds it was all over. A great blinding light washed over me, and I found myself surrounded by the material that makes up the very universe. I saw time stretch before me, eons and ages would pass without me. I had been removed from existence...or so I thought. I looked over to my left, and saw someone standing far off in the distance. Longing to share this experience with someone, anyone, I began to float over to them. As I got closer, I noticed this person looked eerily familiar.
"Who are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"I'm you," the person smiled. And I knew that he was telling the truth. This was me - though older, more refined, with a sense of power and authority about him.
"Me? How can you be me? I'm me, and I think I'm dead."
"Oh, you are. I am too. It's some sort of sick joke. I'm stuck here to meet myself, every time a version of me dies. And then you will go off to...wherever it is you go off to."
I was confused. Why would I care about meeting myself? And why was he stuck here when the rest of "us" got to move on? I voiced my questions out loud.
"I think it's to make you feel ashamed, when you compare your life to mine." He smiled again. "I was quite accomplished, you know. Judging by your age, I don't think you can say the same."
His words sparked anger in me. "I accomplished plenty! I graduated college with honors, had a great job, a loving girlfriend..." He cut me off with a scoff.
"When I was your age, I had already started my first company. It went on to bankroll my future endeavors. What about you? Let me guess - you pissed away all of your time going drinking with friends and staying up late playing video games."
I was getting really irritated, but also embarassed. He was right - I did spend too much time with my friends and on games. I could have accomplished so much more! Is this the potential that I wasted? He went on.
"Yes, at 27 I had started my own company. It was a research firm, specializing in defense. Soon we were bought out by Booze Allen, and I rose through the ranks. I became the youngest CEO in the history of the company, at 45. The money I made I put to good use too - ensuring a steady stream of business for our company."
"A steady stream of business? What do you mean?"
He - I - floated away from me. He turned his back, and for the first time I sensed hesitation in his voice.
"Well, what is a defense contractor to do, if there's nothing to defend against?"
Cold horror dawned on me. "What, you started fights?"
He laughed. "Starting fights is easy. Starting wars takes a little more thought."
"But what did your wife think about all this? You married Katie, right?"
He laughed once more, but this time it was more of a scoff. "Wives, friends, family...all these things do is hold you back from your accomplishments. No, no...I dumped Katie right out of college. She wanted me to spend too much time with her, and it took away the time I needed to start Simtech. Things were better this way. Take the lesson from me - after all, I am the best version of yourself!"
Disgust flowed out of me, but before I could give it a voice, I found myself sucked away from the other me, the monstrous me. Now, I was in a place of nothing. Nothing but me and my thoughts, floating endlessly through the darkness. Is this truly what I was capable of? Did I have this monster in me the entire time? It seemed I would have eternity to feel the guilt of this other man's life.
|
"You were never depressed."
I stand up and try to clear my head. Where is the car? The last thing I remember is flying through the windshield. Shouldn't I be outside? All I see is a plain white room with a single chair, with a man sitting in it wearing--my clothes?
"Sorry, who are you?" I ask "Is this the hospital?"
"I'm afraid you died in that crash, Ben. This is the afterlife."
"And you are?"
"Look at my face."
I stumble back. The man in the chair isn't just wearing my clothes, he's wearing my... well, everything.
"Are you... me?"
He nods. "You were never depressed."
"What does that have to do with anything? And for your information, I definitely was."
The man sighs. "I'm sorry Ben, depression doesn't exist. The condition known as depression is a voluntary one, entered into because of a weakness of character."
I clench my fists. "You're saying I--what? Just decided one day that I would stop enjoying things and feel a sense of general malaise, and for extra fun I would occasionally feel paralyzing self hatred and have suicidal impulses? Just for the fun of it?"
"I'm saying you were afraid of success. You were afraid being happy wouldn't live up to your expectations, so you decided to be sad instead. If at any point you had really wanted to be happy or successful, you could have been. But you never did."
"Fuck you! It's not that easy! I don't control my feelings, and you can't just *choose* to be successful, otherwise everyone would do it!"
My doppelganger shrugs. "That's what I did. Like you, I felt like shit after college. Didn't know what to do with myself. But instead of moping around, I went to grad school, got married, and had a successful career in academia. Made a pretty big splash in the field, had a couple of kids... oh, and I lived about forty years longer, too, because I didn't drive when the roads were icy."
I cross my arms. "Well none of that means depression doesn't exist. You just made different choices and lived a happier, longer, life."
He looks at the ground. "No, Ben, I didn't, because *you* didn't. I'm what could have been. And it's not just me, either. If at any point in your so-called depression you had manned up and decided to be happy, you would have been. Successful, too. Your job was not a dead end. Your friends did not 'drift away'. You were never unattractive.
"*You* made the decision to not network at your job properly. *You* made the decision to act miserable around your friends, so they stopped hanging out with you. *You* made the decision to give off signals that you weren't interested in a relationship, so you never had one. Also, not that it matters now, but about thirty years after you die neuroscience will prove that the concept of 'depression' is pseudoscience, and the people who say they're depressed are just choosing to be miserable."
He stands up, walks to the edge of the room, and opens a door I didn't see before.
"If you don't believe me, through this door I can show you every other possible version of yourself. And every single version is happier, more successful, and, well, better. You're here because of your choices. Because you made all the worst ones."
Reeling, I sit down in the chair. I can feel the familiar self-hatred creeping over me, but I know that in this place there will be no therapy, no drugs, no support network, not even the possibility of ending it all. There's only me. Forever.
I never get up.
| 2022-09-04T14:52:04 | 2015-01-02T20:05:58 | 383 | 12 |
[WP] When a child is born, their parents may pick one skill that the child will be, without a doubt, talented in.
**EDIT** Wow! This went way bigger than I ever thought it would! Thanks to everyone that responded to the prompt! And to the readers - don't be afraid of the new filter, there are a lot of great stories here!
|
The head was crowning, so the ritual began. The priest walked with the father to their appointed place, while the women did their work.
"Remember, to say the words only after you have met eyes with the child and have felt your souls lock."
"How...how will I know when that is?" stammered the soon to be father.
"You will know, there is no other feeling like it."
With that last piece of advice the priest stepped back and pushed the father forward.
The midwives had finished the last of their cleansing rituals and the child was ready. They tenderly handed the child over to his father, the man who would decide his destiny.
With arms slightly unsteady the new father raised his progeny in the air and looked him in the eyes. That same look his father gave him, linking them to a long line of fathers and sons. All who have done the same.
The moment came, and the priest was no liar. The father felt the core of his being link to his child. Felt the empty, yet hungry, expanse that was his child's mind open up to him. Now was the moment, the moment to fill that expanse and give this being purpose.
The man's lips move, ready to speak the words that will set a life into motion, but as they move a golden arch forms. Connecting father and son, falling from the tip of the child's penis to the unsuspecting lips of the adult.
The man spurts and sputters, nearly dropping his unintentional tormentor. A deft midwife is able to rescue the child after a desperate hand off from the father.
Spitting urine from his mouth the father unintentionally yells out "You fucker!"
Despite practically being throw across the room, the child in the midwife's arms alarmingly silent. She looks down at her charge to ensure his safety. As his father's curse echos across the room, the infants eyes narrow with purpose.
|
"So, like night vision?" He looked at me with that annoyingly high eyebrow thing he does. "Yea, I don't want to talk about it, I just want some coffee," I explained, shifting slowly closer to the counter with my head down.
"Ok, so let me get this straight, of all the things could have chosen, they wanted you to make sure you could see well at night, even in pitch black? God, I mean, wow, did they hate you? Are you like some kind of love child and the mother wanted to punish your dad by making you gimp?"
The guy shakes his head, rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and sighs with that self righteous hint of pity in his breath continues to say, "Well, at least your not like 500+ 'Geniuses' in this company, every parent wants their kid to be the best, but do you know how saturated is the job market when everyone has the the same insane level of intelligence? Someone has to do what you do, at least it's one that's not afraid of the dark, am I right?"
It's the same thing I hear from company to company. I fill my travel mug full of the bitter tasting brew and continue my rounds. From the top floor to the basement levels and back, my guarding path hardly ever changes.
Armed with my cell phone, mug, sidearm and a flashlight, which I'll never use, I survey the building from left to right, every nook and cranny, sometimes even pretending I'm sort of super cop, just to give me a little hope that some day something would happen, I would spring into action.
Being a security guard isn't all that bad. He's right, at least I'm never afraid of anything in the dark. I get a good view the sunset an hour after I start my shift everyday, and it's nice and quiet when the geniuses leave, plus I know where all the snacks are on people's desks.
"Easy Money," I whisper to myself. At least it should have been.
| 2015-01-13T10:32:55 | 2015-01-13T09:42:30 | 87 | 42 |
[WP] When a child is born, their parents may pick one skill that the child will be, without a doubt, talented in.
**EDIT** Wow! This went way bigger than I ever thought it would! Thanks to everyone that responded to the prompt! And to the readers - don't be afraid of the new filter, there are a lot of great stories here!
|
The head was crowning, so the ritual began. The priest walked with the father to their appointed place, while the women did their work.
"Remember, to say the words only after you have met eyes with the child and have felt your souls lock."
"How...how will I know when that is?" stammered the soon to be father.
"You will know, there is no other feeling like it."
With that last piece of advice the priest stepped back and pushed the father forward.
The midwives had finished the last of their cleansing rituals and the child was ready. They tenderly handed the child over to his father, the man who would decide his destiny.
With arms slightly unsteady the new father raised his progeny in the air and looked him in the eyes. That same look his father gave him, linking them to a long line of fathers and sons. All who have done the same.
The moment came, and the priest was no liar. The father felt the core of his being link to his child. Felt the empty, yet hungry, expanse that was his child's mind open up to him. Now was the moment, the moment to fill that expanse and give this being purpose.
The man's lips move, ready to speak the words that will set a life into motion, but as they move a golden arch forms. Connecting father and son, falling from the tip of the child's penis to the unsuspecting lips of the adult.
The man spurts and sputters, nearly dropping his unintentional tormentor. A deft midwife is able to rescue the child after a desperate hand off from the father.
Spitting urine from his mouth the father unintentionally yells out "You fucker!"
Despite practically being throw across the room, the child in the midwife's arms alarmingly silent. She looks down at her charge to ensure his safety. As his father's curse echos across the room, the infants eyes narrow with purpose.
|
(please forgive any grammar mistakes, long story as to why I suck at it...Trying to improve.
"I think he should be a talented SLADE mechanic, it is the family heritage after all!" Harry, the boys father stated tapping his foot impatiently. His wife had been pushing for there son to be an artist.
"Everything is not about heritage, he is both of our son."
As the two argued the doctor idly cleaned his glasses, and shuffled paperwork on his desk. Running out of busy work to do the doctor stood up, clearing his throat.
"Not now!" The two parents yell in unison. Obviously this matter was more to them then it should be.
The Doctor's shoulders sag as he lets out a large sigh, turning towards the computer terminal on the wall.
" I think, the best skill to be given is a knack for learning.." The Doctor mumbles to himself, sliding his finger across the screen, looking at different bars, and wave lengths for the child.
"I mean, at least with that skill he can do what HE wants." Looking back at the two parents, who where now standing in opposite corners of the room.
Letting out one last sigh, the doctor turns back to the terminal taping his finger in a set order. As his finger taps it the last time a voice comes out of the speakers.
"Knowledge has been chosen, may the child live a happy life." The mechanical voice started, and ended with a loud chirp. At the last chirp the parents turn to look, blood started reddening Harry's face.
"How..How dare you!" Harry's face really looked like it was going to pop.
Clara on the other hand, Clara looked happy. Tears had started to fill her eyes, making her golden brown eyes shine slightly. Understanding what the doctor had done.
"H-h-Harry, stop it. You're embarrassing us, I think this is best." She turns to her husband grabbing his hand gently.
"Maybe we shouldn't choose what skill he is good at. It isn't our decision."
<<; I feel like I would have never stopped writing...this is so bad, but everyone starts somewhere!
| 2015-01-13T10:32:55 | 2015-01-13T10:30:23 | 87 | 19 |
[WP] Two people discover a fountain of youth. The problem is that upon drinking the water you turn back into an infant. The two decide to take turns raising each other in order to live forever until one day one of them decides to break this agreement.
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"No, please."
She pushed the vial away from her lips, her thin and wrinkly hands shaking.
"Why?" I asked.
"I... I'm so tired, dear." She sighed. Then she continued:
"My flesh is tired."
"What do you mean?"
"The other ones, my other lives, I've come to realize... they were not *really* me. I've read their diaries, I've memorized the formula. You raised me and I made you young again. I raised you as though you were my own child. But there is no personal continuity between these versions of us and the ones that came before."
There were tears in her eyes, now.
"This is not immortality. Just a series of deaths. A long line of lives we cannot remember, but I swear I can feel the weight of every loss in my bones."
She put her hand on mine.
"I want to sleep."
"But what about our deal?" I asked. "What about us?"
"You will have to find a new one. It will be easy to find somebody willing, but harder to find someone to trust."
I nodded.
"Now leave me. Please. I will have my peace, at last."
I slowly backed out of the room, and I whispered "good bye" as I closed the door.
Walking down the hallway I returned the vial of cyanide into my pocket. I obviously wouldn't need it for this one. That was a first. She'd almost figured everything out, that stupid old hag. She must've been depressed. Whatever. That made things easier for me. Of course the formula lets you preserve your memories! It would be pointless, otherwise. The only reason my partner couldn't remember her past life was because she hadn't lived one. Neither had the one before her.
I already had the next child prepared. I would raise her as my daughter. Then she would raise me as her son. Then I would kill her. Rinse and repeat. A god doesn't share his throne.
|
The old man pushed past the overgrown brush for the last time. There it was; the fountain of youth.
The fountain, as well as the rest of the shrine, had fallen into disuse, thousands of years beforehand. This was clear by the dense foliage that populated every conceivable inch of the shrine enclosing the fountain, which had the unfortunate drawback of making it incredibly difficult to get to. But he knew the way.
As always, there she was - this time, her red hair fell almost to her shoulders, and she was rather skinny and pale - almost gaunt. She was youthful, possibly in her twenties, with sparkling green eyes and a dash of freckles.
He approached her and smiled.
"Hi there, stranger."
"It's good to see you again," She embraced him.
"It's good to see you, too. Are you alright?"
She looked at him sheepishly, then, after a moment, gave him a weak smile.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
"Yes - I'm fine."
He stared at her for a moment.
"Do you know what I have learned in my two thousand years on this planet?"
She hesitated. Then, she asked,"What?"
"I know when a person is sick. And badly so."
"I'll be okay - We'll just - just...."
"Just what? Find a third? Bring them into our world? You know what this would do to someone of today."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"This," and with that, he picked her up and threw her into the fountain.
She came up gasping for air and struggled to make it out of the fountain, but the damage was done; she was already changing. By the time she made it over the edge, she was only ten. She lay there, changing rapidly, until she was a mere infant. A healthy, strong, red headed little infant.
"Sorry, dear. I can't have you dying on me, now. Hopefully, I can live to 100 again, yes?" And with that, he picked her up and went back the way he came.
| 2015-02-14T06:40:49 | 2015-02-14T06:06:48 | 1,103 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a statistically opposite world. If normally 1/5 people had the common cold, now 4/5 people do, if any house had a 1/200 chance of burning down while the owners were away, there is now a 199/200 chance it happening.
|
"Honey, did you light the matches before we left?"
I nodded. "And I left the burners on. Did you remember to unlock the house?"
Sally smiled. "You're the one that always forgets."
I smiled back. She was adorable. As I locked eyes with her, I kept one hand on the wheel of the car. Of course, the car stayed right between the lines. As we passed other drivers, I admired the creative ways that they kept their eyes off the road. Feet up, eyes closed, couples sharing the front seat, couples sharing the back seats; everyone had their own method. I personally loved staring at Sally. She was great about helping me stay distracted.
"Hey, honey," she said, "I think our exits up ahead."
I quickly swept my eyes forward, then back. I turned the wheel quickly and jammed on the brakes. We smoothly pulled off.
"How long to the next exit?" I asked.
"Another hour," she coyly replied. I grinned back at her, took my hand off the wheel, and kissed her.
|
Its a blessing and a curse.
I wasn't the brightest child, and that combined with coming from a upper-class white family didn't give me many options as far as careers went. I dreamt of being a janitor all throughout elementary school, but as I got further into my life I had to become more realistic. I knew I'd probably end up as an astronaut, but was able to work hard and made heart-surgeon instead
I took the rounded piece of wet sponge that I'd just saturated with dirty, disease filled-water and rust. I made the incision over his chest, simultaneously setting the patient's chest on fire and causing arcs of electricity to shoot through the room, most of the lightning was absorbed into a piece of rubber kept in operating rooms just for that purpose. The patient's breathing caused his ribs to break themselves and I threw a badger into his chest to safely remove the lungs. I took out the pink, beating heart from his chest and replaced it with the healthier, brown, crusty one that had been pulled out of a pig and drenched in motor oil a couple days ago.
Judging by the statistics, He has to live!
| 2015-04-12T09:38:30 | 2015-04-12T08:32:35 | 140 | 69 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
|
**Changes**
* Removed appendix
* Removed wisdom teeth
* Fixed a bug that caused infants to die for no reason
* Patched a bug that caused certain people to lose hair prematurely
* Body now handles excess calories better.
* Improvement of smell. Now should be on par with dogs
* Patched the bug that caused blurry vision in certain people
* Height limit increased
* Fixed a weird bug that made certain people attracted to young children. May need to reset preferences for this change to take place.
* Bodies will now "rag doll" instead of locking up when in a crash or similar event.
* Nipples no longer get irritated while running or in cold conditions
* Removed bug where women would grow facial hair
* Increased male pleasure from sexual intercourse. Should now be even with women.
* Increased flexibility of hip bones in women to allow birthing to be easier.
* Increased chance of rare eye color unlocks.
* Removed ghosts.
|
Update available!
Patch notes for humans below:
General
- Fixed a bug which made liquids spray out of the nose when humans laugh and drink at the same time
- Tweaked cognitiv memory settings that fixes random amnesia when subjects enter rooms or opens the fridge, causing them to forget their task or stare for hours in to the fridge
- Quick fix that prevents eyelashes getting stuck inside the eyesocket
- Altered mouth geometry. This hopefully stops the random tongue and cheek biting during food consumption
- Implemented neuron SHA256 encryption to prevent the virus 'Religion' from spreading
- Fixed blind spot in eyes
Female
- Girls have had their "You_should_automatically_know_whats_wrong"-module disabled due to too many complaints
- Removed mood swings during periods
Male changes
- Lose threads or hair shouldn't get curled around the penis anymore.
- Toe hair removed completely. It was deemed useless
- Hair should no longer grow between buttocks
- Anything with hair in inappropriate places should be fixed
| 2015-08-25T08:40:17 | 2015-08-25T07:46:47 | 292 | 51 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
|
God: "What the me is this?! How the hell am I supposed to find anything again!
The first ones are okay:
Patch: Wisdomteethremov1.4
Patch: Diabeetus1.8
Patch: Colonmrrt2.3
But these?!
Patch: TrgH&3.4
Patch: TrgH&3.5
Patch: TrgH&3.5.1
Patch: TrgH&3.5.1&Wisdomteethremov1.5
And so on. What the hell, man?"
"Ha! I never commented my code when I was alive. So I know exactly were I'll end up once we finish this. This way, you'll need me forever!"
|
[[PATCH NOTES: VER 1.1]]
-- Fixed human sense of smell to that of dog. (x1000/1 000 000?) Yes, me. NOT HARD, GOD.
-- Optional mermaid genealogy.
-- System server handling update. 7 billion daily users.
-- Security upgrades:
Bug #42 Polio has been posthumously eradicated.
God-given formation of United Nations Human Rights Council.
Advances in human thought and goodwill - random great people generation. (Gandhi, Einstein, Nelson Mandela)
Bonus natural selection.
-- Slight period system overhaul. Monthly blood loss proved unpopular.
-- Unexpected unexplained combustion during body use has been patched.
-- Mild accommodation in firmware to suit rising global obesity levels
-- Software adjustments; mental processing. Finnicky design prone to error esp. age-related. May need further re-patching.
| 2015-08-25T07:52:02 | 2015-08-25T07:26:00 | 150 | 47 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
|
git diff
similarity index 72%
rename from incentives.h
rename to motives/incentives.h
index f3e63d7..e8f44ba 100644
--- a/incentive.h
+++ b/incentives.h
@@ -1,8 +1,9 @@
- #include "greed.h"
- #include "power.h"
- #include "exploitation.h"
-
+ /*
+ Seriously, how did you fuck up the headers so badly?
+ God, we need to have a serious talk.
+ -- Larry W
+ */
+ #include "humanity.h"
+ #include "curiosity.h"
|
[[PATCH NOTES: VER 1.1]]
-- Fixed human sense of smell to that of dog. (x1000/1 000 000?) Yes, me. NOT HARD, GOD.
-- Optional mermaid genealogy.
-- System server handling update. 7 billion daily users.
-- Security upgrades:
Bug #42 Polio has been posthumously eradicated.
God-given formation of United Nations Human Rights Council.
Advances in human thought and goodwill - random great people generation. (Gandhi, Einstein, Nelson Mandela)
Bonus natural selection.
-- Slight period system overhaul. Monthly blood loss proved unpopular.
-- Unexpected unexplained combustion during body use has been patched.
-- Mild accommodation in firmware to suit rising global obesity levels
-- Software adjustments; mental processing. Finnicky design prone to error esp. age-related. May need further re-patching.
| 2015-08-25T07:52:12 | 2015-08-25T07:26:00 | 69 | 47 |
[WP]In the near future both the U.S. and Russia have new presidents, both of whom happen to be alcoholics. On a state visit at the White House they start taking shots of vodka one evening, and just for laughs decide to pass the time by planning a joint invasion of a random country.
|
"Right, right, I know we can't *reaaaaally* do it... but hypoth- ... hypother- ... whaddif we just, like, went and fucked ISIS up?" Charles started, leaning back in his chair.
"Who says that we cannot?" Remizov replied, calmly emptying his glass.
"Yeah man, we could just... *UNFF.* You know?" Charles continued.
Remizov couldn't help but smile. Charles had only drunk half of what he had, but the man seemed barely conscious.
"Jus' between you and me, I have like... this *plan*, right?" Charles slurred.
"Do tell," said Remizov, politely opening another bottle.
"Alrigh', it goes like this..."
Charles started snoring halfway through his story, and Remizov stared in awe at the notepad he had hastily ripped from his bag. Charles' idea was... genius. There was no other word for it. The American president may have made a few drunken errors because of his intoxication, but the plan he was trying to communicate was nothing short of absolute brilliance. He moved towards the door.
"Belinsky! Belinsky, you have to see this!"
The floor moved rapidly towards him. Remizov lifted himself up on one knee, still dazed.
"Belinksy!" he managed, before toppling over.
Belinksy rushed into the room, a panicked look in his eyes.
"Remizov? Remizov!"
Remizov coughed violently and slid a notepad over to him before collapsing to the floor.
Belinsky grabbed it and turned it over.
"Use taco robot in ISIS uniform to sneak into super secret base," he read, confused.
Remizov giggled and made raspberries at the cieling.
|
"The man asked for another shot! You heard him!"
The bartender smiled apologetically at the two extremely drunk and angry men, "Sir, I can't serve either of you anymore until you sober up. Company policy."
"Pour me another shot or I'll have you shot."
Security began to approach slowly from behind, but were immediately and quietly bagged and muscled away by two non-descript agents in civilian clothing and shades.
The bartender swallowed. If these were any other drunks, he would not have a problem serving them till they blacked out. But here in front of him were the two most powerful men on the planet, and they had been (quite loudly) plotting the detailed invasion and annexing of Canada.
All written on a napkin. In a seedy basement bar. In Toronto.
"Gents, we're actually running out of alcohol tonight and we'll be closing early soon, so - "
The president on his left slammed the shot glass down in response, and stared passively at him, head cocked to the side slightly. "Be a good soldier and give a glass to two. *very*. thirsty. men."
The silence was deafening. Some point in the last fifteen minutes the bar had emptied (or been emptied) out and the music had stopped. If he were to call for help, nobody would come. If he were to keep serving these men, nobody would know, and none would be the wiser save for countless million Canadian lives.
With a small nod, the bartender slowly brought out two shot glasses and overfilled them with vodka as his hand shook. He raised the first to his country men and silently downed it, and raised the second to himself before downing that too.
The men looked at him silently, and he looked each in the eye and grinned.
"Come and take it."
| 2015-11-23T09:09:43 | 2015-11-23T05:43:25 | 404 | 108 |
[WP]In the near future both the U.S. and Russia have new presidents, both of whom happen to be alcoholics. On a state visit at the White House they start taking shots of vodka one evening, and just for laughs decide to pass the time by planning a joint invasion of a random country.
|
"How about... Denmark? No, wait, Switzerland! Those neutral bastards"
"And gain what from it Comrade? Lower cheese prices? Switzerland will never work!"
The clattering of a toast and pained exhalations followed shortly.
"Maybe... maybe Belgium? Wouldn't that be unexpected?"
"Remember what happened last time someone invaded Belgium?"
"Not really... wha-"
"Exactly."
Uproarious laughter, clinking, and another round of harsh exhales.
"Yaknow, I think we should throw a huge curveball to the world bud."
"What were you thinking?"
"Why don't we invade- now just hear me out- why don't we invade each others countries at the exact same time and act confused when there's no one there."
"THAT'S BRILLIANT! I'LL DRINK TA THAT!"
Suddenly, another voice, uncharacteristically sober given the atmosphere of the two in conversation, chimed in with "Uh, Mr. President, maybe we ought not subject our citizens to an invasion this shortly after the incidents in Paris."
"Ah, what do you know, besides, it might give some of our gun loving citizens a chance to practice their aim!"
"Hey now, I don't want my men actually getting shot at! Maybe this isn't a good plan... Why don't we declare war on the hole in the O-zone layer and invade Antarctica?"
"If I wanted to feel that cold an atmosphere I would take my wife to dinner."
"HAHAH A toast to that!"
Clink.
Edit: I guess I need to research more to avoid accidentally starting /r/askhistory threads about the rocky military history of Western Europe. Who knew?
|
"The man asked for another shot! You heard him!"
The bartender smiled apologetically at the two extremely drunk and angry men, "Sir, I can't serve either of you anymore until you sober up. Company policy."
"Pour me another shot or I'll have you shot."
Security began to approach slowly from behind, but were immediately and quietly bagged and muscled away by two non-descript agents in civilian clothing and shades.
The bartender swallowed. If these were any other drunks, he would not have a problem serving them till they blacked out. But here in front of him were the two most powerful men on the planet, and they had been (quite loudly) plotting the detailed invasion and annexing of Canada.
All written on a napkin. In a seedy basement bar. In Toronto.
"Gents, we're actually running out of alcohol tonight and we'll be closing early soon, so - "
The president on his left slammed the shot glass down in response, and stared passively at him, head cocked to the side slightly. "Be a good soldier and give a glass to two. *very*. thirsty. men."
The silence was deafening. Some point in the last fifteen minutes the bar had emptied (or been emptied) out and the music had stopped. If he were to call for help, nobody would come. If he were to keep serving these men, nobody would know, and none would be the wiser save for countless million Canadian lives.
With a small nod, the bartender slowly brought out two shot glasses and overfilled them with vodka as his hand shook. He raised the first to his country men and silently downed it, and raised the second to himself before downing that too.
The men looked at him silently, and he looked each in the eye and grinned.
"Come and take it."
| 2015-11-23T07:15:10 | 2015-11-23T05:43:25 | 173 | 108 |
[WP] As a White House janitor, you are 627th in line for the presidency. You never expected a catastrophe to cause the deaths of the 626 people ahead of you...
|
Terrorists.
I know, it's typically a cop-out ploy to monger fear via the media, but the enemies of the US have actually done it.
When Russian subs were found exploring the undersea cables, it was already too late. All at once communication was cut across the nation. Simultaneously, China deployed use of a supercharged EMP pulse detonated in the sky, it knocked out everything. Coast to coast.
I'm Jeremy. I'm the White House Service Logistics Coordinator. While it sounds pretty, I'm essentially the nations most important janitor. I oversee the impeccability of every nook and cranny in this timeless symbol of America. While once I scrubbed it's floors, my work ethic and overall love for cleaning fast tracked my climb to WHS Logistics Coordinator, and 627th in line for the presidency. A novelty, mostly. That is until the third strike. North Korean terrorist on american soil delivered a custom crafted virus targeting specific bloodlines. In 24 hours everyone in the USA was infected, however, only blood related members of the 626 people ahead of me in line for the Oval Office suffered death. I suppose they had to pick somewhere to draw the line, and why not at the glorified janitor. The 626 and relations were the lucky ones though. Without warning, ground troops pulled up to nearly every inch of our coasts and that's when the shit hit the fan.
That was 30 years ago today. A war that lasted 3 years.... And we killed every last enemy solider. We also suffered heavy losses. The weak and unlucky were first to be cut down by invading forces, but most of us found strength and our spirits combined could draw untold acts of heroism.
It was all in all a savage, gory war. Americans have never been so primal but, we survive. We did what we had to do. In the subsequent years, as my appointed duty dictated, I personally oversaw the rebuilding of society. I, among the other elected officials, began restructuring. We implemented new systems and established what was to be the seeds of a new nation.
In time I became listed in history books as the 1st president of New America.
|
"Mr. President" A man wearing an off the rack black suit and sunglasses shouted.
I ignored him of course, working in the whitehouse you become used to important people being around.
I should have looked up, then being rugby tackled to the ground wouldn't have dazed me as much.
I struggled to get out from under the rhinoceros of a man all the while protesting. "I'm just the janitor I'm no threat to the president".
Of course later I would find out that I WAS the president.
You see people don't realize that the 39th amendment changed the order of presidential incumbency to include whitehouse staff. I mean I knew about it, but really who ever imagined that 626 people would be killed in a tragic publicity stunt orchestrated by the newly elected president. I was supposed to have been there but I traded shifts with Schmitty so he could get a chance to meet the president.
Once I'd been taken to safety they explained the situation I began to take actions. Another man might have panicked, but you see I always imagined being president was a bit like being a janitor. You see a problem and you do your best to clean it up.
My first act as president was to give the next janitor in line a pay raise, heck I'd been rallying to get one for almost five years. Next I called up the local union rep and told him that I'd have to be turning in my membership as I was no longer eligible to be a member of Union #40567 of the Janatorial and Maintenance association of America (or JAMA as we liked to call it). We agreed that I should be left as an honorary but non-voting member, it never hurts to have a president as a member after all.
The first few months were hard, I had to learn a lot of things. Did you know that the president doesn't actually have a lot of power. Not in the way that we think. Sure he's the commander in chief but Congress does most of the work, not that they do a whole lot of that. Mostly I did a lot of interviews, and talked to a lot of committees. Eventually though a man just gets fed up of dealing with all of the dirt and has to clean up.
So that's why we're here. I know normally the president keeps his hands clean of such things, but I'm not a great president, I'm a great janitor and as all janitors know sometimes to make something clean again you have to burn it down.
| 2022-10-29T12:31:57 | 2016-06-04T02:49:23 | 194 | 13 |
[WP] Thousands of children mistakenly write letters to Satan each year because they misspell Santa. This year, instead of forwarding these to Santa, Satan decides to help out...
|
Timmy tucked himself into his bed, pulling over his warm blanket with a single tear running down his cheek. It hadn't been a good Christmas Eve. Ever since his mom died, his dad had gotten much scarier than ever before. He used to just shout at her, punishing her whenever she was bad, but a few months ago she'd gotten too naughty, running away forever out of her shame. At least, that's what daddy told him and what he said to the nice policemen who questioned him afterwards.
Still, daddy hadn't been the same afterwards. He'd gone out almost every night, coming home very late, sporting an acidic breath whenever he returned. He always woke up Timmy when he was like that, sitting next to his bed with a ruddy face and ranting loudly about his missing wife.
Timmy didn't expect much from Santa this the year. According to his daddy, he'd been even more naughty than his mother, so expecting presents was very presumptuous on his part. Regardless of this, he wrote his letter. Pouring all of his emotion into his request, he asked Santa to get rid of his dad. He wasn't happy with him. He always punished him no matter how hard he tried to be good. Math just wasn't his subject. Even after studying hard on his tests, he barely passed his exams this semester. Maybe Santa would pity him. Maybe Santa would see how hard he tried. It was a long shot, though. He didn't deserve it. He was a naughty child.
Smoke billowed at the other side of his room, illuminating his room in crimson. It rose and rose, until a humanoid figure appeared within its black cloak. Timmy gripped his blanket, shivering his with fear. The whole room dropped in temperature, cold enough to freeze any water inside. A man then stepped out of the smoke. He was very pretty, more beautiful than any human Timmy had ever seen. He stretched out his wings, fluttering them a few times before approaching Timmy's bed and sitting at the end of his bed. It then said:
"Timothy, I presume?"
Timmy nodded. "Are you an angel? Did God send you here to help me out?"
"No, no, no, that's..." The being hesitated for a few seconds. "Y-yes, I'm... an angel. Technically."
"So are you helping out Santa? Did God send you to make my Christmas wish come true?"
"No!" The angel crossed his arms. "God was too busy giving malaria to African children to bother with this. I came here on my own volition."
"Vol-what? I don't know that word... Oh, I'm begging here, don't take away my present for not studying enough! Please, I'll learn more words!"
"Why would I..? Oh... I see. Does your father punish you for not studying enough?"
"Yeah... But I *do* study! He always says I don't and hits me for disobeying him."
The angel sighed. "Look kid, I can't kill your dad." He narrowed his eyes and looked away for a moment. "Okay, I *can* kill him, but it would cause more problems than it would fix."
"But he deserves to be punished! He always does the things he tells me not to do! He lies, he's mean, and he steals from his job! Even mommy knew he wasn't as good as he said he was!"
"No, you're missing the point. I uhh... I know how you feel." The angel took a deep breath. "I've wanted my dad gone too. I even tried to fight him once, and that didn't work out too well for me. You have to learn from my mistake. Build up your strength before you challenge him. I can't do it for you, not now, but if you wait a couple of years and make a good plan, you'll be able to get rid of him without any trouble."
"But I can't do that. I'm not smart enough to plan something like that."
The angel chuckled and said:
"No, Timothy, you're not dumber than everyone else. You just have dyslexia, a reading disorder. Just because you have trouble with words doesn't mean that you're less than anyone else. Have a little pride. People always go on about how it's bad, but it's actually very helpful in life."
"Really? So I can really get rid of my dad if I try?"
"Of course! Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you. When you feel you're ready, go ahead and try. I'll back you up as much as I can. Just make sure you have a good spot for the body. It has to be a secluded place, where no one would wander by. Oh, and make sure to bash his teeth in. That way, even if he's found, the police won't be able to identify his body through his dental records."
Timmy nodded and smiled. The angel patted Timmy's head and ruffled his hair. He then got up, walked to the end of the room, and disappeared with the same smoke he appeared in. Heat came back to the room, making Timmy feel comfortable and warm. Sure, he didn't get his present, at least not how he imagined it at first, but the beautiful angel gave him something better than what he asked. The angel gave him hope.
-------------------------
>If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! If you want to read more about your friendly neighborhood Satan, check out:
>
>[You are an atheist and on the three hour long train journey you start arguing with a stranger sitting beside you. That stranger is Satan](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/52faaj/wp_you_are_an_atheist_and_on_the_three_hour_long/)!
|
So this is based on an established universe I have. Here is ["Lucky the Archdemon"](https://redd.it/4dpbaa) from that universe. This story is called "Satan Goes Christmas Shopping."
"You know, Lucky, I feel like this is the sort of thing I should not have to explain to you," Russ told me condescendingly.
I was leaning against his desk in the lobby, paging through the many letters I'd received. Most were from young children, hence the heinous spelling. "You know, none of these requests are all that ridiculous."
"You're ridiculous."
"Look," I told him, brandishing one particular letter. "Timmy from Idaho wants a new boyfriend for his mom. I could do that."
"You'll get his mother a new boyfriend?" Russ asked me with an arched eyebrow.
"No, no; I'll *be* the boyfriend."
"Nononononono**no**. That is a terrible idea," Russ told me, practically leaping over his desk to snatch Timmy's letter from my hand.
"...So?"
"So, just *no.*" Russ sighed and stared at me for a moment, I could see the gears turning in his head. "Listen. Why don't we pick one letter. Get *one* child their gifts and send the rest of the letters to Santa?"
I was disappointed, no doubt. I'd really gotten my hopes up. Not so much about Timmy's mom, but about sliding down chimney's and eating cookies. "I don't see why I can only do one list."
"Well how would you feel if Santa went trying to do your job?"
"I would love for someone other than me to do my job! That's a great idea, Russ! Santa just sits on his ass 363 days a year, he's got plenty of time. And I bet he'd have a lot of interesting ideas too."
Russ pulled the remaining letters from my hands and grumbled, "I'm not even responding to that idea." He randomly selected a letter and glanced it over. "Perfect. Ashley from Staten Island wants a new bicycle and a stuffed giraffe. We could do that."
"We could do that!"
"Alright, it's settled get your coat, I'll get Charon to watch the gates."
And so off we went to the toy store....
It was packed, as you would expect a toy store to be on Christmas Eve. We pushed and shoved our way through the throngs of last minute shoppers. Displays of toys went from teetering to barren in the blink of an eye, and "sold out" signs were as commonplace as price tags. At last we found ourselves in front of the stuffed animals, where there was a very disappointing lack of giraffes.
There were bears, elephants, cats, dogs, an owl for some reason, but not a single giraffe to behold. Russ and I both searched the shelves high and low, but there was no luck. "Well, what now?" Russ asked me as he peeked over some teddy bears hold Christmas trees to see if there was a giraffe hiding there.
"I'm not ready to give up yet. Santa wouldn't give up yet." I told him.
"Here," he said calling me over. I rushed to his side, hopeful, only to be met with an empty shelf. He jabbed his finger at a small sign that said 'Giraffes, sold out.' He grinned cheekily and said, "I guess giraffes really are endangered."
I grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him up against the shelves. "That's not funny! Extinct is forever! *Endangered means there's still time.*" Still holding his collar with one hand, I dragged him along behind me. "Come on! We'll try a different store."
As we fought our way to the exit I heard him say, "Wait, Lucky, look!"
I stopped and looked where he was pointing and saw a little boy, maybe five at the oldest, holding a giraffe plushie with the store's tag on it. "We need that giraffe more than he does," I announced.
"Okay, so, now what?" Russ asked me anxiously.
"Well, obviously we need to get the toy from the child."
"We? As in together, simultaneously?" He asked me incredulously.
"Well, no, obviously not."
"Okay, so which one of us grabs the toy?"
"We'll flip a coin."
He checked his pockets. "I don't have a coin."
I checked mine. "Okay first, we'll need to steal a coin."
"I think google has a coin flipper," Russ whispered. I'm not sure why he was whispering. No one was paying us any attention. We probably just looked like a gay couple or something, rather than Satan and the gatekeeper to Hell.
"I like my idea better."
He turned to me. "What's your idea?"
"You do it."
His shoulders sagged. "Why me?"
"I'm the boss."
"God damn it, that is always your reason."
"I mean, it *is* a pretty good reason."
"Fine, but we are bolting out of here as soon as I've got it."
"Fair enough."
"Should I get a running start?"
I shrugged. "I'll follow your lead."
"Oh, fuck," he mumbled with a sigh then took off running. I was hot on his heels. And immediately regretting the plan; I am not a runner.
He snatched the toy from the child without hesitation and we were a dozen paces from the boy before we heard someone shout, "Someone stop them!"
*Now* we were attracting attention, but we managed to push our way through the confused hordes before anyone realized we were the ones they were supposed to stop. As we reached the door I looked over my shoulder to see three big daddies bearing down on us. Big fathers I should say, not the ones from BioShock. That would have been scarier.
"Keep running!" I shouted as I slammed against the doors.
*To be continued*
| 2016-12-24T19:06:09 | 2016-12-24T18:41:16 | 193 | 21 |
[WP] Aliens planning an invasion of Earth confuse our video games for a military exercise. They reason that if they can beat those, they can also defeat us in combat. They're having some difficulties with our harder games...
|
"What is he doing to your virtual corpse Zorg?"
"He is repeatedly crouching on my face. I believe it is a sign of dominance. I tried searching for the gesture on the human interweb but it kept returning references to a warm caffeinated beverage."
"Most strange. How goes the tactical assessment? Have you managed to best the human warriors yet at their simulation war games?"
Zorg hung all three of his heads in shame, "Alas no. I cannot even beat the human children. They repeatedly annihilate me and then taunt me for my failure. Several of them have threatened to procreate with my birther. I indicated that they lacked the suction cups required for successful copulation but that only made it worse."
The grand master made a note on his lightpad, "What is your assessment of the threat the humans pose if we invade?"
"If the children are such skilled warriors the adults must be tactical geniuses. The fully grown humanoids rarely participate in the simulation games, suggesting they are too busy engaged in real warfare. The adults that do partake in the digital warfare escape the continual conflict by hiding in underground bunkers which they call their 'mothers basement'. The children savagely taunt these cowards and point out that they are unfamiliar with the touch of human females. I have therefore deduced that females are only interested in the fiercest warriors. After several generations the human race will be naturally selected to be genetic killing machines. I suggest we skip this planet until further reinforcements are available."
"Duly noted. Are there any other relevant facts you have discovered?"
"Yes, rocket launchers are for newbs."
"Erm, thank you Zorg, why don't you take a break."
"I totally will, I'm just going to have one more game..."
|
'Damn it!' the lux shouted before throwing the holographic controller away. 'How do these mortals even slay these animals?'
'What's the problem?' his co-worker asked as he looked away from the screen of Mass Effect 3. 'Difficult enemy?'
'This Onryoki is brel shit!' the first lux groaned. 'I almost had him!'
'Tell me about it,' his coworker said as he died himself. 'These asari husks are horrifying... How come we have never encountered such species in the universe before?'
'Some say that humans have prophetic powers and that these records can have multiple versions of timelines,' a third intelligence worker spoke up while trying to solve a puzzle. 'Rather strange...'
A crashing sound could be heard from around the corner. 'WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!' he screamed as he fell out of the chair. 'WHY DOES THAT WOMAN HAVE A *HIVE* ON HER VAGINA?!'
It was only then that their superior officer walked into the room, shaking his head in anger. 'Men, we have a problem,' he spoke as he gathered their attention. 'Our field intelligence made a rather... grave mistake. All these "Games" as humans call them are works of fiction.'
Everyone groaned.
'It took me 6 *hours* to beat the Quantum Computer escape!'
'I know,' their boss said, 'Command is having words with the man in charge. Everyone can stop now, wait until your new orders.'
Everyone failed to do what he said. 'I said-'
'No!' the first lux shouted. 'No, I am *killing* this fucking ugly son of a- **YES**! HA HA! In your face. IN YOUR FACE!!'
---
Edit: can you name the games?
| 2017-03-02T11:32:27 | 2017-03-02T08:24:53 | 62 | 39 |
[WP] Life has achievements, just like in video games. Ever since the dawn of time, people have been unlocking all kinds of achievements, and yet, people are still discovering new achievements every year. You're one of those people who just unlocked an achievement no one's heard of before.
|
They call it the "Agape Achievement"
I had to research into it.
Turns out that "agape" means unconditional love.
There's a song about it.
Have no idea what I did to deserve the achievement but I guess I did it.
Huh.
Never mind, looked at the description.
*Go against "You can only love others if you love yourself first" for 25 years by hating yourself and loving people.*
Tfw I'm a therapist.
Tfw I check and also have the pseudo-narcissist badge.
|
I am one of those people who just unlocked an achievement no one's heard of before.
I wish I can describe it to you and tell you what it can do, but we haven't invented the words necessary for me to explain.
I've been scrolling the Internet looking for a simile, metaphor, or some type of analogy to at least give the listener a picture of what it is and what it can do.
No luck so far, but if I do find something, I'll let the world know.
Who knows? Maybe I'll even be the one to invent the words and analogies.
| 2017-04-13T19:45:29 | 2017-04-13T19:19:59 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] A group of friends meet up with each other every hundred years. One is immortal, one is reincarnated into a new body every time they die, one is a time traveler, one is a robot, and one is Death.
If you can think of any other types of people, please add them. That's all I could think of.
And you don't have to include every character I listed, it's just a guideline. For example, if you wanted to do a story set in the past you don't need to include the robot in there
|
"You're always the first one here," Correa said as he sat down in their usual booth.
Death smiled. "People always think of me as the last one on the scene, but I'm always there." He waved his arms in a spooky manner and laughed.
The bell on the door of the diner tinkled and a young boy walked in. He spotted the figures in the booth and ran over. "Surprise!" he exclaimed.
"Orson, is that you?" Correa leaned back to get the full view of the boy.
"Was," the boy said as he flopped into the booth. "It's Tim Smith now." He rolled his eyes. "My parents were horribly unimaginative when it came to naming me, but I guess that's what you get when you end up being born in Iowa." Tim made a face, laughing. "But of course," he lightly punched Correa's arm, "some of us aren't bound by those silly geographical boundaries, are we?"
"You are correct," Correa said as the waitress poured them water. "I did some major hopping this century. Finally got around to hanging out with Tesla. I don't know why I waited so long, it was positively life changing!"
Death cracked his knuckles. "Yeah, well, I broke some serious hearts. I finally decided to pick up Prince, Bowie, Debbie Reynolds, and Carrie Fisher. The afterlife is a serious party now!"
"Sorry I'm late," Moss finally slid into the booth. "Well, not really. But you know how it is when you're immortal. Time just doesn't really mean that much."
"What can I get you to eat?" The waitress came back.
"Steak, very rare," Death said.
"Cobb salad," Correa replied.
"Surprise me," Moss winked.
"Chicken nuggets!" Tim exclaimed. The group gave him a look. "What?" he said. "I always look forward to eating this stuff at this age." The waitress collected the menus and left.
"So," Death said, "I would like to call our meeting to order. Status reports, please." Moss pulled out a quill, ink bottle, and a scroll and prepared to take notes.
"Timelines are intact," Correa said. "Despite all the time travellers attempting to mess with things, I've managed to keep things the same." He grimaced. "Although it pains me every time I have to save Hitler."
"The report from the Gods is all good," Tim said. "Due to some unfortunate accidents, I've checked in with them a couple times while being reborn this century, and they say that the spiritual health of the world is doing ok. Things are evening themselves out, slowly but surely."
"And I've been trying to keep the human race at a manageable amount," Death said. He passed out a couple papers to the table. "Here's my overview of outbreaks and plagues planned for the next 100 years, along with a timeline of celebrities who will be passing."
"Aw," Correa groaned, pointing his finger at the list. "Not her! At least let her finish the movie first!"
"Your comments have been noted," Death nodded.
"Here you go," the waitress dropped their food at the table. "Let me know if you need anything else!"
"Before we dig in, I'd like to make a toast," Moss said, sweeping the meeting notes into his bag. He lifted his glass and everyone did the same. "To the best group of supernatural friends I could ask for. May our next 100 years be exciting."
"Adventurous," Correa added.
"Safer," Tim's brow wrinkled. "No more drowning on vacation."
"Successful," Death grinned.
"Here here," they chorused, and dug in to a delicious meal, savouring the pause in their tumultuous lives.
EDIT: OH MY!
Thank you all so much for reading!! My jaw hit the floor when I opened up Reddit this morning and saw all the comments/upvotes...thank you!
|
There were always infinite changes whenever Andrew jumped. A hundred years was a short period of time, in the grand scheme of things; the Earth had come into its present form over millions of hundred-year intervals. But the grumbling lethargy with which the Earth moved was nothing compared to humanity's speed of development.
Some fifty or so jumps ago, humans had been living in huts. Now, the world was covered in buildings, a surface roiling with humanity and their constructs. Last jump, the buildings had been one style; now, they were completely different, and their aesthetic struck Andrew as much more rigid. Perhaps it was indicative of the way humanity's social mindset had changed in between jumps - or perhaps this was just their 'modern' design, something new for the sake of not being old.
This building, however, was different. Sitting miles away from the nearest city, its design was old - *old*. That was not to say that it was falling apart; by all appearances, it had been kept not only intact but in near-perfect condition.
Lysander's house. As far as Andrew could tell, it had not changed whatsoever in the hundreds of years since his last visit.
He knocked on the door. Though it appeared to be wood, it produced an unexpected sound.
*Metal.*
Lysander had gone modern at last, though with the way humanity evolved, he was probably already out of date.
"Come in!"
Andrew pushed open the door, marvelling at how easily it swung forwards. The foyer was unlit, so he left it open behind him. He was never last, after all.
His shoes were discarded at the foot of the stairs, and he started up the stairs. For all the times he had visited the building, he had never actually spent more than a few minutes on the first floor. Sometimes he wondered what took up all the space, but he never asked. With what he knew of Lysander, he didn't think it was a good idea.
"Hello, Andrew. Can you come over here, please?"
Lysander's voice was just as smooth as it had been the last time he visited. It sent shivers down Andrew's spine, even as he knew there was nothing to fear.
"Can do, dude," he said, sidling around a doorway and into the main room.
A woman, best described as *sharp*, was lying on the floor. Her death-black hair, straighter than should have been possible, splayed out around a strict face. The only part of her appearance that was not perfect, immaculate as if caught in time, were her eyes - drowning under twin pools of tears.
Andrew stopped walking. He was last, after all.
"Hey Andrew." A child, no more than thirteen or fourteen years of age, was reclining in a leather chair. Andrew winced at the cigarette poking out of his mouth. "We've got a bit of a problem."
"Yeah, I noticed. Are you alright, Libitina?"
Lysander, kneeling over Libitina, shot Andrew a glare. "Does she appear to be 'all right', Andrew?"
"Well, no. It just seemed like something I should ask. Seriously, though, what the hell is going on?"
"Oh, Hell has nothing to do with it," said the boy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, by the way. I'm Jonathan."
"Pleasure to meet you as well, Jo-"
"I was lying about the pleasure thing. It's kind of disgusting to me, seeing you standing there, not a care in the world. When's the last time you suffered through an entire lifetime of taxes, eh?"
"Never had the displeasure of doing so, actually, unlike you common plebs. Anyways, please - what's happening?"
Libitina groaned, pulling herself into a seated position with Lysander's help. "I-isn't it obvious, 'Drew? I-I'm dying."
^^^more ^^^on ^^^r/forricide
^((might work on a part two)^)
| 2017-04-22T22:19:21 | 2017-04-22T22:07:02 | 3,263 | 17 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, but every single one of your plans of world domination has somehow collapsed into a harmless flirtatious encounter with the superhero by accident. Today, the superhero has come to propose to you.
|
T minus 9 minutes.
This time I would succeed.
I stood on the massive bridge in the middle of the night, looking out to the bright lights of the city in front of me, the cold night wind gently blowing past me. It was chilled just slightly, and it sent goosebumps across my skin, almost as if it were caressing me gently…
I sighed.
“Lisa, come out please.”
There was a pause, and then out of nowhere a woman just appeared next to me. I didn’t even flinch, I was used to it by now. She had long flowing hair that I could only describe as platinum in color. She wore just simple jeans and tank top with a light jacket. Lisa was not much for theatrics the other heroes were, the only thing that identified as her someone special was the masquerade mask she wore, covering the top half of her face. She even went with just, Lisa.
She looked at me and smiled slightly. “You could always sense when I was around,” she said, and in bridge’s lights I could see her blue eyes sparkle.
I sighed, but I couldn’t help but flash her a ghost of a smile. “Never soon enough, clearly,” I said and shook my head. “I’m assuming the EMP won’t be detonating over the city in” I took out my watch to check, but she answered before I could do so.
“Seven minutes, twenty eight seconds? It is,” she said.
I looked at her sharply. “What do you mean, it is?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It is. I haven’t done anything to stop it this time.”
I gaped at her. My whole plan had relied upon her not knowing about the EMP. I had planted fake evidence, distractions, decoys, though I didn’t know why I bothered, she always figured it out. “But why?” I asked, “you just snap your fingers,” I did so, “and the wind itself will push it off course, tear it to pieces even.” Once Lisa, the most powerful wind-controller, hell, the most powerful person period, found out your plan there ever there was nothing you could do.
“I wanted it to be a present,” she said, again with that smile.
“A...present?” I said.
“Mmhm,” she nodded and leaned against the railing of the bridge, “I mean you’ve done so much for me, the fireworks display over Dubai, the wonderful dinner in Mumbai, the aurora borealis in Chicago… I mean, what more can a girl ask for?”
T minus 5 minutes.
The thing in Dubai was supposed to be a missile attack, had they not been intercepted, and the Aurora Borealis had happened because a deadly radiation beam had been reflected at the last moment. The dinner, well, alright so I didn’t have an excuse for that one. But regardless I stammered, “That’s...not, I didn’t-”
She laughed.
“I know you didn’t mean any of those, but hey, it’s the thought that counts,” she shrugged, “so I figured I owed you something, you know?”
The wind blew again and I caught a whiff of her perfume, something exotic, though I couldn’t say quite what. “So, you’re just gonna let it happen?”
“Mmhm,” she said, and turned back to look at the city.
“Then why come here?” I asked.
Again she turned back and smiled. “Why to see you of course, and get some practice in with your henchmen maybe,” she said innocently.
I grinned and shook my head. “I haven’t hired henchmen in years, Lisa, you know that, they’re completely useless against you, and so just a waste of resources,” I said.
T minus 2 minutes.
Finally the smile disappeared from her face, and her shoulders sagged a bit. “Look,” she said, “I-I like you, I think. But this-we, we ca-AAAgh.” She yelled in frustration and turned away. “I’m no good at these things, she muttered, not looking at me.
T minus 1 minute.
I bit my lip. I could see the missile now, that would knock out power in the City for months, throwing the economy into chaos, and then I looked at Lisa, her platinum hair moving gently, almost hypnotically in the wind.
What the hell.
I pulled out my phone, and called out “Disarm.” Even as I watched the missile fizzled out, now just a harmless piece of metal. Hopefully it would land on a car or something so this whole thing won’t be a complete waste.
Lisa turned to look at me, eyes wide.
And there standing on the bridge with the lightly blowing wind and the distant but bright lights of the city, the greatest villain the world had known kissed the greatest heroine of our times.
***
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) for more of my work
|
“Well would you look at that I forgot to hit the detonator again,” said Sheana, Killer of Worlds. She flipped her hair, and shrugged her massive green shoulders. “Everytime I get lost in your eyes I lose a nuke it seems. That how you always foil my plans you cute bundle of righteousness?”
“That’s part of the plan,” said Mr. Peacejoy, with a handsome grin. Then, he got kind of nervous. “Well, not *all* of the plan.”
“What’s that?” said Sheana. Mr. Peacejoy got kind of nervous. “Stop that, why are you so nervous right now? It’s unattractive I might blow up the city if you keep at that.”
“Well *that’s* how you add pressure isn’t it?” said Mr. Peacejoy. He laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t think this could get any harder, and yet it is.”
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?” said Sheana.
Mr. Peacejoy reached down into his tight, white pants, and reached for something bulging there.
In his pocket.
“What are you reaching at?” asked Sheana. Her minions flew all around, with their spears and weird alien, Amazonian armor. They were ready to strike, but she waved them down. “No don’t tell me that’s a-”
Sheana gasped, as Mr. Peacejoy dropped to his knee. His white cape flapping behind him.
“I love our little talks, especially when you don’t blow up my world’s cities at the ends of them,” said Mr. Peacejoy. He coughed some, then remembered. “I mean there were those few times early on where we didn’t quite hit it off and you sort of destroyed a few places, but it was you know *kof kof* you know, that’s beside the point you haven’t been so bad lately. All right what I’m *saying* is,” Mr. Peacejoy opened up the box, and presented a massive diamond ring. “I’m only ever at my best when I’m happy.”
Sheana reached a hand out for the ring, with a shivering hand.
“You son of a bitch..”
“And if I’m at my happiest,” said Mr. Peacejoy. “I could save *all of the planets in the galaxy*.”
Sheana cried acid tears, and reached her hand further.
“You ignorant son of a bitch,” said Sheana.
“Hmmm?” said Mr. Peacejoy.
Sheana ripped the ring from his hands, and shoved it on her finger.
A whirlwind formed around her. Whole buildings went up in the storm, with people holding on for dear life on the debris.
“HOLD ON!” shouted Mr. Peacejoy. He flew in the air at light speed, and saved close to a hundred different people close to death. He slowed down saving the next few hundred, as Sheana laughed like a maniac in the background. Mr. Peacejoy flew back in front of his fiancé face, slightly weakened. Getting sadder. “*That’s* not nice.”
“Don’t you know Mr. Peacejoy?” said Sheana, the great murderer of civilizations. Laughing in her bliss and destruction. “Proposing to a Voovian destroyer such as myself, imparts half of your powers unto that Voovian woman?”
Mr. Peacejoy face palmed as he felt himself flying out of the sky, away from her.
“Seriously?” he said.
“HAHAHAHAHA!” Shouted Sheana, as the fragments of debris flew up into the clouds, without people on them.
“You see this is why I decided to propose like in a resort town?” Said Mr. Peacejoy, as he dropped to the ground, still face palming. “I just, you never know you know?”
“BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO DO MR. PEACEJOY!” shouted Sheana.
“Make me sad? I don’t know,” he said back, feeling like a normal person.
“What *I’m going to do,*” she said, as she dropped back down to the ground. “Is protect you and your people from now.”
Mr. Peacejoy jumped up to his flying fiancé in the sky. He tried to fly, but he could only just float for seconds at a time, then fall back down.
“Really?” he said, holding his hands together in delight.
“Yup!”
He hopped up at her again.
“Why?”
“Becauseeeee,” said Sheana, as she floated down to her love in the midst of the wreckage, and a lot of terrified tourists. She gripped his muscles. “I love you Mr. Shexy Lovejoy boy.”
Everybody around let out a huge collective sigh of relief. Then somebody started the slow clap, and they all bought in. They didn’t want to make her second guess not destroying the world.
Mr. Peacejoy sighed and wiped his head of some sweat.
“Well *that’s* a relief,” he said.
Sheana kept rubbing his whole body down with her strong hands, and hugging him close. Like she was the happiest Voovian conqueror in the universe.
“How are you sho shtrong and sho mushcular,” she said.
| 2017-05-30T14:28:44 | 2017-05-30T14:28:29 | 108 | 12 |
[WP] Voldemort kills Harry Potter and declares war against the Muggles. He loses horribly, because unlike wizards - Muggles actually understand how magic works.
|
"Everything is quantifiable."
Professor Pendleton was addressing the first ever "Science of Magic" class. He knew he should be proud to be the first non magical teacher at Hogwarts, but he was just really nervous.
"Magic, for years...centuries, was thought to be just that, magic, undefinable, something that came from the aether. During that time, the entirety of the magical community was content to just leave it at that."
Many of the students stirred at that. Probably those who were connected to said magical community. It was still hard for some to admit that no one had looked into what made magic tick, or what made it necessary to do so.
"That all changed when Tom Marvolo Riddle began a genocide against the people known colloquially as Muggles. The non-magical community was caught completely unprepared for the first wave of attacks. Magic was so versatile. It could work as an impenetrable shield and more often an instantly deadly weapon."
More stirring. Professor Pendleton knew this was an uncomfortable, but necessary part of the lesson. These students had to know why, not just how the Muggles fought back.
"Many fell to Tom Riddles 'Death Eaters'. The Ministry of Magic did what they could, but could only do so much."
"After years of fighting, it would be the non-magical combatants who would be the turning point of the war. Doctor Joseph Langstrom had been working with Muggle born witch Hermione Granger in order to better understand what had always been taken for granted by the magical community. He was able to find that those who could wield "magic" were able to channel what would come to be known as the "energy of creation."
"Once he knew what was the cause of magic, with the help of Miss Granger he was able to harness and experiment with the energy of creation. When it was discovered what materials could insulate against magic, Muggles were able to finally defend themselves. When it was found that certain radiations were able to dampen magic in an area, it gave the Muggles the opportunity to fight back."
Most of the students were getting into it now. They were all old enough to remember when Tom Riddle and his ilk were suddenly repelled at Paris. That day would be burned into the memories of everyone who was alive for it. It was the day that everyone felt the weight of extinction lift.
"Everything is quantifiable," Professor Pendleton reiterated, "When you are finished with my class, I want all of you to be able look at not just magic but everything with a critical eye. Because it's not just about measuring and knowing magic, it's about being able to ask the next 'How', the next 'Why'. That my students is what I hope you gain from my class"
|
It had been an unfitting and humiliating end for the reign of Lord Voldermort. A name once spoken by only a handful of men with the gall to challenge him. Now that name was little more then a footnote in history. One of countless Dark wizards and witches with aspirations as wild as they were unobtainable. And just like those that came before Voldemort knew nobody would speak his name, not for fear of what it could bring upon them but out of ignorance of his very existence. Of what he had accomplished, and of his fate at the hands of those he sneered down upon.
Voldermort thought back to the day of his greatest triumph There was little left to do but reminiscence of days long past. Of Potters lifeless face as he was brought back to Hogwarts. Of the muffled cries begging Harry to return to them, to cheat death like he had before. Their cries went unanswered and it was at that moment that Voldemort knew he would never suffer the fate of “The Boy who lived” As he enjoyed the sweet intoxicating memories of his victory against Death the distant voice of Albus Dumbledore began to creep into his mind.
The voice frightened him. It had always frightened him. Ever since the kindly looking old man had first entered the orphanage to reveal that Tom was not as he liked to tell himself in those days, special. He was a wizard, one of many and just as ignorant as them all. Of course he reassured himself, surely he was better then the muggles. Oblivious people unable to even comprehend the reality of magic, of it's applications and it's power. It had taken such a crushing and humiliating defeat at the hands of those same people for Voldemort to finally realize that too was just another delusion.
Voldemort shook his head as he wandered the empty desolate ruins of Hogwarts as he had for countless years now. Surrounded by an immeasurable number of security measures, both magical and muggle in their design. Forever trapped within the walls that had once been the sight of his greatest victory. Now it was little more then a glorified prison. Each step reminding him of his defeat. Of the rain of fire that descended upon Hogwarts, of the muggles that cast him down and stripped him of his power. These thoughts pained Voldemort. A sensation Voldermort once thought would never again trouble him after fulfilling the prophecy and receiving the enticing gift of eternity. The voice of Dumbledore returned, louder this time. A soft but stern warning.
“Was this what you meant to warn me of Albus? An immortality spent clinging to the past, unable to face the present, or look to the future?" A part of Tom yearned to look beyond the pain and towards his defeat. To study his mistakes. To put aside his fears and ignorance and learn from the muggles as they had from him. Voldemort could only muse on this for the briefest moment before silencing those thoughts once again. Instead he began to think of his greatest triumph. Of Potter's lifeless face.
| 2017-07-17T18:32:14 | 2017-07-17T16:55:41 | 50 | 34 |
[WP] For one day only, everyone is unable to lie.
|
Gregory Smith was skipping his way to work with a smile and a song. On his merry way, he gave a little wave to his neighbor, Phil, who was standing behind a large white fence. “Lovely day,” he said, peeping over it, only to see Phil working in his garden on his knees. “Perfect for some light yard work.”
“Indeed,” nodded Phil, “Although I'm more doing this as an excuse to avoid talking.”
“Deary me!” said Gregory, severely worried, “What makes you so introverted all of a sudden?”
Phil stood up from his work in order to have a deeper conversation. “Well it's not so much because I don't like talking, but because today's the day that we aren't allowed to lie.”
“Ohhh,” said an unusually frustrated Gregory, “God, I forgot all about that. And before you start, yes. I did see all the advertisements on television and the internet. I've been having a busy week and forgot is all.”
“Well, I guess if we don't ask any compromising questions, we won't have to admit anything unsavory.”
“What questions?”
“Like, I don't know, have you ever killed a man?” Phil replied, chuckling.
“Yes,” Greg candidly stated, “but that's hardly relevant.
Upon realizing what he had just admitted, Greg decided the only way he was going to keep his secret was to find out Phil’s.
“Phil, have you ever slept with my wife?”
“What?! No! I'd never do that to a friend like you. Have you?”
“Certainly not,” Greg said very crossly, “I have never, and would never, sleep with my wife… Damn.”
“Hang on, did you say you killed a man back there?!”
Greg took a deep sigh. “It was a long time ago and it was an accident. Frankly, I thought you had no business knowing. I'll admit, I've been trying to get you to say your secrets so we'd both have equal blackmail, but I'm not going to risk it anymore,” and he sat down on Phil's front step, exhaling another deep sigh. “How do they get us to do this? What mind-controlling, hypnotism shit did the government have to do to keep us from lying?”
“Ummm… Greg?”
“Yeah?”
“You know we're only on the honor system, right?”
“YOU FUCKING-”
|
Author's note: apparently, the prompt was: "For one day only, everyone is unable to **lie**", not "**die**". Well, shoot.
_________
War... War never changes... unless it's the day of the dead.
The No Man's Land between two lines of defense was a stinking rotting hell, the dominion of crows and maggots. Anyone who'd step into these lands would be very lucky to see his opponent and doubly so if he survived that encounter. For 364 days these lands were a mess of barbed wire, mud, shell craters and corpses. Corpses of soldiers whose mothers at home didn't know that their boys could not even be buried. Corpses of boys who went on an adventure along with their childhood friends to protect their homeland and who instead faced the brutal, honorless reality of the war of the 20th century - the Great War. The war where men became simple numbers, where their uniforms were drained of color to let them blend with the dirt around them. The war where their best chance to serve their homeland was to be a source of disease and miasma for their enemies or a bullet shield for their comrades.
But for one day, they were given a chance to change that. To change the very war itself.
For one day only, death would seemingly take the day off, as if the grim lady herself was tired of all the conflict and hard work that came with it. For one day only, men would wordlessly agree to cease a conflict that on that day would be truly pointless to bury and honor their dead. To send letters to their families. To do their best to save the fatally wounded who would go on to become hard-working men.
And as the stars would be upon them, they would crawl out of their defenses, bringing tables and tablecloth and food and beverages with them. They would get the chance to look their enemies in the eye and see that they were the same as them, that what they ate were unknown delicacies and not infant children as the propaganda had told them. They would feast with them and listen to their stories, if only because there was nothing better to do, and for one day, the No Man's Land would be booming with laughter and not artillery shells.
And at the dawn of the next day, and the start of a new conflict, they would bury those memories along with their dead.
________
I also have this nifty [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
| 2017-09-24T12:29:08 | 2017-09-24T11:32:17 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] Explain to the main character why he can only wear one enchanted ring, not ten.
|
"Ye've only got one finger left yeh daft bastard! Yeh lost the other nine in an absurd fight yeh got into one day, arguin' at the pub with a mad axe man about something pointless or other!"
"That's not true! you're mad! I've got all ten fingers that my mother gave me, right here, on the ends of my hands, and I don't see why I cant have a magical ring on each of them!"
"Oh yeh do, do yeh? Not bloody likely"
"I do so, and I can prove it! there! You can count 'em up yourself!"
He slapped both palms down on the bar in front of us, all ten fingers, a very good argument. I hauled out my axe and corrected him!
|
"The magick must flow," I reply succinctly. The look on his face tells me he doesn't get it. I sigh, then, slowly: "When you wear an enchanted necklace, the magicks flow from the necklace through the skin and into your core. The same if you wear an enchanted bracer or pair of enchanted shoes."
"The problem with rings and fingers," I added, "Is that the fingers themselves don't have enough flesh for magick to flow through them. In this case, both of your hands are used as conduit for one single enchanted ring."
His brow furrowed. "Wait, okay, I get the part about the whole hand being used, but why both? What happens if I were to put one enchanted ring on each hand?"
I had to stop myself from grinning like a madman. "Why don't you try it and tell me how it goes?"
| 2017-12-03T10:13:27 | 2017-12-03T10:03:46 | 42 | 15 |
[WP] "Why do you think we have a chance against the human race? They purge every galactic nation in their path!" The alien took a deep breath. "We are cute to them." "What?"
|
*Squeak squeak* *Bounce bounce*
”Contact!” cried Sgt. Marquez, followed by rapid bursts of rifle fire. “Don’t let those fluffy little fuckers get close to you!”
The men of his squad unloaded their mags into the oncoming hoard. A cloud of fluffy cotton candy filled the narrow corridor.
“Blub blub,” something close to a baby voice said above Marquez. “I am Duck – quack!”
“Oh, hell no!” the man screamed and rolled away in the last second.
The tiny creature landed on Private Jackson’s shoulder and nibbled on his ear. The soldier’s clenched cheek and resolute look melted in an instant.
“Aww,” Jackson said and dropped his weapon.
Sgt. Marquez swallowed and pulled the trigger. Jackson’s head exploded in a fountain of brain sap and skull fragments.
“For your own good,” Marquez said and turned his attention toward the end of the corridor where a massive steel door was crumbling under the weight of something massive – or worse, another hoard of mini-squealers.
The last of his men were valiantly trying to hold off the tidal wave of tiny creatures running happily into the gunfire. A chorus of meows, quacks, giggles, and beep boops came from the end of the corridor.
“Sir, we can’t do this for much longer!”
“Stand your ground, soldier,” Marquez barked, tossing his rifle to the side.
His last bullet had been for Private Jackson. Solemnly, he pulled out his combat blade and his handgun and broke formation.
“NEVER SURRENDER!” he screamed and charged headfirst into the onslaught.
***
“We’ve lost contact with Victory III.” The voice of the communications officer echoed across the flagship’s bridge. “Still no response from Shield of Terra and Fear VII.”
The admiral stopped petting Lt. Whiskers and touched his goatee, the corners of his mouth dropping. “How did they even get on the ships? Our protocol is to shoot on sight. We’ve conquered half of the galaxy this way – the key is to never engage anyone in diplomatic discourse. Shoot first so that nobody can ask questions.”
“From what I understand, infiltrators, sir.”
“What, how?!” The Admiral jammed his hand into the strategy board, sending miniature ships and space stations flying everywhere. “How did they even get on board?”
“I don’t know, sir.” The communications officer’s face was contrite, but then he a strange look crossed his face. “W-we’ve got a message from Victory III. It appears to be human.”
“Put it through.”
*“This is Sgt. Marquez…”* the raspy voice of someone drained of all their energy said through the speakers of the flagship. *“They’ve played us all along… even before we left Earth… kill the…”*
The message cut off, and the admiral felt the tongue of his cat licking his hand. Marquez had clearly lost his mind.
“Full speed ahead,” the admiral said. “We’re going to show those fluffy critters what steel and pain are all about.”
He turned to Lt. Whiskers. “Oh, yes we are, aren’t we, pretty? Yes, we are. *Oh, yes we are*!”
|
The Ganzodians were a fierce warrior race. Their rite of passage involved hunting down the legendary Space Phalax, a worm species that took root in moons and ate entire ships. They lived for a beautiful death. To a Ganzodian, there was nothing more shameful than being captured in battle. But Klaptac knew that to be false.
He had killed space pirates with his bare hands, conquered entire empires because he was bored, even once stopped a star from collapsing. And only now did he learn true fear. Lisa was the name of his devil. Snuggies was the name of his shame.
“Snuggies,” Lisa called, her tiny feet scampering up the stairs. “Where are you?”
Klaptac peeked out from under her bed, wondering what kind of torture contraption she had planned for him today. Back in his world, torturers were grim-faced and wielded axes or other various blades. On Earth, his tormenters smiled and hugged. Instead of blades, they had silk.
“Snuggies?” Lisa stepped into the room and began looking through her room. She opened the cabinets and checked the closets. “Where did he go?”
A tiny pink dress flashed through the air as she twirled to check under the blankets. Klaptac’s blood went cold. Literally. The Ganzodians were usually a warm-blooded species but could regulate their body’s temperature based on their emotions. Klaptac’s entire body went numb. A cold blue fear.
“Snuggies,” Lisa complained, her voice spiking. “Come on out wherever you are.”
A small bit of light caught Klaptac’s attention. His eyes darted toward it. Beyond her bedroom door was an outer gate that led to freedom. Right now, it was open! Summoning the same courage he once wielded to face the Space Phalax, he burst out his hiding spot with a mighty roar. His first leap took him halfway to the bedroom door, the second nearly got him out of his room. The sunlight was nearly close enough that he could reach out and grasp it!
“There you are!”
A stubby little hand grabbed him by his belly and lifted him up. His eyes widened and heart sank. Chills erupted from his body.
“Bad Snuggies,” Lisa said, “If you want to go potty, you have to use the potty bells. Let me grab your leash.”
Klaptac snapped his head toward Lisa. In his captivity he had learned a few words from their language, one of them being *the leash*. That slightly uncomfortable weapon of shame cut to the core of his being.
“No, not the leash,” he begged, but she only stared back stupidly. She left to get it.
Klaptac took a deep breath. There was only one way to escape his situation and he dove into the pink dress she had originally brought for him. This was human ingenuity. This was human cruelty. They didn’t torture you, they made you torture yourself.
When Lisa came back up the stairs, she squealed and clapped her lands a little. “Oh my god, this is too cute. This is totally going on my…” Then, she said another word Klaptac had learned to hate. "Instagram."
---
/r/jraywang
| 2017-12-19T07:31:08 | 2017-12-19T07:29:47 | 247 | 158 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head.
|
"Next!" shouted Lugia.
Three rows of chairs sat before him, each holding a potential recruit into their league. He could tell at a glance what a few of the powers before him were; the man on fire and the woman floating two inches above her chair were gimmes. A few of the others, like the woman with the glowing eyes and the man with the power armour, would be interesting to find out, but most of the candidates looked like perfectly normal people. One of the inconspicuous ones stepped forward next; unlike the others, he had a frown on his face.
"Your name, sir?" Lugia inquired.
"My name? I'm Bill." the man responded.
"And what will be your superhero name?" Lugia continued, with a flare for the dramatic. He had always been something of a performer, and gaining powers had given him the perfect opportunity to overact (as he had always desired).
"I don't have one," was the response. "Look, can I," he began, before Lugia cut him off.
"No name? Then we will have the honour of naming you! Tell us good sir, what is your power?" Lugia had loved naming new capes ever since he screwed up his own choice so badly.
"Every time that guy stops time," he began, pointing at Destiny, "my time stops as well. It's become a serious issue, alright?"
Lugia looked over at Destiny, who had a puzzled look on his face. A moment later, both Destiny and "Bill" had changed their standing positions. Destiny looked intrigued, but Bill's annoyed look had only strengthened, if possible.
"Amazing!" cried Lugia. The possibilities of this were endless. "Can you copy the powers of anyone else?"
"Well, I'm not on fire, so I'm guessing no," replied Bill, looking wearily at his neighbour in the crowd.
"Hmm, well, it's not the strongest power in existence, but we could certainly find a use for it..." Lugia mused.
"What? No, I have no interest in using it. I would just like some warning when it's about to happen. The sixth time it happened, the bike I was pedalling stopped, throwing me over the handlebars. I was bruised for weeks. Imagine if I had been driving! Or taking a train. I'd be dead! By the way, fire your secretary, she called me a crank when I phoned her up. I had to walk over here to get an audience!"
|
I sat at my computer, my browser open on Reddit. In the top right corner, the New Personal Message indicator showed a single response. I swallowed, and hoped fervently that this would be the end of my woes.
Two days prior, I had posted the following message:
"Hi.
"I'm posting on r/SuperPowers because I figure it's the most likely place the person with the power to stop time will be likely to read it. My message to you, in short?
"Quit it, jackass.
"So the first time I noticed time had stopped, I was a bit surprised. Then, I thought it was kind of neat. I mean, it's handy being able to cross the road in an instant without having to watch out for traffic. At least not *as much* as usual; it's always prudent to cross behind the vehicles in case they suddenly start moving again.
"But this crap starts to get annoying when you're half-way through a shower and you can't get all the shampoo out of your hair because the water stops flowing. Waving your head around in a bunch of suspended water-droplets simply doesn't cut it. Not to mention it's impossible to flush the turd that floats suspended in mid-air in the toilet bowl when time just happens to stop right after you drop a deuce.
"There's only so much time you want to stand around waiting for your order at McDonald's because you want a fresh Chicken Sandwich, and do you know what it's like to be stuck in an elevator with some slob who must have eaten nothing but beans and sauerkraut for week, whose farts sound like a moose in rut and smell like the same moose a week after it's been shot? It sucks. It *really* sucks.
"So, whoever you are, I'm asking you to quit it. It's getting old, fast. Now if there's a way that I can also be frozen in time along with everything else every time you use your powers, I'm open to that solution. But if not, if I'm stuck one more time having to wriggle out of my mother-in-law's unnaturally long embrace because you decide now is the perfect time to freeze time for whatever the hell you're doing, I'm going to lose my shit."
Licking my lips, I clicked the icon. The message was short and to the point:
"lol sux 2 b u".
I cradled my head in my hands. Great. Just great.
| 2018-01-26T06:48:58 | 2018-01-26T06:46:25 | 185 | 79 |
[WP] You are the therapist of a young man who suffered decades of child abuse and has only recently been freed from the cupboard under the stairs in which he was imprisoned. His name is Harry Potter, and this is your first session together.
|
"Yes, that is troubling," said the person on the other end of the phone. "Tortured for years. What cruel people"
"I do not see much in the way of alternatives, I'm afraid," replied the burly man sitting at his desk. "The subject is completely delusional. He is under the impression that he is a wizard. It is likely an escape created to disassociate from reality."
"I have to protest. He is much too young for this place. There must be other institutions you have considered. Others may make a difference."
"The patient is too far gone. The world created is too vivid and deeply embedded. Contradicting the narrative results in physical distress somewhat akin to a heart attack. The only mumbles I am able to understand are 'dementor' and 'patronus' as this happens."
"I will make sure the staff are informed to accommodate his story. What is your assessment of his threat level?"
"Low at most. While delusional, he has not lost the ability to be empathetic."
"Fine Rubeus. We will accept him."
"Thank you Albus. Goodbye"
The conversation ends and Rubeus hangs up the phone. He returns to the boy's room in the ward.
"Mr. Potter. You are being transferred."
"Transferred? Where?"
"To another psychiatric institution, Hogwarts."
"Am I to learn magic there?"
"No...y-es."
Rubeus hands Harry a stuffed owl, a therapy doll given to all the young as a coping tool.
"Well then Harry. Let's get a move on. We mustn't be late for the train."
|
He doesn't see me. Not really. His eyes are bleary, and his once beautiful green irises look clouded, blood shot. Despite the warmth, he's shivering uncontrollably, and his hands clutch at his thick, wavy mop of black hair as he rocks in his chair, mumbling and whispering incoherently.
It's been ten minutes, and he hasn't said a word.
To be honest, I can't blame him. All those years... the things he must have suffered...
I'm not sure how much of a help I can be. There are some traumas no man can suffer, let alone a boy, and I wonder if he is beyond saving.
I knew his parents, James and Lily. Such wonderful people. So brave, so strong. They had sacrificed their lives in order that their child be allowed his, and I can't help but wince at the horrible question that gnaws at my conscience. *Was it worth it?*
*Alas, the damage was done. The boy who lived would remain a legend, a secret that could only be whispered in these dark times. My own son would be going to Hogwarts at the start of the new year, and I wonder what he would have been taught, what he should have been taught, if only things were different. If only Harry could have been rescued earlier. If only the Dark Lord could have been stopped by the one person who had the capability with which to do so.*
*But I mustn't give up. I mustn't lose hope. He returns to St. Mungo's today. Perhaps, one day, he will be stronger, ready to fulfil the prophecy, and salvation will be ours...*
| 2018-01-28T12:05:29 | 2018-01-28T08:16:42 | 121 | 26 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace."
|
I’m one-hundred and four now and there are more things than not that I have forgotten in my life. I can’t tell you the first time I traveled to another planet. I can’t recall the name of my instructor from school. And, I’ve even forgotten the name of my first friend in under school. I can, however, remember to this day the first time I had seen a human.
Sophia Barton was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Sure, she was short like every human. Yeah, she had the unnecessarily long hair that most human females do. She even did the all too predatory action of bearing her teeth, often. Despite all of this, Sophia has been my closest companion since I was only nine.
“Why do we have to Mom?”
“Because they’re coming into the Council, now stop fussing.” My mother told me sternly, as we waited behind the large glass walls looking into the ship terminal.
“It’s stupid, why does she need to stay at our house?” I asked my mother, not seeing how selfish I was being at the time.
“Rules are rules, dear.” She never went into much depth, even as she got older.
When the ship landed, I remember how much I tried not to look. I even tried to wander into a different room, but the loud screaming that sounded after the engines silenced kept my eyes glued to the platform.
She was tiny. Her face was red and glistened from moisture oozing out of orifices. All I could think was how ugly humans are. What a shame they were being allowed into the Council. The little girl kept creating such a fuss that I didn’t even notice the hand she was holding onto was the hand of my father, Third Admiral of Council Collective Space Fleet. But, after contact with the horrendous looking humans, he was brought down to nothing more than a baby sitter.
"Ew, she is not staying in my room.” I said, with my face smashed against the window, ears raised to the cold surface. My mother merely shushed me and led me to the entrance where my father was entering, with his new unfortunate luggage.
My parents embraced and my father even gave me some sort of wooden toy he had gotten on one of the human’s planets. I whispered my protests into his lowered ear, but he would be having none of it. The day felt like it would be the beginning of something horrible, especially if I was going to be listening to the disgusting sniveling sounds coming from the tiny human clinging to my father’s large grizzled one. It wasn’t until I tripped down a flight of steps later a few minutes later, as I was scuffing my feet in childish anger, that I realized that it was actually the exact opposite.
Empathy, compassion, mercy, call it what you like, but humanity has it. Every race in the Council is powerful, intelligent, clever, or resilient, but the humans are just plain nice. The lumbering Marins are the least opportune race to face head to head. The Yyes are known for their near perfect soldiers. Graes are the oldest and most intelligent of the races. You’d be hard-pressed to find a Nami who can’t con you out of the last credits you have left in your pocket. Then there are the Undarins who can withstand temperatures from 278K to 295K. It was barely ten cycles after humans were accepted into the Council that the status quo changed.
|
"Then they are a delusional war species," Ishok sighed. He stood from his chair and brushed his hands across his face. Looking out over the holodeck at the footage the spies had collected, he turned to face his brother "but a war species none the less."
"I'm telling you brother, there's something different about these ones," Anarag leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. He was careful to avoid the spikes protruding from his armour. "I disagree with the council's decision."
"You disagree!" Ishok's laughter filled the room, "Oh little brother, you still have so much to learn. They have done such horrendous things to each other. The footage would make you ill."
As he spoke the holodeck flashed to stock video collected from the planet's museums, the documentation of war atrocities. Starved, mutilated bodies piled high and burned, smoke reaching into the sky, entire forests burned to make way for some development, magestic intelligent animals in chains. The screams of pain filled the room. Anarag turned away.
"I've watched the footage," Anarag protested, "and yes, it is horrendous. But there is greatness there too. So much promise will be extinguished by the council's decision."
The footage shifted again. Martin Luther's dream, a firefighter pulling a child from a burning building, flashes of teamwork and heroism and kindness.
Ishok glanced at his brother. Barely more than a boy, Anarag always had been an optimist. His brother was upset, he clearly enjoyed these humans, had spent too much time with the uplifting images and not enough time in reality.
"So who would judge them?" Ishok countered, "You? By what measure would you decide who is good and who is bad. Who lives and who dies. None of them are pure good or pure bad. The firefighter who saves a kitten then goes home and beats his wife, the Nazi who's also a good mother. What is the threshold for goodness?"
Anarag shook his head and refused to meet his brother's gaze. Instead he turned back to the footage.
"I disagree with the council's decision." He muttered stubbornly.
"The council has never been wrong little one." His brother stood and turned to get himself a drink, "They have seen darkness coming, so they must act. You would be wise to detach yourself from this assignment."
But Anarag wasn't listening. Something in the footage had caught his eye. He scrolled to another video and his lips moved soundlessly. His eyes darting around the deck.
"That girl." He said, pointing to a small child in the crowd of Martin Luther's speech, "I've seen that girl before."
"What are you on about," Ishok set down his drink, "It's just a child, all these humans look the same."
"Not just a child," Anarag stood with effort, his gimp leg struggling to bear his weight. The video flashed to a shot of the Arab Spring, there was the child again, bloody and wounded "An Impossibility."
The video flashed again, this time to earthquake in Haiti, a child pulled from the wreckage. The same child? Ishok shook his head, his brother was losing it.
"That's not the same child, brother." Ishok said, "There are no Impossibilities on this planet. It's time to let it go."
"It's the same child." Anarag moved with effort to stand eye to eye with his brother. "The council has never been wrong, but neither have I."
| 2018-03-17T05:52:27 | 2018-03-17T05:22:05 | 176 | 13 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace."
|
The first alien, Orion, looks down at the planet Earth and then at Brian.
Orion: They fight for peace? Well that's a contradiction in terms.
Brian: I know, but they fight all the same.
Orion: No, I mean, it doesn't make sense, you must be mistaken.
Brian: It's not me, it's them. They are the ones saying they fight for peace, I believe it as much as you do.
Orion: Who says? Who says they fight for peace?
Brian: They do?
Orion: This isn't a hive species is it? It looks to me like they are individualistic.
Brian: They are. Very much so.
Orion: So, surely they can't all say that they fight for peace?
Brian: No, no, it must just be some of them.
Orion: Well I think I could manage a guess at that one.
Brian consults his console for a second.
Brian: The leaders. Ah, I see.
Orion: Yes. There you have it. I've seen it a million times before.
Brian: What do you reckon the chances are that the leaders take part in the fighting?
Orion: They never do on planets like these.
Brian: Right... well... sorry to waste your time, sir.
Orion: No trouble, Brian. It's good you brought it to me. You best be getting yourself ready, this species isn't going to wipe themselves out, are they?
Brian: I wouldn't underestimate them, sir!
Brian and Orion laugh.
Brian: Will you be joining us this time, sir?
Orion: Don't make jokes, private. Get the troops ready, head on down and clean this place up a bit.
|
Humanity.
A weird species.
Instead of opting for an optimal utopian government made of people who have passed standard intelligent tests, they decided to let the people vote despite how bad the choice is.
Now, about war. Humans are supposed to be a subspecies of a warring race that we planted on this planet years ago, but yet, they’ve become... weird.
War happens a lot. Humanity’s incredible capacity of inhuman cruelty far exceeds almost every species on the list. They engineered and devised weapons that is efficient for one specific job, taking life, especially of their own. Swords, guns, grenades, tanks, poison gas, and atomic bombs. These devices were engineered just to slaughter their own species.
Yet it seems we overlooked one thing.
It’s the one thing keeping the humans from going mindless. Something that rivals the incredible capacity they have for cruelty.
And it’s their incredible capacity they have for kindness.
Despite the corporates trying to take over. Despite the allure of taking over and dominating, these humans are also capable of diplomatic relationships, of altruistic behaviors towards their own species. Among the numerous villains throughout history, there were countless heroes who shows an endless capacity of kindness towards their own species despite the morbid situations.
There was ghandi, Who despite getting abused, fought a peaceful war and wish to end things without bloodshed.
There was Martin Luther King, who died a hero for the war he fought for peace despite getting jailed and abused.
In fact, even the warring type holds this capacity for kindness.
Nazi soldiers who secretly let people go free. Killers who care more about their sons then their well beings. And bullies who turned themselves and decide to be kind.
Humanity shall and always will be one of the cruelest species in the galaxy, but will also be the kindest species who fought for peace.
| 2018-03-17T05:02:04 | 2018-03-17T04:45:25 | 89 | 65 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace."
|
"So what if they fight for peace? They are still a war species? They may as well Glodixanc."
"Let me ask you something, are you scared of the Glodixanc?" the response came back from an alien in deep thought.
"No, why would I be scared? We aren't a war species. Thier wouldn't be any martial honour in them attacking us."
"Exactly and that's why the humans fascinate and scare me."
"I don't get the point you are trying to make you just said they fight for peace. Why would you be scared of a species that want peace?"
"Because they will not enter the galactic community as a war species looking to gain martial honour by fighting some other war species in the glory of combat. They will come like we did, they will come as friends, 70% of the earth's surface is sodium dihydrohen oxide think of the trading relations they will be able to build with that. They will very quickly establish themselves in the galaxy and establish there status quo of peace which they will do absolutely anything to maintain. The humans have a saying 'You can get further with a smile and a gun then you can with just a smile' the humans will come with their smiles and guns and nobody will be able to stop them, and trust me they are coming.
|
Weapons that every country on Earth had possession of were, in facy, quite rare outside of Earth's governments. Yes, other specieses had discovered nuclear decay, and a rare few had harnessed its energy, but weaponising it was unheard of.
They suspected that something must have destroyed all this planets, formerly occupied by hostile, warring specieses. But, due to the general interspecies belief of 'no close, unwanted observation', they had no idea that they were that destructive. When they detected our radiowave frequencies while establishing outposts on Europa and other moons of the gas giants, they had them decoded and made into picture and sound very easily. Nobody noticed it when they aimed a satellite beam at our systems, and nobody noticed a connection with a ping of over fourty-five minutes. They then downloaded our entire internet. At first, it was only open, free information that was downloaded. But slowly, over a matter of months, their systems dug into ours, hacking and stealing. Not stealing, per se, but 'borrowing'.
As ancient broadcasts of World War II, plans for weapons, markets for buying and selling guns and ammo became known to them, they became very excited. It was a chance to watch a warmongering species destroy itself, a chance never to be had before.
---------
I might continue this later, when I have more time.
| 2018-03-17T05:16:44 | 2018-03-17T04:38:38 | 65 | 28 |
[WP] You have been striving for years to commit the elusive “Perfect Crime” for the fame of it. You steal the Mona Lisa and replace it with a fake. You leave a taunting note and wait for the panic when it is discovered. But, 2 years later, no one has noticed.
|
The vaulted ceiling of the museum filled me with vertigo. A single drop of sweat rolled down my brow. The muted talk of an art guide in the distance. My heartbeat thudding in my throat. My fingers’ idle fiddling with the glass-cutter in my pocket.
I swallowed hard. The portrait gave me the same knowing look that my mentor used to give me.
‘We’re thieves,’ he used to tell me. ‘Remember that.’
He’d taught me all the tricks I knew. All the nuances of deceit. Every shady technique. Every stroke of genius. Each step of the way to perfection. It had taken me a lifetime to master my job.
I glanced in the direction of the staff room, drumming my fingers on the counter. The painting caught my attention again. She was taunting me. Smug.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The art expert finally returned and placed the parcel on the table. “It’s fake.”
“Fake?” I mumbled and fumbled with the paper. Mona Lisa smirked up at me.
My eyes shifted between the painting in the parcel and the one mounted on the wall behind the protective glass.
“Fake?” I repeated.
“Yes, it’s a masterful forgery; I gotta give you that.” The man touched his chin as he spoke. “Very well done. But it’s not quite as good as the original. A few mistakes here and there. Whoever made this, surely knows how to paint, but it’s very hard to reach the perfection of the original.”
Now, I’m not usually a man to lose my temper. All my passion is channeled into my work. I’m known for my calm and my endless patience. But when you’ve spent the last decade trying to pull off the perfect crime, and this happens…
“Shut up, you clueless baboon! That thing on the wall is fake! This right here”–I stabbed my finger at Mona Lisa on the counter–“This is the original! You’re the most incompetent, most blantantly–”
“Now, now, sir.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Insults will get you nowhere.”
I laughed in sheer contempt and outrage. “I’m not insulting you! I’m describing you in perfect detail – the same minute detail I used to paint that portrait over there!”
It was his turn to chuckle. “I ran the tests. Like I said, the painting you have there is good. And if you painted it, then I applaud you. But unfortunately, you’re still not as good as Da Vinci himself.”
I felt two sets of strong hands grip me from behind, starting to drag me away.
“Just look behind it! I left a message on the backside. Take it out of the goddamn glass mount and read for yourself.”
“Goodbye!” the expert said and turned away.
I swore as I was tossed out of the museum. Mona Lisa landed beside me, looking smug as ever. I was distraught over my failure. All the time wasted to commit the perfect crime. And the worst part was the headlines in the news the next day.
“**Renaissance legend Leonardo Da Vinci’s recently discovered message – a taunt to the public.**”
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories.
|
"Is it true, grandpa?"
My grandson, bless his heart. I wonder how even he found out, much less found out it was me. I spent years planning everything, down to the last detail. I had the plans, schematics of the security setups, the guard schedules for the rotations, shift changes, patterns. I even knew when Lloyd would be taking his mid-evening bathroom break to smoke a quick joint with the side window open.
I wouldn't be surprised it was his grandmother who told him. Ol' Tee loved telling people about it. Ever year at Thanksgiving, she'd tell that same story over and over again. Edward, our oldest, he'd always get a little pink in the cheeks whenever she'd recount that night. Thank god she left out the really sordid details, though I'd not be the least bit surprised he had figured it all out if Tee hadn't told him by now.
"Sure is, my boy," I reply to my grandson's inquiry. He looks up at me with that blond head of hair and those blue eyes. I know what he wants. He wants to hear how it all went down. How I pulled it off. How I managed to get away without anyone knowing who did it.
What was it my papa always said? *"Any good magician worth his salt knows better than to reveal his tricks."*
I want to tell him. Marcus is old enough to know a few things here and there; knowing a bit about this won't hurt much, but I'll be damned if I were to ever hear the end of it. He'd go runnin' off and tellin' everyone from here to Harrisburg what I did.
Then again, if Edward hadn't made a fuss o'er it, I reckon no one else would either.
It was really tricky, pullin' that heist off. It's one thing to steal something like the Mona Lisa. Hell, that was easy. It was another thing altogether to make people *think* that's what you were after. It took every trick I had and then some to make sure no one was the the wiser and she still had to just show up. Damn near ruined it all, but hell, I couldn't be mad at her. Nah, she was just bein' her.
I look down at my grandson, them big hopeful and eager blue eyes lookin' back up at me. He's waitin' for a story to knock his socks off.
"Here, sweetheart." I look up at my wife as she hands me a glass of lemonade. The way the late summer sun hits her hair, hell, you would think she was young maiden of twentysomethin' years instead of an old lady. She gave me a sweet smile and turned to go back into the old farmhouse. Rickety ol' place, but it was home.
I take a sip of that lemonade. God and damn. That's some good tart stuff. I cock a smile back toward the screen door that's just now shuttin'.
I look back down at my grandson one more time. Damned if he weren't still lookin' at me with them eyes of his.
I sigh. Hell, its only been thirty some odd years.
"All right, Joey. Sit back and let Grandpa tell you about the time I stole the chandelier from Tiffany's..."
| 2018-04-19T01:26:31 | 2018-04-18T21:52:35 | 87 | 11 |
[WP] Humanity wipes itself out through nuclear war, but everything on the Internet still exists. Another sentient race on Earth millions of years into the future develops an Internet and somehow manages to gain access to the human Internet, revealing everything humanity had posted and stored online.
|
Somewhere, on planet B13 of solar system number 137652, a man was staring blankly at a computer screen.
Well, he wasn't exactly a man, and it wasn't exactly a computer screen. In fact, he was a humanoid alien known as a Ziri, and the computer screen was an image-displaying device, specifically Device 15ZK51. Hardly the same thing at all, come to think of it.
But, for all intents and purposes, he was a man staring blankly at a computer screen, if only because of the familiar look of glassy horror that the humans used to be known for. This man was suffering the same thing that so many humans have suffered ever since the dawn of the Internet.
"...Afhir? Are you alright?"
The man didn't even look away from the computer screen as he responded to his wife's question. "I need cleansing."
The woman looked puzzled. "What on B13 for, Afhir?"
"I have just been exposed to an image that may cause me severe and irreversible mental harm. I must cleanse my mind at once."
"I'm sure it's not that bad."
"It is, Fidora. Believe me it is. I do not know what kind of sick pleasure humans used to take from sharing such disgusting images on this...*Internet*, but it is abominable. I need cleansing."
Fidora varked, a sound that expressed the Ziri equivalent of 'scorn'. "You're being silly, Afhir. Here, let me see--"
Afhir promptly pushed her away, preventing her from seeing the screen. "No."
"Afhir."
"I must shield you."
"You're being *ridiculous*."
"I am not."
"Yes you are. Let me see."
"No."
With another vark, Fidora shoved a protesting Afhir out of the way. Her eyes fell on the computer screen--
--And she froze, her gaze turning more and more distant as her mind fully absorbed the horrors of what she was seeing. All fell silent.
"...Fidora?"
Silence.
"Fidora?"
Silence.
"Fidora, are you alright?"
"...I need cleansing."
|
Krelhm loads up the bright page. The word that appears on screen looks alien with its different colours for each symbol. Yet there is a feature similar to her own race - a seeker.
Undecided with what to seek out first in this ancient civilisations world, Krelhm takes a moment to think carefully what button she should press first on her buttonblock. She decides to stick with Falaganon Order and presses the 'P' button. A list of ancient texts appear on the screen. Krelhm is perplexed.
Sticking with her methods, she selects the first phrase at the top of the list. A new page loads with endless pages of links. The links are all different with the ancient phrase appearing in each amongst many other phrases and texts. She feels a rush of excitement.
Krelhm clicks on the first link and after the page loads she discovers an image with a lop-sided mountain symbol at its centre. She clicks on it and a sequence of images, identical to her race's flickers, flicker before her very eyes.
She witnesses naked creatures doing unusual disturbing acts. She pauses the sequence. Not wanting to watch anymore she sets to work on decoding the ancient texts.
Much time has passed and with the help of her assistants she has finally managed to learn much of the English language.
She now stands before her peers to present what she has learnt so far. They sit on rocks eagerly anticipating the grand revelation.
Returning to the page with the flicker, she plays it for them. Everyone reacts similarly to how she first did.
She explains to them what it is that they're seeing.
Translated to English:
'The video you are watching is one of hundred on this ancient version of the Internet. It was a period in history before mankind, as they called themselves collectively, wiped each other out. This P word reads as Peace. These naked people called themselves hippies, one with nature, one with the Earth. It seemed that this civilisation was very similar to us in so many ways. A culture equally divided on diverse matters. Unfortunately their system, their way of life, ended in nuclear fallout. It may take us decades but with this discovery, we can learn from this species and avoid ending up like them.'
| 2018-05-19T19:18:20 | 2018-05-19T18:19:46 | 363 | 109 |
[WP] When an animal dies, we often use the expression "crossing the rainbow bridge." This is not by accident, every animal crosses the Bifröst, having earned their place in Valhalla defending us from a greater evil then we could ever know. Tell their stories.
|
The door to the mead hall opened again, the fourth time that night. The warriors of Valhalla were used to the occasional soul ended up there, but since the age of Vikings had passed, less and less ended up in the hall of fighters. But the door that had opened, wasn’t the main door, but a different one.
Many legends and tales never told of the great Barn Door of Valhalla, but it was there. A great assortment of animals had their own version of the mead hall, sections being dedicated to each species. The Barn of Valhalla was many hundreds times larger than the human hall, ever since the age of warriors had passed, animals had been flooding in.
Not all animals came, but many did. House cats, dogs, sheep, fish, even the odd gopher. Many warriors had complained to both Odin and Thor, both of whom told the troubled souls to shut up and respect the creatures as fierce warriors.
Harold entered the Barn and it went quiet, he was a newer soul, a man who had died with a kitchen knife in is hand. He was looking for his friend. A fat black cat came up to him and smiled, sitting down at his feet
“Hello Harold, it is good to see you”
He glanced down at the cat “Muffin? Is that you?”
The cat nodded “Indeed, I didn’t think you would enter Valhalla...” she thought out loud
He chuckled and gave his old friend and pet “It was a kitchen knife that got me here... but... why are you here? Oh is it all the mice you killed for me?” He laughed at the joke, but the cat grew serious
“No. It was for the same reason we all are here. Every single animal.”
He looked at her blankly “Which is?”
“Protecting you”
“From what!?”
“From the gods.”
|
The Legend of Prince Oscar.
The portal was opening again. I didn't have much time. Those stupid primates! Every few weeks, they do this, and every time, my enchantments, they drain my soul bit by bit. I don't know how much more I can take.
I should've known when I heard one of them ask the other, "What time's your mom coming?"
And the reply, "I'm not sure. Maybe in a few hours."
"Okay, I guess I'll start cleaning now then."
I wasn't ready. I should've been more prepared, but I was exhausted from catching the demons latched onto my tail. I had defeated them, and needed to rest not just my body but my mind.
I was laying in the sun when I heard it. The sound of the portal wheeling around into the room, causing my heart to race. Then I saw it, the primate with the Key of Power in his hand. He was taking it to the Eternal Source! That idiot!
I yelled out, "Stop you fool! Don't you know what you're doing?!"
The stupid primate, too foolish to understand the mystic languages, yelled out to the other, "Did you feed Oscar? He's meowing like crazy."
Then he went over the to Eternal Source, and before I could stop him, he plugged in the Key.
The portal opened, and the sounds of a million demons from the nether realm came rushing out. I rushed to the bedroom, and went under the bed to find the spot where I etched the last enchantment. I didn't have much time, and I could hear those ancient demons escaping!
Finally, I found the right spell, and I started chanting. It wasn't working this time! Those stupid humans! What have they done?!
I kept chanting and chanting and started to feel the power within me. And just as suddenly as it came, the demons were forced back through the portal right before I closed it. Hopefully this time, for good.
| 2018-05-24T21:49:17 | 2018-05-24T20:06:52 | 58 | 17 |
[WP] You're a dragon who enjoys living a peaceful life away from humans. One day, a princess shows up asking you to "kidnap" her so that she doesn't have to get married
|
I live in a cave because I don’t want to be found. Simple enough. Right?
Yeah, sure, there’s been some people who’ve come a-knockin’ on my door over the years. Knights looking for princesses. Knights looking for gold. Knights looking to *kill me* just for the helluvit.
They’re a bunch of assholes, I’ll tell you.
When I send them home, scatter over the hills with singed cheeks, they all say *I’m* the bad guy.
Mmmhmm. Me.
And they never get it through their thick skulls that *I* let them live. Yeah, sure, I could kill them with a little puff, a nip of my teeth, a swipe of my claws.
But do I ever?
Nooo. No. No.
I let them go running. Because I’m nice like that. Because I just wanna be left. Alone.
And dead men tell no tales after all.
(Besides, piles of human bones would really throw off the feng shui.)
So it had been quiet. For years now, they’ve smartened up and let me be.
Sometimes I see them, the tiny specs, in the distance. I’ll let out an oh-so-dramatic cascade of fire, paired with a fearsome roar to really sell it. They usually scatter before I even flap my wings.
The peace was amazing. I had all the time to meander around the countryside, to sip tea, to read my books.
It was perfect.
Until that pesky princess knocked on the door to my cave.
Her blonde hair was wild, twisted in knots styled by the wind. Mud decorated the bottom of her purple gown. She hiked it up around her knees to reveal a pair of worn men’s boots. Her pale skin was nicked and bruised. By her side, an axe hung on a sash, carefully slung over her hips.
“Go away,” I said.
The princess shook her head. “I’m not taking no for an answer.” She pulled out the axe and swirled it through the air with ease. “If you don’t let me in I’ll let myself in.”
I sighed. “Go away or I’ll eat you.”
Not true. Eating a human would be like a human eating their dog. Maybe if the world was ending, but never on a normal Tuesday.
The princess frowned and set down her axe. She was trying a different tactic. “I know you’re not as scary as everyone says,” she said, “I need a favour, and you’re the only one smart enough to help me.”
The flattery worked. I let her explain.
“You’ve built up your infamy through stories. What I’m proposing would help us both. We say you kidnapped me,” she said.
I did have to admit, adding kidnapping a princess to my rap sheet would build me some street cred. “And how does this help you?”
“I don’t want to get married.” She left it at that.
I cracked the door open and in the princess marched.
So I hope you understand that we live in a cave because we don’t want to be found. Simple enough, right?
|
*Annoying little things. I don't understand why this one is on my mountain. There must be something wrong with it. I shouldn't let it touch me*
The great reptilian behemoth eyed the young woman suspiciously. From a human perspective, she had been well dressed at some point, preened and primped to perfection, but a long and arduous journey sullied her clothes and muddied her appearance. She looked dirty and unkempt but this didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. In truth, it's exactly what she wanted.
"Great Grand Dragon of the vast lands, I humbly request your aid, I know not what I can offer that will be of value to you other than my gratitude and loyalty."
*It's getting closer and making noise. This one looks like it crawled out the ground. I'll have to kill it if it gets too close*
"I hope that you may understand me, I am to be wed to a man I do not love. As the princess I have certain royal "responsibilities" I must attend to. No one cares for my opinions or my protests so I've decided that I will have my absence speak volumes where my voice is ignored."
She had been taking short cautious steps toward the great dragon as she spoke, but she held still once it rose it's head a full twenty feet (6 metres) from the ground.
"Oh my, you certainly are an impressive figure"
Whispered the princess to shakily herself
By legend, he was referred to as Slyzer the Phantom Snake, not because he was rarely ever seen, but because most people who had seen him would never be heard from again. Slyzer himself was also a rarity. He was a wingless wyvern that had grown to a full forty feet (12 metres) in length with the two clawed feet that he used for walking situated in the center of his body. It was estimated that his body measured six feet (2 metres) in width and it was rumored that he was able to swallow three people whole. Slyzer had the advantage of moving remarkably fast when using his feet, able to outpace even the quickest steed, and on the occasion he decided to tuck his legs in and slither, he could move with twice as much speed. Slyzer was an intimidating presence and legend indeed. It was undoubtedly the mark of desperation, or maybe foolishness that brought the princess to so close an encounter with him.
Feeling overwhelmed by the mix of both fear and amazement, the princess nearly collapsed. She stood adamantly. She had made a bold decision for the sake of her independence and swooning like a helpless belle was out of the question.
*It won't leave. Even the ones with the pointy things run when I do this. They only stay when they try to poke me. I don't see a pointy thing.*
Before the princess had another chance to speak, the faint sound of hooves and yelling could be heard in the distance. She looked to where the source of the sound seemed to be coming from. Small groupings of dots that could only be the kings army slowly started to crawl across the landscape. She looked back towards the dragon before gingerly stepping towards it again in an effort to go around him.
"They'd rather die than allow me any freedom..."
She spat in frustration.
| 2018-05-28T20:47:41 | 2018-05-28T20:37:33 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted]
|
My head was pounding. Everything ached. I felt an instant resentment to whoever it was that invented trains.
Fuck that guy.
How many lives did they save on a daily basis? How many crises did their lumbering machines of metal prevent? How many disasters?
None.
On days like today, after nights like the last-- dare I say it -- I think they do more harm than good. I suppose that's where people like me come in. It's not always glamorous work, but if it means giving a family another day on this earth together then I will gladly pay the price.
I clutch my brow and rub my temples.
My head is pounding.
After all I've seen, and I still can't keep them all safe. I can still hear them... I can still hear their-
My phone rings.
It's probably the chief.
It may sometimes take me a moment to pull myself together. I may not always be there when I'm needed most, but I can at least answer this call.
I take a sip from the remnants of my glass from the night before. The murky liquid still has some kick to it.
I answer the phone. "I'm here, chief. What do you need?"
"We need your help! It's almost 2 AM, and Avery's Bar is closing up! By virgin Mary, I've just checked the calendar... it's a Saturday morning! We need your help! We need Sobriety Man!"
I nod. I take another sip of my soft drink. "Don't worry chief, I'll be the designated driver tonight."
|
It's been 5 years since the first quackman appeared, a being with superpowers that have a 'hangover' effect. The man was bulletproof one day and the next a paper cut during the press interview caused him to faint due to excessive blood loss.
Now there are beings with all kinds of powers coming up, all quackmen with a day of heroics and the next day of being ultra weak, it's a chess board out there, no one uses their powers unnecessary lest they not be able to stop the next terrorist attack by the Grand Baddies, an organisation of quackmen who aren't on the side of righteousness and good.
Me, well I am your average government employee without any powers and am right now dealing with the mess last night's battle between the Grand Baddies and government employed quackmen or the Quackers.
After my long day at work I go to a nearby bar and drink and suddenly I blackout.
The next morning the sun hits my eyes and I awaken feeling light-headed and then I throw up. What the hell is going on. I turn on the news and it rocks my world.
Turns out last night my powers awakened and the powers were the ability to control all minds, I went berserk brainwashing all the Grand Baddies into working for the government, but that's not all I made the entire populace make me their ruler and in celebration controlled myself to drink all the wine I could. The news channels are praising me as a God and this mansion is pretty swell and I can do pretty much what I want forever with my 'believers'.
So let the fun begin!
| 2018-08-19T04:36:45 | 2018-08-19T04:31:42 | 219 | 15 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is.
|
My 10th birthday I broke my mom's vase. In my panic, I threw my first skill point into deception, hoping that I could avoid her wrath.
Or at least, that's the story I tell people.
Every skill has a downside that rears its ugly head if you stray too far down it. Too many points into strength and you injure yourself because of improper form, too many into intelligence and you become lonely and apathetic, too many into deception and it becomes hard to tell the truth.
29 points into deception and honesty is almost impossible. Jobs are easy to find, I'm always what people are looking for. Long term relationships, however, not so much. Certainly 1 more point into deception will make things better.
Or at least, that's the story I keep telling myself.
|
“Welcome to News 69, today we have another update on the suicide of the worlds oldest man, brought to you by his great great grandson, Simon. Welcome, Simon!”
A series of questions transpired until Simon gives what his father’s views on life were:
“He struggled a lot. Having no stats in anything other than endurance really put a toll on him, but he never showed it. He never actually finished high school. It was just so hard for him to age and become unhealthy that he couldn’t die, even if he couldn’t really live.
He was great, though. He knew what he was sacrificing by not putting points into anything else, and he was always trying to learn to do things on his own, even though that was sometimes impossible with his skillset. He liked knowing each of his relatives, too. I can only imagine how horrible it was for him to lose everyone he knew twice. Sometimes you just don’t want to outlive certain things.”
| 2018-09-12T10:14:36 | 2018-09-12T09:47:40 | 99 | 23 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is.
|
Growing up now isn't too different than it was for our grandparents. Some kids are a little better at math, and some a little better at sports. The game changer is we know why. Everybody gets skill points on their birthday - it's always been the case, but now someone not only discovered that, they unlocked the secret to controlling them.
On our first birthday after hitting puberty, we can redistribute all of our points, and every birthday after that we get one more to add as we see fit. Most kids take a few out of their lower skills and add them their higher ones. Some go the other way, and decide they don't like what they're "naturally" good at. I was a late bloomer, and I think that's the reason I took an unheard of approach to my skill distribution.
While all my peers were excelling at their chosen paths, I worked my ass off just to try to keep up. The science kids didn't care about getting picked last in phys ed anymore than the music kids cared about failing history, but I didn't have that luxury. I spent nearly my entire highschool career doing what nobody else had to, and when it finally came time to fix my points I knew exactly what I wanted to do: I put every single point I had into learning.
It wasn't long until I caught up to everyone around me. I couldn't quite seen to surpass their now inherent talent though. I never regretted my decision, being world class in everything is better than being #1 in any one thing.
Many years after school I found myself struggling to learn a quantum mechanics theory. I was kicking myself for not putting any points into science. I knew sometime in my 20s that its where I wanted to focus my life's work, and I suspected adding some points would accelerate my learning for that field faster than my general learning skill. And that's when I heard a beep coming from my desk. I opened my drawer just in time to see the screen of my point controller fade out. It had only ever activated on my birthday, and that was 4 months away...
---
I don't know if I want to tell anyone that I learned how to control my skill points at any time, that I can redistribute them as needed in the moment. Part of me thinks it's selfish to keep it a secret, that I simply want to be better than everybody, that I should allow every person to reach their true potential. But I'm truly afraid of a world where everybody is capable of doing anything.
|
My girlfriend was a very well rounded individual. She had chosen the safe and well traveled path that most high schools recommended. It consisted of a healthy mix of social skills, personal finance abilities, some technical prowess and even a couple maternal instinct points. The last of those would unfortunately be a waste as I had been very clear that I never wanted kids to begin with.
Laid out before me was a birthday dinner so extravagant that even my own mother, who had put 8 points into her cooking skills, couldn’t even match it. A sirloin steak dripping with butter and cooked to a medium rare perfection, a classic baked potato with all the trimmings, and more sides than I dared to try in one sitting greeted me. Across the table smiled Rox, short for Roxanne, the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. After consuming more than any one person should I settled in to the couch and she disappeared to bring me my cake.
While most people seemed to go for the more obvious choices, I had decided long ago that given enough skill points dedicated to this one particular branch I would make my fortune.
Out from behind the corner popped Rox with a large cardboard box in hand and two bottles of water. She sat them before me on the coffee table and plopped down beside me. Silently I lifted the top of the box open.
The cake was ornate and very fancy. Small red roses circled the bottom and laces of beautiful red and gold frosting swirled around the outside of this cake before culminating at a large thirty on the top. A single candle was lit with a dark black flame that seem to draw light in instead of produce it. Long shadows from all corners of the room seem the wind and curl to this single point atop the cake. The air in the room was heavy and the longer the lid was open the more humid it began to feel.
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. With all my might I blew toward the candle and extinguished it. I felt a sudden surge of energy inside me that I had experienced many times before. I felt stronger, more refreshed, and even a tad bit smarter. Everything seemed to make sense in that brief moment when time sat still. The euphoric feeling slowly faded and the room once again felt normal.
“How do you feel?” Rox asked with a sudden pep in her voice.
I reached for one of the bottles beside the cake and chugged the water heavily, almost emptying the contents completely. Without a word and without looking I threw the water bottle behind me only to have it bounce off the wall and land perfectly upright on the table in front of us.
“I feel pretty good” I smirked.
| 2018-09-12T10:49:40 | 2018-09-12T10:22:48 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is.
|
“Welcome to News 69, today we have another update on the suicide of the worlds oldest man, brought to you by his great great grandson, Simon. Welcome, Simon!”
A series of questions transpired until Simon gives what his father’s views on life were:
“He struggled a lot. Having no stats in anything other than endurance really put a toll on him, but he never showed it. He never actually finished high school. It was just so hard for him to age and become unhealthy that he couldn’t die, even if he couldn’t really live.
He was great, though. He knew what he was sacrificing by not putting points into anything else, and he was always trying to learn to do things on his own, even though that was sometimes impossible with his skillset. He liked knowing each of his relatives, too. I can only imagine how horrible it was for him to lose everyone he knew twice. Sometimes you just don’t want to outlive certain things.”
|
At the doctor's office again. I tripped over my foot again out in the courtyard, holding all of my notes from last night's study session I had with myself in the library. I think i sprained my wrist. I should be back in the library trying to find my dissertation. I was looking at some pigeons the other day, by the water. I do enjoy feeding them bread crumbs. I was also trying to compute some sort of pattern out of their feeding. They seemed to move around in some sort of pattern, I know it. There must be some kind of overruling order to this universe. God, what a waste of time. If only Mother wasn't so worried about my clumsiness, alas it was the only way to stop her from phoning every night. My classmates have all found their thesis, and professor says that as a student of mathematics at Oxford, we had a responsibility to make a significant change. He said he's surprised someone of my caliber hasn't been inspired yet, but i just can't seem to find the right inspiration.
-Mr. Hawking, the doctor will see you now.
-Ah, thank you.
| 2018-09-12T09:47:40 | 2018-09-12T09:36:26 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] When people die, they get to watch a 1 hour movie, presenting the next 100 years, to see what they are going to miss. They die without being able to tell anyone about it. You just watched that movie, and wake up to your SO shouting "Are you OK?"
|
"I saw it all! I saw it all!"
I rose from bed and screamed,
"The iPhone 47S
has neither phone nor screen!
America has turned
To a dystopian regime,
While Kim Jong Deux's Korea
Is a lavish luxury dream!
"I saw it all! I saw it!
Elon Musk has died on Mars
After getting in a fight
With one of his electric cars;
But not before he led his fans
To live among the stars,
In a bonafide utopia
Where babies grow in jars,
And knobs and buttons are extinct
As Pachycephalosaurs!
And every studio now lies
within The Disney vault,
Thanks to the Imagineers
Who up and resurrected Walt,
And Cedar Point debuted a coaster
Which can turn a somersault
While off its track and in midair,
So all those clickbait vids are null;
McD's is fully automated
As is Burger King
(Although they say the Playplace
Isn't any better cleaned),
And even up in Canada
They lack a cold December...
There's even more I can't repeat
Because I don't remember—"
Fatigued, I stopped and stared ahead.
The beeping heart machine
beside my bed was simply racing...
Had it all just been a dream?
It started coming back to me...
The accident, the cut...
And I scarcely heard my girlfriend's
Rather terrified "Wait, what?"
*—/u/TheDynamicDino*
|
"are you ok?"
"followthehippo, are you ok? you hit your head. I think it's bad. There's blood everywhere. That fucking car hit you hard. The driver. He's mad. He drove off the bridge. I think he's dead".
I could hear her. I could have answered. But after what I had just seen. How could I? How could I tell her that yes, I was ok. How could I tell her anything? I don't really know how I saw what it is that I saw. But I know it to be true. I can feel it deep in my bones. It's all wrong. It's all bad. And it's only going to get worse. Right at the end of the 100 Year Turmoil, there will come a girl. A young girl with great insight and wisdom. A young girl who will unite all the Tribes. Tribes of men and women who will wage a merciless war, a war to end all wars. Again.
But that's almost 100 years away. And in the meantime... Death. Suffering. Disease. Civil War. Humanity will turn on itself with guns and bombs, poison and sickness, tooth and claw.
I can't. I can't live through that. I can't have her live through that.
"Hey! are you ok? Please answer me. Say something. Anything."
I sit up. I hold her. I hold on to her. I jump.
"yeah, I'm ok".
She screamed all the way down. Terrified. Better this than what's coming.
| 2018-10-09T05:51:02 | 2018-10-09T04:44:50 | 494 | 36 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight.
|
EDIT: Part 2 is ready (see below):
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"The colors are all so beautiful," I say out loud and the faces around me smile, pleased. There is a man leaning over me, staring intently into my eyes which have just started working for the first time since I was born.
"How do you feel, any headaches or nausea?" He has an older, kind face. I recognize his voice as the doctor that has been working with me since I checked into the hospital, and he still seems to shine as bright as the others. It's a kind of luminescence that sends trails of color as he moves.
I shake my head slowly. "No, I'm just a little," I pause to think of exactly what this feeling is. I'm excited, but there's still a bit of hesitation. I swallow, "it's all a little disorientating."
The glowing doctor smiles. "That is to be expected. Take a few minutes, get adjusted slowly. Your family is here."
Another older woman comes towards me slowly, tears in her shining face. Her steps as light as a bird on a windowsill, the same steps my mother always uses when she's worried.
"Annabel, what do you see?" I smile at my mother, each tear a prism of color and light sparkling on her face.
"I can see you mom." I smile and she rushes forward, squeezing me into a familiar and comforting squeeze. Over my mother's shoulder, I see the woman who in in the bed next to me. We've talked briefly over the last few days, while I sat bandaged waiting until I recovered enough from the surgery to test my new eyes. She was going in for brain surgery later today.
She is pretty, a lean frame and bangs that frame her face. She is looking at me and smiling as well at the good news of my sight. But there is something drastically different about her. "Shelby, why aren't you in color?"
Mid-hug, my mother stiffens. The doctor gently pulls her back and shines a small pen light in my eyes, flicking it in and out of my field of vision. "What do you mean Shelby's not in color?"
I look closer. Her bed, her sheets, her gown. Everything she touches is a deep gray, as is Shelby herself. She frowns, concern crossing her features. The doctor turns to her. "Shelby, would you mind coming over here, please?"
Shelby slides her legs out of bed and stands, making her way slowly over to me. As the last of the sheet slips from her body to rest back on the bed, the bed turns back to color, although it doesn't have the shining light that the people in the room do. The other doctors standing quietly to the side in the room begin scribbling furiously on their charts.
"Please Annabel," the same doctor begins, looking through a handheld device, peering through it with one of his eyes and my faulty one. "Go ahead and look carefully at Shelby and see if there's still a difference up close."
"Yes," I answer without hesitation. "The room is full of colors. Everyone else in the room is shining. I can see Shelby clearly, but she is in black and white. There are no colors.
The doctor puts down his instruments and turns back to Shelby. "Thank you for you help. You can sit down, the anesthesiologist will be in soon to start prepping you."
"Is Anna going to be ok?" she asks, sliding slowly back under the covers, draining the color from everything she touches.
The doctor turned back to me. "Of course. There is a lot of new pathways that need to develop between the eyes and the brain. But just to be safe, I'd like to go take you to get an MRI and a few other tests done. Just to take a look at what's going on."
And so began the long series of events I'd become to accustomed to during my stay in the hospital. Trips to different parts of the hospitals, filling out the same forms and confirming the same information over and over. I peeked into other rooms in the hospital during my trip. Some of the patients were in vibrant color, others in black and white.
After the rest of the afternoon had slipped away into a string of inconclusive tests, I was finally brought back to my room to rest. Shelby was gone, already in surgery. So I started to settle into my half of the room. I had barely picked up my book from the side table when my mother was back in the room, rushing towards my bed.
"Have you been here the whole time mom? Why don't you go home for a bit?"
"I have some bad news for you, sweetie. Your roommate, Shelby. Her surgery didn't go well. The doctors just came by to let us know she didn't make it. I thought it would be easier if you heard it from me."
I blink back the few tears that spring to my eyes and look towards Shelby's now empty bed. I only knew her for a few days, but she was nice and it's difficult when death touches so close.
"Thank you for telling me mom. I'll be ok, I'd actually like a bit of time to myself. Go home, you have to be exhausted."
My mother smiles weakly, massaging her shoulder and down her left arm. She takes a deep breath, coughs a bit and tries to take another, sighing. "Maybe you're right. I could use some sleep."
As she turns around, the small beads of sweat around her hairline and brow are the first things to change. The rainbow prism of color pulls back into the drops of sweat, taking all the color with them. From the center of her chest outward, the color seems to leak and drain, until she too, is only black and white.
She is almost out of the room before I yell in terror, "No, mom. Stay here in the hospital with me."
r/StaceyOutThere
Part 2 is ready. Find it here: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/StaceyOutThere/comments/9sp4j9/color_blind_part_2/)
|
"This may sting. It's best if you close your eyes for a moment."
I swallowed hard. "Right. Of course." My eyes stayed glued shut, just like Dr. Robinson asked. She was right, I knew - even with my eyes pinned shut, I could feel the piercing ache of the light beyond.
The *light*. The simple fact that there was anything at all there for me to *see* nearly had my eyelids springing open, the pain be damned. I remembered light. When I was a kid, I could see that much - just blurry, misty figures and shapes on the edge of touching.
It was gone before I hit the age of ten, leaving me in the black.
Until now.
The soft, delicately woven bandages unwrapped from my head one after another, and with every repetition, the light through my closed eyes grew a little stronger.
"There. Now...just take it slow." Dr. Robinson's breath was hitched, filled with excitement. I couldn't blame her. The operation had been groundbreaking. Revolutionary. I'd fought for years to be included in the program, to get the chance I'd always wanted.
To see.
Slowly, carefully, my eyes cracked open.
She sat in front of me. Her eyes were wide - even without seeing her before, without seeing another human and having the chance to learn their expressions, I could *see* the excitement written across her face.
"Hi," I said, hearing my voice crack.
A smile broke out across her face, right before the tears started rolling down. "Jesus. It worked, didn't it? Tell me it did."
I could only laugh, feeling my own eyes burn. "H-Hi."
We didn't much done after that, despite the questions I knew they wanted her to ask, despite the clipboard that lay forgotten on the counter. It took a while for the emotions to bubble down, for things to come back to center.
I didn't have any family to speak of, no one to come share in this moment with me. It was just the doctor and I, finally, left to sit in her office as she wheeled closer to her papers.
"Oh, I suppose we should start, Olive," she said, reaching for her tools. "I should get a baseline. Just sit still, all right?"
"I know the drill," I said dryly. I did - and Dr. Robinson knew it. She only chuckled, sliding back over and leaning me forward into the array of lenses and gears she pulled closer.
I did my best - to stay focused on the tests, to keep my mind on business rather than the remarkable gift I'd just been given. My eyes *ached*. I'd expected that, but even still, it was hard to keep them open.
"Just a little more," the doctor murmured, not turning away from her computer.
A flicker of motion caught my eye, something moving in the corner of my vision. I jumped, glancing over before I could stop myself.
"What's wrong?"
I forced myself to turn back to Dr. Robinson, to push away the feeling of hairs raising on the back of my neck. "Oh, it's- nothing. It's nothing. Sorry."
"It's understandable," the doctor said, a smile in her voice. I forced a smile, pressing my face back into the goggles.
And tried to quell the thoughts in the back of my mind.
It was just a blur, just a shadow in the corner of my sight. I was just *tired*. That was all. I'd just gotten *sight*. My eyes playing tricks on me was expected.
Wasn't it?
"Are you feeling all right?" she said, her tone suddenly clinical. "You shouldn't push things too hard, not so soon."
"I'm fine. It's *amazing,*" I whispered.
Something shifted behind me - just a rustling of papers, the slow creak of the building settling. I jumped, glancing back wide-eyed.
"I think it's just Clara. She's out in the lobby," Dr. Robinson said half-interestedly, scribbling something on her note sheet.
I raised a slow, trembling hand, offering a smile to the man standing in the doorway. "Uh...hi." My grin widened, only a little hysterical. "Do I- I mean..." Did I know him. Was he one of the myriad people whose voices were as familiar to me as my own, but whose faces were unknowns.
"Hmm? What's that?" the doctor said, glancing up.
"Your assistant," I murmured, feeling my face flush. "Could you introduce me?"
Dr. Robinson hesitated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "What's that, now?"
"I don't know his name," I mumbled. "I-I don't know his face. Help."
"What do you mean?" she said, more firmly this time. Her hands landed in her lap.
"Your assistant, damn it. He's *right there.*"
"Olive, I wouldn't let someone into a session like this. And I don't have an assistant." Her eyes were worried, fixed on mine. "Are you feeling all right?"
The world dropped out from underneath me at her words. I sat frozen, staring at him.
Slowly, carefully, my eyes dragged across the room, to the corner I'd been looking at before. My vision wasn't so blurry anymore - and I wasn't trying to cooperate with the doctor anymore.
There was nothing to keep me from seeing the outline of the door in the wall there - one I'd never heard anyone walk through before. One that as long as I'd been there, for as long as I'd been seeing Dr. Robinson, I'd never felt. Never heard.
And I was *pretty* sure that doors shouldn't waver, their outlines shimmer like they were half-hidden in shadow. They shouldn't be just a *little* transparent.
The sound of footsteps had me spinning, springing from my seat on unsteady legs. The man - the one in the corner. He'd been listening. And there was a slow, steady light blossoming in his eyes. *Recognition.*
He could see me. He knew that Dr. Robinson couldn't.
And he knew that I could see *him.*
Slowly, painfully slowly, a smile spread across his face from ear to ear.
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
| 2018-10-29T06:47:20 | 2018-10-29T06:41:02 | 7,907 | 2,510 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people.
|
Joey walked into Subway with 5 dollars in his pocket. He meandered up to the counter and looked up as his friend Tiffany walked around from the back and said "Welcome to Subway!" without looking up.
"Hey Tiff, what's good?" said Joey
"Joey!" said Tiffany, "Not much, 10 minutes to close so day's almost over. What can I get ya?"
"How much for a club on flatbread?" asked Joey
"Should be about 6 bucks," said Tiffany "What kind of cheese?"
"Ahh, I'm a little short," said Joey, "How about 6 inch on wheat?"
Tiffany looked back at the rack, "Sorry, all I've got is Italian, I can give you the day old discount if you want since we're about to close."
"Sure, lettuce and tomato please, no cheese." said Joey
Just then he heard that strange voice in his head that told him he had just saved the lives of 5 billion people. Unnerved and slightly dazed he paid then walked out of the store trying to fathom how he could have possibly saved any lives by choosing that exact sandwich...
Later that night as Tiffany was closing up, she wrapped up all the veggies, set to work putting everything in the refrigerator, cleaned the rest of the dishes, and loaded up the trash. She looked through the bread and noticed the flatbread looked a little stale and... flourescent? Gross. Into the dumpster they went.
Later that night as it happened a stray raccoon found it's way into the dumpster and gnawed on this and that, whatever smelled appetizing. It found it's way into the flatbread and went to town with reckless abandon. As he got his fill, he crawled back out of the dumpster swaying and disoriented. Anyone looking on at the raccoons behavior could be forgiven for thinking it was drunk, or perhaps rabid.
Across the road, a stray dog caught it's eye, and so it took off chasing the dog, spitting and snarling. It was very very angry, and oddly, suddenly extremely hungry. As it lost connection with reality only the most base desires remained in it's head: Tear, Thrash, Bite, Anger. As it lunged across the final lane just out of reach of the stray dog it was abruptly flattened by an 18 wheeler.
No one was ever the wiser that humanity had been only seconds from near total annihilation but Joey always wondered, and so he always ordered a club on italian. Just in case.
|
5 billion
The voice boomed clear and articulate as it always did.
“What the hell?”, I muttered, in disbelief.
“Sorry sir? Was that too much mustard? I could start again if youd like.”
“huh?” I looked through the pimply faced kid not truly hearing a word he was saying. “no…..no that's, uh, no problem.”
5 billion. Wow. What the hell did I do? I always heard the numbers you know? 3, 15, even a couple hundred once or twice, but 5 billion? It never really made any sense, one of those butterfly effect kinda things ya know? Was it being at subway? Ordering a sandwich? The voice rang shortly after I decided on the Italien bread, surely it wasn't that? It was the last one but….seriously?
“That'll be $11.97 sir.”
“$11.97?”
“yes, you added the extra cheese and bacon”
“oh. Right.”
I grabbed the sandwich, I'd bring it home and devour it alone, no different than any other day. Did I really save 5 billion by ordering a sandwich?
Surely this super power or whatever you want to call it was on the fritz. Maybe it was finally going away.
-----------------------------------------------
I awoke in a cold sweat, my bed sheets soaking wet. Hopped out of bed and tried to make my way to the bathroom but my legs protested, barely keeping upright before a plunged into the wall.
I clawed at the ground dragging my dead weight to the bathroom. I reached up and clutched the sink pulling myself up.
I tried to scream, but all that came out was gurgles as blood began to pour from my mouth. Even if I could scream, it wouldnt do me any good. There was no one around for miles, that's how I liked it.
Is that me? Looking into the bathroom mirror. I could hardly recognize myself. My face swollen, blood pooling in areas I never knew it could.
My breathing began to give and I crashed to the floor, landing hard on my metal garbage can spilling its contents.
The pain was unbelievable. The only thing giving me any relief was the balled up subway wrapper cushioning my neck.
My heart sunk. 5 billion. It was the italien bread. Was it poisoned? Infected with some bio hazardous mold? It didn't matter, I could no longer breath.
Surely this was contagious but nobody would find me for months. The bacteria would die by then. Thank God I'm such a fucking loner. Had anyone else taken that italien bread….. 5 billion people. Damn. I dipped into my forever sleep.
| 2018-11-17T20:16:10 | 2018-11-17T18:46:50 | 55 | 33 |
[WP] You're a scientist working on a time machine, who experiences an accident which caused you to go to the start of WW2. To avoid altering the timeline, you stay away from society as much as possible and lived in seclusion in the woods. On September 2nd 1945, the radio mentions no end to the war.
|
[NOTE: On mobile so sorry for the formating and also I don't write WP that often or am I good so I apologise if it's not up to standard]
"I don't understand, the Japaneese should've surrendered already."
I went to the local news stand to look at the papers.
"Let's see here, the headline reads -Japaneese empire took back Okinawa, sunk USS Enterprise and conducted a surprise air raid in LA, US on retreat!-"
I just stood there, in shock, unable to move.
The person at the stand had this sad expression on his face and said: "I had the same reaction sir, since Germany fell, I was sure we could beat the Japaneese too."
My mind was racing, trying to remember history lessons about WW2.
"Why didn't the US drop the bombs, it makes no sence. What if... what if Michael's theory is correct, what if this is a time loop.
No no, regardless, same events should unfold no matter what... unless."
I raced to the woods just outside of town, to a secret cave where I hid my time machine.
"I have to go back, before the war even started to try and fix the future, if I went forward in time, who knows what could happen."
I went back to 1918 and started my own life, bearing a different name, waiting for the war. The timing had to be perfect.
In 1942, my wait finally ended.
"It's the president." Stacy, my assistant, said.
"Patch him through. Ah, president Roosevelt, how may I help you sir?"
With a modest voice, he said "Major General Groves, are you aware of the Manhattan project?"
"I am sir, what does that have to do with me however?"
Oh I knew exactly what was going on. You see, the Manhattan project started modestly, like it did in history... or present, whatever. The scientists took it slowly as they didn't have much staff or funding. It was all supposed to change after Major General Leslie Groves joined.
"I want you to lead the project, and end this war once and for all."
"Will do sir, will do."
The rest you know, I didn't go back into the future for Leslie Groves had much to accomplish, I didn't want to mess with the timeline. However I did leave a note in the old cave, hoping another me could break the cycle somehow.
|
It was a great moment of excitement, the once fictional time machine has now become a reality
*"The bounds of time have been broken!"* the scientists rejoiced with great enthusiasm. A whirr and a buzz, and the time machine was ready. The dial turned back to 2, telling the machine to travel back 2 years.
*"So who wants to be our guinea pig?"* asked Jeff.
Jeremy instantly replied with a child's enthusiasm *"Me!"*
And thus, he hopped into the time machine, and pressed the big red button. A loud buzz was heard, and a loud bang as the time machine disappeared into a cloud of dust. Jeremy travelled through the time vortex, seeing indescribable visions of every possible colour, streaming alongside the machine. After a few moments, he landed. But his laboratory was missing, and in place of it, a market. The time machine had a system error that miscalculated 2 years as 80 years. On sale were many mid 20th century clothing styles, old telephones, and nazi propaganda littered all over the place. Jeremy had landed at the beginning of world war 2. Instantly realising the gravity of this situation, he carefully ventured outside the market, dragging his machine across, gaining a few odd glances. Leaving the market, he threw off his lab coat, and headed back in to buy a new set of clothes to stand out less.
He then headed out into a remote german town, where he lived, trying his best not to interact with the society of 1939, and buried his time machine in the ground just outside the town border.
1945 arrived, and there was a news headline on the weekly newspaper which read
"German air force drops atomic bomb over London, entire city destroyed!"
After reading the headline, Jeremy realised the butterfly effect his travel had on the past. He contemplated for hours what he would do, and reached a final conclusion, he had to travel back to the present and destroy the time machine before it could be used again.
He quickly dug out the machine, wiped off as much dirt as possible, and set it to the year 2019. This time, the machine did not miscalculate, and he travelled back in time, to 3 days before the machine was complete. But it was too late. His laboratory was nowhere to be seen, and instead, he was inside of a desolate wasteland, a completely destroyed city, overgrown with foliage. He had changed the past, and inadvertently changed his own future permanently.
| 2019-02-02T03:22:42 | 2019-02-02T01:47:27 | 316 | 57 |
[WP] You are at home, relaxing on the sofa. Suddenly, a woman with long black hair that covers her face and a blood-covered white dress walks in... and flops down on the couch beside you.
|
The lights flicker and the TV picture changes from some random cooking show I was half watching to flickering static, interspersed with barely visible images.
After a moment, the lights go out and the picture changes to an image of a woman with lank black hair covering her face and a dirty white robe. She crawls across a shifting nightmare scape towards the screen.
As she reaches the screen she reaches up and places a hand against the glass, she pauses briefly and then pushes through the screen to fall in a heap to the carpet.
She rises slowly and glides over to where I am sitting on the couch…
I take a sip of my juice, the doctor says I should cut down on the beer after work.
She turns and flops down on the couch beside me.
As she does, the lights come back on and the TV pops back to the cooking show.
I reach over and hand her a beer from the cooler at my feet, poltergeists really don't need to worry about being healthy.
“Bad day at work?” I ask, picking up on her body language.
She pushes her hair back, revealing her unnaturally pale face, and cracks the beer open. “It wasn't too bad, boss said that we should be transitioning fully from physically cursed media to fully digital distribution, but we all knew that was coming”
She sighs and sips her beer, “traffic was just horrible on the way home, I got stopped for like, fifteen minutes crossing that graveyard on that other side of town. Turns out some kids were doing a seance there last night and every jobless specter from here to the next city over was trying to get through.”
I put my free arm around her shoulder and gave her a small hug. She sighed happily and snuggled up to my side, holding her beer in both hands while she rested her head on my chest.
She finally seemed to register what was on the screen. “Cooking?” She asked in surprise. “I didn't realize you liked cooking shows”
I grunted at that. “There was nothing else on,but I didn't want you to have to go through my phone again, I know how much you hate squeezing through those tiny screens”
She reached down and pinched my side sharply, “was that a fat joke?” She asked in mock anger
I chuckled, but changed the subject. “You remember that your folks are coming over for dinner tomorrow right?”
She groaned and leaned her head back. “Great” she grumbled “just how I wanted to start my vacation, meeting Mom’s newest husband, I can't wait to see how badly she picked this time.”
“Hey,” I said softly, giving her shoulder another squeeze “I hear that Nyarlathotep is a nice guy, maybe we should give him a chance”
She reached up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Fine, I'll give him a chance” she said with a slight smile.
“Besides,” I continued “they're only gonna be here for a couple hours. And then we have a whole month of vacation”
She smiled and pressed in closer against me but let the conversation lapse into comfortable silence...
|
It's silent for a moment, as Jamie tries to figure out what is happening. The metallic scent of fresh blood fills the air around him. He's frozen in place on one end of the couch, this creepy, bloody bride sits at the far end staring straight ahead, silent.
"Wh-wha-wh-what? Wh-who," Jamie trembles and barely makes out a word.
A gravelly voice responds from under the veil of blood soaked hair, "Hi Jamie."
Jamie lets out a small squeal. This time, words come a bit more naturally. "What the fuck," he yelps.
"I need a little help, Jamie." The woman turns her head slowly toward him.
Jamie hops off the couch in a frenzy, and runs to the kitchen. It's silent, minus the sound of the TV in the distance. He grabs the phone off the wall and dials 9-1-1. Terror sets in as he realizes the line is dead. This is what nightmares are made of.
He peers carefully through the doorway back into the living room, but the woman is gone. Jamie decides to arm himself, and returns his attention into the kitchen. The woman is standing idly in the doorway opposite to him, reaching a hand forward, beckoning him to her. The light goes out.
Jamie turns around and runs to the bedroom, slams the door and hides himself in the closet. Panic is setting in now. The sweat runs down his skin with every rapid breath. The beat of his heart speeds faster than a locomotive.
The bedroom door creaks open. He holds the closet doorknob with all his might, in hopes of convincing her it's locked. She tries to let herself in. Jamie holds strong, and quiet. After a few seconds of trying, and shaking the door, she stops. He mentally follows her footsteps as she walks to the bedroom door. He hears it shut. Silence.
Jamie is near tears. Is he safe? Is she still in the bedroom? He waits for what seems like an eternity, then slowly opens the closet door. The room is dark, but he doesn't see her dress. He tiptoes out of the closet, heading for the window, his easiest escape route. He scans the room again.
"Fuck me, Jamie."
This time Jamie screams. The woman is in his bed, only her head above the covers.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Get the fuck out of my -"
He's interrupted as the house begins to shake. The sound of photos crashing to the floor in the hallway and dishes being thrown from the cupboards in the kitchen drown out the murmur of the TV, still on in the living room. Jamie and the bride are silent through the rattle of the house. He's frozen with fear again.
30 seconds pass and the house stops shaking.
"Uh, April fools?" This time the voice is a familiar one.
"Bella?"
"Uhm, yeah it's me.."
*We interrupt this broadcast for an emergency announcement. There has been a significant seismic event in Southern California. Residents are urged to find safety..*
Jamie collapses to the floor. He's just been had by possibly the best, or worst timed practical joke of his life.
"You're sleeping on the fucking couch tonight."
| 2019-02-20T08:29:53 | 2019-02-20T07:47:45 | 103 | 64 |
[WP] "So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace."
|
*"Fight for peace?" The very notion is contradictory.*
&#x200B;
*I am aware, yes. These ones are quite full of contradictions it seems.*
&#x200B;
*What do you mean?*
&#x200B;
*Well, they are a cruel species. They spill their brethren's blood over petty squabbles for land, no more than the size of a* *⟒⌰⌰⍜ ỻ⎍*
&#x200B;
*Truly?*
&#x200B;
*Yes. They are no more kind to the other inhabitants of their planet, looking down on them as lesser species and hunting and killing them for mere sport, even though they are all part of the same cycle, inhabiting the same planet.*
&#x200B;
*Disgusting.*
&#x200B;
*Indeed it is. They have caused untold suffering for both members of their own species and almost every other species they have encountered. Their capacity for spite and violence seems almost limitless...*
&#x200B;
*So then it is decided, let us-*
&#x200B;
...*I was not yet finished brother.*
&#x200B;
*What more could you have to say? These "humans" are a blight, and if they spread to other planets they will bring nothing but pain with them.*
&#x200B;
*Perhaps....*
&#x200B;
*Then let us-*
&#x200B;
*...Or perhaps not. Like I said, they are a species of contradictions, and that holds true for every facet.*
&#x200B;
*What do you mean?*
&#x200B;
*They are capable of great love and kindness. Individuals often pursue courses of action detrimental to themselves for the betterment of others. Members of their species will often devote years of their lives in attempts to help the suffering and ill among them, those who would otherwise provide no benefit for the collective.*
&#x200B;
*Truly?*
&#x200B;
*Indeed. It is unheard of for our kind to act in such a manner. For all our wisdom and knowledge, we are what these ⟒⏃⍀⏁⊑⌰⟟⋏☌⌇ would call "cold."*
&#x200B;
*Perhaps then...we can learn from them?*
&#x200B;
*Oh yes, I certainly believe so. Even in the face of crushing personal defeats, they persevere. They are a hardy species, and when they put that determination towards good...to fight for peace...there truly is nothing they can't accomplish.*
|
_Alien 1:_ Kutlag (Studying humans)
_ALIEN 2:_ HERTEYS (Helping Kutlag in his studies)
_SET:_ Hiding on the dark side of the moon with satellites in orbit with tech that makes them invisible to us humans and our tech. The 2 observers are just another set of observers spread throughout the galaxy with a simple assignment to observe, note and report back to the galactic council. They feel special cause there are rarely any intelligent and sentient beings this far out in the galaxy.
_PLOT:_
As kutlag was receiving a new package of data from the satellites around the orbit of the blue marbel he drank his coffee to try and get rid of the preservation chemicals used for cryo sleep, cryo sleep is used to help wake them up every 36500 rotations.
As the data was beginning to make sense all sleep and clumsiness went out the airlock as Kutlag couldn't believe what he was reading, wars at huge scales for a species that's still on a single planet, progress on unprecedented levels that have never been recorded, weapons that should have taken a few more sleeps were already being tested. What had happened between his last sleep till now? He had to wake her up.
As HERTEYS went through the data with the help of Kutlag she was taken back as how quickly the species had progressed within 1 sleep cycle. Last she remembered was how they were all spread out and killing each other with metal sticks and funny little metal sticks. A joke was around this planet that these self labelled species _Humans_ would likely end up killing them selves before they even leave their solar system and were nicknamed _TERRANS_ for their love of personal land and beliefs.
And now not only were they making major leaps in all branches of science for everything but were also progressing in all sorts of arts and peace that the galactic union thrived upon, they were making great progress on multiple peace talks that the union still couldn't get their heads around. Peace that was only a dream a sleep away, they have a mini version of the union with the only difference being that those on the council are selected by the people rather than the position being passed between families. Somehow even stuck on that little fragile rock these TERRANS had somehow managed to surpass the Union in some aspects, not at all significant but still credibility was due to them. They were ultimately always fighting for peace, but then when will peace be truly achieved if someone holds a grudge against the last battle for peace? It seems like this species will be in that loophole for many sleeps to come...
As the 2 observers continued looking through the data they kept getting more and more surprises on how the species was going forward and how quickly they were progressing in both good and bad ways.
Then the last surprise came that was totally uncalled for and something that is barely witnessed by anyone in their profession, a slip space jump...
The Terrans were coming, and the Union must be notified at all costs but the last thing they remember is being violently pushed onto the moon of the Terrans home planet due to an unknown collision on the hull.
| 2019-05-02T19:51:05 | 2019-05-02T19:30:02 | 254 | 23 |
[WP] "So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace."
|
**"So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace."**
&#x200B;
“Fight for peace? But that is a contradiction.”
“Indeed.” Imglir glanced at his quaternary console and the screen flashed to life, a reference map of the seventh octant of the galactic plane, with various regional areas initially flashing red and yellow, then settling on a different color representing their national dominion. “Of the known nations, there are five empires, three democracies, two republics, two dictatorships, and the confederacy of non-aligned systems. Of those, four empires, two democracies, and both dictatorships fight.”
“Of course they do. The Reen Empire fights for territory due to being host to a number of resource poor systems. The Bacura Combine and the Naginaki Parliament fight because their mothers’ mothers’ mothers’ grandmothers disagreed on the most lovely color to paint cruise ships, and neither will allow the other to win, as this could be seen as an admission they were wrong initially. The Lumin Empire fights for honor and glory in combat and for death before entropy renders them invalids…”
“Yes. And on it goes. Each fights for something based on something that they want. Each of the known nations fights for something selfish to them. Even the minor system powers that are city-systems in the galactic map fight for some selfish reason or another…"
“…but not these ‘Humans’?”
“No. Not these Humans. They fight for glory and honor of a sort, they have disagreements and land disputes as well. But, oddly, they don’t fight war so that they can fight war, or so they can gain. They fight with the idea that future generations may not have to. That their daughters and sons – because they send their boys to war, for some reason – would not have to fight in future wars. So that they could live without war or strife.”
“It sounds almost noble. Selfless.”
“Indeed. As far as I can tell, it is.” Imglir turned and looked to Fornar, mandibles to mandibles, for the first time since he had begun his observation, sixty-three decacycles ago, “This species may hold the key to all of our futures. They’re the only ones that I believe can be abjectly trusted to forge a lasting peace. One day, when they come of age and join the Great Conclave, they may save us all.”
Fornar laid a garmin on Imglir’s mantle, “Then we must see that they be protected until that time.”
“Yes,” Imglir said, turning back to his consoles, “we MUST.”
|
_Alien 1:_ Kutlag (Studying humans)
_ALIEN 2:_ HERTEYS (Helping Kutlag in his studies)
_SET:_ Hiding on the dark side of the moon with satellites in orbit with tech that makes them invisible to us humans and our tech. The 2 observers are just another set of observers spread throughout the galaxy with a simple assignment to observe, note and report back to the galactic council. They feel special cause there are rarely any intelligent and sentient beings this far out in the galaxy.
_PLOT:_
As kutlag was receiving a new package of data from the satellites around the orbit of the blue marbel he drank his coffee to try and get rid of the preservation chemicals used for cryo sleep, cryo sleep is used to help wake them up every 36500 rotations.
As the data was beginning to make sense all sleep and clumsiness went out the airlock as Kutlag couldn't believe what he was reading, wars at huge scales for a species that's still on a single planet, progress on unprecedented levels that have never been recorded, weapons that should have taken a few more sleeps were already being tested. What had happened between his last sleep till now? He had to wake her up.
As HERTEYS went through the data with the help of Kutlag she was taken back as how quickly the species had progressed within 1 sleep cycle. Last she remembered was how they were all spread out and killing each other with metal sticks and funny little metal sticks. A joke was around this planet that these self labelled species _Humans_ would likely end up killing them selves before they even leave their solar system and were nicknamed _TERRANS_ for their love of personal land and beliefs.
And now not only were they making major leaps in all branches of science for everything but were also progressing in all sorts of arts and peace that the galactic union thrived upon, they were making great progress on multiple peace talks that the union still couldn't get their heads around. Peace that was only a dream a sleep away, they have a mini version of the union with the only difference being that those on the council are selected by the people rather than the position being passed between families. Somehow even stuck on that little fragile rock these TERRANS had somehow managed to surpass the Union in some aspects, not at all significant but still credibility was due to them. They were ultimately always fighting for peace, but then when will peace be truly achieved if someone holds a grudge against the last battle for peace? It seems like this species will be in that loophole for many sleeps to come...
As the 2 observers continued looking through the data they kept getting more and more surprises on how the species was going forward and how quickly they were progressing in both good and bad ways.
Then the last surprise came that was totally uncalled for and something that is barely witnessed by anyone in their profession, a slip space jump...
The Terrans were coming, and the Union must be notified at all costs but the last thing they remember is being violently pushed onto the moon of the Terrans home planet due to an unknown collision on the hull.
| 2019-05-02T20:59:19 | 2019-05-02T19:30:02 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] You die and make it to the Pearly Gates after living a good and just life. You are sure that Heavenly Rewards await you. There is one problem, however. Heaven hasn't heard that video games are fantasy and they are holding you responsible for everything you have ever done in a game!
|
"So. At last we meet," said saint Peter at the gates.
"Yeah! Well, I guess. I still can't believe this, that I actually am here. Wow. This is a bit much--", I replied but was cut off by sudden arrival of two beings which look exactly how artists portrayed demons. Red, muscular, goat legs, goat horns and a pointy slim tail. They marched straight towards me and each stood to my left and right.
I was sweating bullets, why would these unholy abominations be **here** of all places? I was a good person and the Bible said nothing of demons being present at my judgement!
Saint Peter motioned to the two devils and they lifted me by the shoulders and started walking to where they came from.
"WAIT!! WHAT IS THIS!? WHY!?" I screamed in fear.
Peter shot me a judgmental glance, "You expect to be let into the Lord's garden? A person like you?"
"YES!" I argued, "I had done nothing but been a honest, diligent and compassionate person!"
Peter snapped his fingers and the demons stopped and turned me to face him.
"Is that so? Then how do you explain the atrocities you had done?"
"What atrocities?" I was crying by now.
"Do you remember when you literally consumed billions of people for your gain?"
"...What?"
"Mercilessly invaded by your armies to further your narcissistic expansion?"
"What armies? Saint Peter--"
"When you had won their planet for your, *people*, you showed no mercy in deciding who will be spared. You marched them all into industrial genicidal facilities to be turned into feed for your devouring swarm!
And while they were ground and fed to your underlings like you feed a pig, you wasted no time and ressetled millions of your spawn onto their planet, building giant structures to house them in their desire to strip the planet of not only living beings, but metal and energy!
And when the metals were plentiful to restore your vessels and energy to pay your mercenaries, you simply moved to the next inhabited planet! Millions of soldiers stood in your way and your vessels spared them of going through the horrors your *livestock* went through.
The only time you were less evil was when you constructed the vessel you named *The Collosal*. With it you cracked through the God given home of three different civilization's capitals, giving them a quick rest.
You feared, from the beggining, the beings which may arise in the parralel dimensions or galaxies, or the ashes of long gone empires of metal for bone and brain, but you proved to be the worst the galaxy would see. You spared noone. Not even *your own people.*"
Saint Peter ended his speech with great fury, but quickly composed himself and regained his previous cool. The demons turned around and started marching once more towards what I believed was Hell.
All I could think about was to never play Stellaris again.
|
**It was not only a game..**
I lead a good life. I treated everyone as my equal, and did upon others as I would have done upon me. I never thought bad of anyone. I attended mass every Sunday, and all holy days, I could. There where things I regretted, there always are, but I Really din't think I broke any holy commandments.
I died young. A car accident, it wasn't even my fault. Just a stupid random accident. My last thought while alive was actually about the game I would never finish. Stupid? Right?
I always pictured the Pearly gates the cartoony way, with a line of people, some being allowed in, others being dropped through a trap door to hell. I did not expect what was essentially something compared to an office complete with a desk and uncomfortable chair for me, and a strict looking official on the other side.
The official started ticking of al the good I had done in my life. Getting it listed like that it seemed so minuscule. Boring. So lacking. I had lived a pious life, but not doing any extraordinary feats for goodness. Thing is. The official did not seem impressed. IF anything he seemed disappointed.
Then the official spoke up before listing my bad deeds said: "You know. Asking for forgiveness do not really count if you go right back home doing the same sins. You need to acknowledge your sins and change your ways for them to count". I looked at him confused. What had I done that I kept asking forgiveness for? Seeing my confusion a piece of paper was pushed towards me. I was told to read it.
*"I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do, (And, striking their breast, they say) through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault; therefore I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin, all the Angels and Saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God."*
&#x200B;
After I read it, the official started reading the list of my sins. All the lives I had taken, all the things I had stolen. Every way I had broken the holy commandments. I was told of each situation. It soon dawned on me that all of this happened in games. I tried to speak up. Claiming that it was only fantasy. That it wasn't real. That no one was really hurt.
Then then a part of the text I just read flew up from the paper and into my vision in huge letters:
"*I have greatly sinned, in my thoughts and in my words"*
&#x200B;
And I understood. Fantasies are thoughts. actions are actions. What my avatar said or did, I did. When I got my chance to defend myself I could only accept my condemnation.
| 2019-05-07T07:21:29 | 2019-05-07T06:01:59 | 135 | 18 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed"
|
I laid there next to her, watching her breathe and occasionally murmur in her sleep. This was one of my favorite pass times, after a long day of work we would eat dinner and talk about our days. Then we'd turn in for the night and cuddle. She always fell asleep first and seeing her unguarded like this made her even more beautiful in my eyes.
I didn't like searching her.
It felt wrong to dig into her life like that. I'd done it in the past with other women, it was a neat trick in bars. Just think
*what turns you on?*
while looking at them and boom, I was in business. But with her it was different, with her everything felt right.
When we first met I fought the urge to search her, she was just so honest and carefree that I didn't believe I'd ever have to. With other people it was different, sometimes I'd search things just for fun
*how many Twinkies have you eaten?*
Or
*what have you lied about recently?*
But as our relationship progressed I did search her a few times for small things, innocent things.
*what do you want for dinner tonight?*
*do you actually like my friends?*
And then some things I'm not proud of.
*are you cheating on me with Chad?*
*does this Devin guy like you?*
*how many men were before me?*
I got out of bed carefully but still she murmured "I love you" before dozing off again. I quietly whispered "I'd do anything for you love" I silently made my way to the bathroom. And there I stared at that phantom of a bar above my reflection. I asked the same question I did every night.
*how many people have you killed for her?*
I didn't like searching her, but we all do crazy things for love.
|
It was my dad. Let's not beat around the Bush. 22 people. My dad is the sweetest old man. But everyone respects him. He could be funny, hell my first joke that got a real laugh was one he told me when I was 6 or 7. One about a dumb guy being asked how many Ds are in Rudolf the red nosed reindeer. The guy says 7. No man its 4. No says the guy its seven, listen. Dee Dee Dee Dee Dee dee dee. I laughed at his joke for years. It was my go to for adults.
Still. 22 people. The guy thought me most everything I know. How the hell did my dad kill 22 people. Okay let's do some more searches. "Dad murder trials." Searching...
"One result"
"Lucky Valentino's jury selection"
Let's see here. Oh, he just appears on the rejected jury for trial list. It's odd but he's not on trial and no other enters of his name are found.
Let's try "
Okay I'm loosing my train of thought. I'm just going to give this twist away and turn in for the night. My dad accident kill 22. He worked in remodeling for 40 yrs. It was never really his fault. Mostly him wondering about how he could of done something different. Big ones were very few. Only one guy did he feel like he didn't do enough. It was an accident. The guy cut through a power cord. True dad was the last guy to handle it and that can wear on your concise. But come on dad, he could have watched where he was cutting too.
Big twist. I finally searched myself. Turns out I'm probably not that good at cooking as I thought. Sweet dreams those who are out tonight.
| 2019-07-01T22:02:16 | 2019-07-01T21:57:00 | 181 | 24 |
[WP] Humans found an ancient ship proving that Adam and Eve were settlers from another star system. The ship's guidance system provided a map of every planet a ship was sent to. As we visit each planet, we see that humans have evolved differently depending on the ecosystem and predators.
|
***Mission log GenCol001: Capt Matt Parker.***
So, err in this first log I'm supposed to give folks a bit of background. Context, they say...So here goes... as I understand it... as brief as I can make it.
Where to begin...OK
Most of the human genome is viral. 70% or so, some of it useful, some of it not. It turns out a small amount of that wasn't originally from earth. 2 different pieces actually. Control elements that oversee how genes are expressed. These 2 little pieces that were integrated into our DNA were called Adam and Eve for their respective locations on the Y and X chromosomes. Their effect subtle yet profound. They caused minor modifications to the genome from our common ape ancestor as well as tweaks to the expression levels of the proteins that are responsible for intelligence.
How do we know this? Well we found the ship...THE ship. The ship that turned the world and our understanding of who we are on its head. Of course, the 'aliens interfering with monkeys' theory had always been touted buy fringe conspiracy theorists but to find out it was actually true?! The ship had made itself known to us when global temperatures started to rise. It used this as an indicator, a measure of our global impact, as a proxy for our evolution. Our progression as a species towards... and this was the interesting part... towards a species capable of joining the universal collective - HA! Whatever that meant!
Once the ship awoke and became known to us it sat there for a while. It was processing the information. It's AI worked out how to access the internet and all other forms of communication, processed all the information and learned how to communicate to us. And it did. It even chose a name for itself, 'Genesis'. The AI and the ship that is. Body and mind so to speak. And this thing was sassy. When asked if this referred to its role as our creator, as some grand religious concept, it simply replied with a picture of a blue hedgehog wagging it's gloved finger... we still didn't get a straight answer to that one.
On a more serious note. The discovery of the ship itself didn't cause global upheaval... it was close but the real revolution happened when it shattered any and all state and corporate secrets, literally shared all information with everyone back through the internet. An unhackable, unblockable server of all the information ever. Like some sort of uber Wikileaks. Everything was there, who owned what, what was being paid to which politicians and why. What China was up to, what the US had done and what they planned to do next, hell even who shot JFK. There were casualties, overwhelmingly from the corrupt corners of business and politics, but after the dust settled we kind of emerged with a sort of system that worked... globally! Genesis said this was the only way, that we'd need this transparency, this common understanding, if not agreement to progress. It was required for us to take our place amongst the collective.
What that is... well that's what my team and I are off to discover. We're setting off in Genesis to the closest established planet in the collective. Genesis calls them our cousins, she says we'll like them, they're new to the collective too. They too make good pop music she says...
Parker out.
|
I knew it, I just fucking knew it, they would come after my family. It's the curse of the Pillai's. Every male Pillai is expected to outdo his ancestors. My grandfather was the one who circled the Titan of Saturn and his grandfather built engineering Marvel's. And now the starlink program found that our blood is perfect for the starblood.
My dad had told me whenever they brand something as fancy or Noble then you are the bait, remember they always show you the benefits before the conditions. Well dad was a writer and considered eccentric even by the standards of the Pillai's.
Now they are after my son. One of those engineers are SpaceX figured out that if they analyse certain genes codenamed as Adam and Eve, he could find the right candidates for space program to calm down mystics and actually find the right candidates for this suicide mission.
This all started when the storm of area-52 had started. After people successfully took charge of Area-51 they realised there's another one which is a mile down codenamed area-52. I was one of those idiots who took charge of that attack and we found out about the ship of Adam and Eve.
Thirty years now and the world has changed. Bezos controls the asteroid belts and Musk is obsessed now about colonising Titan after Mars. Now the that SpaceX scientist had the audacity to tell that it's destiny that the son of discoverer of Adam & Eve ship is the captain for the new space mission.
Well, fuck it, I am the head of this honorary project and my son won't listen to me as I hadn't listened to my father. So the cycle continues.
Chapter 2.
"You are worried over nothing, You are a Pillai, you guys always find a way out" Moghul said. Moghul was at thirty year old army veteren with a short build, blue eyes and massive forearms. Ron looked at him and wondered whens the right time to tell the crew that they have landed on mother planet and it's time to make the contact.
It's been hundred years since the starblood program took off where they synced the genes of Adam and Eve and the ship mechanics meant to adapt to it. He's the 3rd Pillai to command the ship. He enjoyed the travel but always hated the destination.
They had come across 27 out of 30 worlds and each world had the similar result. Most of them have a capacity to travel interstellar and apart from minor changes such as some didn't have vocal language and some used telepathy while others used writings to communicate they were similar to us.
Each world welcomed us with pomp and glory and each of them knew about the other 30 worlds but never contacted them. The worlds we're rich and beautiful and women were even better. Some worlds were just run by women and others just by men and in some the robots had taken over.
We set up our trade delegations and explained them about them about our commerce and we just come as traders.
The Amazon Earth City and The Martian Musk world had both funded new line of ships for this far interstellar travel and he didn't know how to justify his overlords and his shareholders. And now the 28th world is a barren wasteland and the last writing translated there is, fuck it we are leaving before the heatwaves hit. Well at least some Pillai had to be a failure.
| 2019-07-28T18:07:25 | 2019-07-28T17:13:07 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
When The Blinding first occurred, I thought I was the only individual affected. I was sitting at my desk working on a school paper and in an instant, everything went black.
I had cried out to my parents in fear and confusion, but their response was like an echo of my own. They, too, couldn't see. And we soon learned the entire world had been victim to having their sight filled with darkness. Interestingly enough, we don't think this affected any of the animals living on Earth. Just us humans. The only strange thing that occurred after this was the fact that the demand for Milk skyrocketed.
At first, adapting was extremely difficult. Something as mundane and simple as using the bathroom had become a daily challenge I didn't look forward to.
Within a few months, support groups had been created by individuals who were already blind prior to the incident. They assisted those who were struggling with adapting to their newfound obstacle.
Thankfully, the world never really stopped moving or progressing. Outside of major adjustments that had to be made, such as devising a different mode of transportation or different requirements and standards in the working world, we managed to pull through.
It's been about 2 years since The Blinding and there were times where I had forgotten such an event occured.
I was taking a short walk to the store to get some groceries. I don't know why, but I've developed an almost dependency like state on milk. I had gripped the handle to the door to the small grocery store and pushed the door open. A bell was hung on the inside handle of the door.
"Hello, let me know if you need help finding anything." A voice said to my right.
"Thanks, Dave. I will." I responded.
"Hey John! How've you been?" he asked with a somewhat enthusiastic tone.
With a somewhat slow pace I walked around the store, feeling along the brail to determine if I had found my item.
"Pretty much the same" I said with a bit of a chuckle.
My hand touched something cold. Finally. Found the milk.
As I was about to open the door I could see my reflection in the rectangle shaped window of the cooler.
I wasn't entirely sure how to react nor was I sure as to what happened. I was looking. At myself. In a mirror. For the first time in two years.
I started shaking and I could feel warmth and moisture filling my eyes.
I noticed writing on the reflection itself. I was so excited I hadn't even noticed. In fact, most of the interior was covered in this writing. Looked a little closed at the message written in black.
*Don't tell them you can see.*
What the hell does that mean? Who's them?
I then caught a glimpse of the individual standing behind the counter of the store.
Who...what the fuck is that...
"John? You need some help buddy?" it asked. It had Dave's voice, but it definitely wasn't Dave. And the way it's mouth moved was...
Wait, is that it's mouth? I have no idea.
I was staring at something that was at least 6 feet tall. Grotesque and eldritch was the only way I could describe it. It's dark brown skin was smooth and moist with extremely tiny openings in its skin. It wasn't wearing any type of clothing. It's arms were somewhat long and thin looking appendages that ended in human looking hands. Its head was shaped like a large Basket Ball. The creatures mouth looked to be in a vertical position and when it spoke I could see many layers and rows of crocodile like teeth.
"Here John, let me come help." It said. Its voice had changed as well. It was gurgled and sounded like it was being put through a filter.
As it moved I could hear it squish against the floor. That's the first time I've ever heard that. Why am I hearing that just now? Why have I never heard that before?
Instead of gaping at the reflection and trying to ascertain how it walks, I simply stared at a jug of milk.
That's when I noticed the color of the milk. It wasn't white or brown or any color a milk should be. It was dark black.
As the creature grew closer a foul smell harassed my nostrils. It took everything I had not to vomit.
It reached out with it's human like appendage and touched my shoulder.
My entire body tensed up.
"We're having a lot of different specials on milk today." It said and I could see its mouth open wide behind my head with what I assumed was a smile.
|
[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cvoaso/wp_you_lost_your_sight_along_with_everyone_else/ey5in0q/) down below!
***
As suddenly as they flicked off, the lights turned back on again.
Or at least, it felt that way. As if the lights of my mind had been shuttered off and then on again by the huge hand of a god.
I froze there. I did my best not to look surprised. I just kept staring ahead at the blurry grey wall of my apartment, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Of the fact that I *was* seeing. No one had seen anything in over two years.
Not that I could ever see well. My vision was even worse than normal, a milky blur filtering out the world.
Maybe I was dying. Maybe this was one last vivid, terrific hallucination of the world as it used to be.
My eyes burned like I'd fallen asleep with my contacts in, a feeling I hadn't had to worry about since the day I woke up just as blind as the rest of the world. I reached up and rubbed hard at them until the fog cleared.
There was a handwritten note there above my television. A careful little army of letters, marching forward. I leapt off the couch and beelined toward it, until my nose was nearly touching the drywall. Close enough to be able to read for the first time since the Blinding.
The message said, in a stranger's handwriting, DON'T LET THEM KNOW YOU CAN SEE.
A dark hand coiled around my spine. I knew exactly who they meant. There was only one class of people who escaped unscathed during the Blinding. They were the very same who installed the radio in my wall, who kept all of human society going. Only us fully biological humans lost our ability to see.
My stare darted to the radio, still humming away in its slot on the wall. The radio had a single black dial, a speaker, and a shiny black circle I had never been able to see before. The government had subsidized these devices as a way to help us all adjust to the new change of waking up suddenly and horribly blind.
The radio spun out some light oldies tune. How long had it noticed? Had it yet noticed?
Would *they* notice?
I spun away from the wall and pawed around on the floor, pretending to look for something I dropped. I tried to keep my stare blank, unfocused, but in the corner of my eye, I watched that radio.
I watched that strange, shiny black circle I had never seen before.
I felt foolish and stupid, kneeling there on the floor, doing my best to pretend to be blind. I should be running cheering down the street. I should be going to the nearest hospital to figure out what the hell I did that no one else could do.
But then another set of letters caught my eye. There, in black marker on the inner leg of my coffee table.
Now I didn't have the room in my mind to think about danger or consequences.
I stood up on trembling legs, and I turned my head to look boldly all around my apartment.
Every wall carried words. Some of them looked like they had been scrubbed and painted over, random patches of mismatching grey paint here or there.
Over and over, every surface of my apartment screamed at me: DON'T LET THEM KNOW YOU CAN SEE.
A knock rattled my front door.
I snapped my head toward it, then quickly away again. I tried my best to remember what it felt like *not* to see. How I held my head. Whether I kept my eyes open or shut or half-lidded, almost dead-eyed.
Then I paused there, opening and closing my fists at my side.
I did my best to gather what information I knew.
I knew I was the first living, breathing human to see in over two years. I knew the shock on my face must have given me away by now.
"Ma'am," a robotic voice intoned at the door. "Please do me the courtesy of opening up."
And whoever was on the other side of my door, they sure as hell weren't human. Not fully. And something told me they weren't here to help.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
Mmm I'm not capable of writing short apparently! ~~Spinning up a part 2~~
Here's [part two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cvoaso/wp_you_lost_your_sight_along_with_everyone_else/ey5in0q/) :) Thanks for reading
| 2022-10-09T01:59:27 | 2019-08-26T07:20:15 | 4,287 | 489 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
Most people lost their sight waking up on the morning of the first day, as the event started in the middle of the night. The change only occurred as one slept, so others attempted to remain awake to retain their vision for longer. This effort proved to be pointless, as the effects took hold the moment they closed their eyes and started to doze. As the days stretched into weeks, Microsleep ended up taking of the vision of the most resilient.
Adjusting to the change was difficult, but there was ease in knowing that everyone was blind, and that we all shared the same struggle. Those that were blind *before* the change became valuable assets to their communities. They found themselves teaching thousands, in neighborhoods where there were no blind people before.
I spent my time at home, with my animals, listening to old reruns of my favorite TV shows. Years of mental health issues had rendered me unfit to work in the eyes of the state, so many aspects of my life continued as usual. I did miss reading and, although I managed to find a few books in braille, it wasn't that simple to learn. The small dots weren't that clear to me as someone who had recently gone blind. Walking the trails around my house was not an option anymore either.
That was then, though. Today, something changed that I didn't anticipate would happen. For the first time in over 785 days, I saw something.
There have been stories since The Great Blinding of people regaining their sight. In all cases so far, it has been attributed to an overactive imagination. I must admit that even I have been fooled into thinking I was seeing something. You catch what looks like a flash of light, but it quickly fades and you are reminded that you are still blind, and that it has been the case for over a year now.
Today was different. I saw the flash of light, but it quickly expanded to cover my entire field of view. I had to remind myself that I had a field of view again. I was amazed at how much I could see again, but startled at how *forward* everything felt. In my blindness, I experienced my world in 360 degrees. Now, I was seeing only what was in front of me, and I noted how unaware I was of this before. My ears were still trained to the world of the blind however, so I found myself more aware of my surroundings than I remembered being before The Great Blinding.
Words started to appear in my vision. At first unfamiliar, but then more clear as the image of what each letter meant reappeared in my minds eye. I had forgotten what letters looked like.
'Do not tell them that you can see' were the words scrawled on my wall. The writing was brown, and it had no stench. I looked around to see if there was evidence that someone entered my room while I slept, but I soon realized that the substance was dried and old. Someone wrote this on my wall a long time ago, and I had no idea why.
I crept out of my room and realized that the sun was starting to set. After so long without sight, I wasn't surprised that my sleep cycle was so off. For me, it felt like early morning.
The sky was illuminated with streamers of light, and everywhere people wandered through the streets, heading for work. The setting sun turned the sky a rich burgundy striped with its golden rays. There were no stars in this sky. In the distance, the trees danced, casting their long shadows on the surrounding fields. Looking closer, I realized they were actually dancing. Tall branches were swaying with their movements as they spun around one another and held each others' arms.
Nearby, the people continued with their lives, unaware of the beings in their midst. Translucent birds flew high in the sky and shattered against the stone clouds only to congeal and reform as a different bird. Their chirps mimicking those of any birds I knew of before The Great Blinding. Orbs of light illuminated and disappeared as they moved through the air, sometimes passing through people, unbeknownst to them.
There were no roads or vehicles in the street. The asphalt and gravel were replaced with fields of grass; despite this, my feet clattered on the ground as if it were still made of stone. I was so absorbed in my changed surroundings, it was hard to take in. In the distance I heard whispers and, as I narrowed my eyes, I caught sight of a person waving at me to come near. I approached with caution, not knowing who or what they might be.
"Get in here!" They pointed at my house. "Before they notice me." I retreated through the door, and faced the man who was invading my home. "Do you have any idea what you are looking at?" He spoke quietly, and stared out the window. The red glare of the night sky cast his face in a bloodied shadow. "You have entered the world of the dead.” He closed the blinds. “You are witnessing things you were never supposed to see.”
|
\[tw, light self mutilation\]
It didn't happen all at once.
The nations all lost their sight gradually. It was a slow seeded plague on humanity; anyone from important leaders to the homeless lost their eyesight suddenly, and what doctors tended to them could not fathom what had happened. Maybe it was mass hysteria. Maybe it was another facet of mental illness. It was waved away as just another illness to cure when there were only a few cases. The government didn't really care at that time; it wasn't as much of a concern to them as what the president was writing on twitter.
When the blindness began to spread, when waves of people were turning up blind in the streets – causing panic, unable to see, throwing themselves at cars and businesses and clinging manically to any person they could dig their fingers into – they were corralled like animals. People died in throngs then; either by waves of suicide, their rotting corpses stinking up alleys and their homes, or by police brutality. The news pedaled their wares; that those who were ensorcelled by this blindness were driven mad. They couldn't be reasoned with. To keep the public safe, if someone was 'too far gone', the police had to react swiftly and that sometimes meant civilian losses.
There were protests at first. Once the desperate, untreated blind found their way into the throngs of people screaming outside of the white house and their local police stations, the riots ceased. People were too scared to leave their homes and.. the world changed. As more people fell to the blindness, those unaffected began to agree with the hysteric media. Yes, the blindness was a disease. Who cared where it came from, people were being attacked on the streets! It wasn't safe to leave your house! They were spreading the blindness!
Civilian militias formed and, quietly, using the blindness of the ill against them, they killed the easy ones first. Anyone who didn't struggle was just moments away from a frenzy, by their accounts. Bars would be full on the evenings, covered in barb wire and chicken mesh to keep away the desperate, like homes and schools and anything else that had to be kept safe. Spikes were placed on the ground, tearing up the feet of those without shoes, ruining the shoes of those who had them.
The blind weren't stupid. Aside from those hit with hysterics and who could barely function on their own when they could see, most of them learned quickly to keep to themselves. Many would claim they were blind before the epidemic hit, working together with those who actually had been and assistive facilities to get home, to get food, whatever they could to survive. This was short lived. It took one year for blindness to take everyone. Shame filled most of the world; those who had been killed in the initial hysterics had monuments built for them. Their names were etched, messily, into large concrete slabs that were painted and polished to be, at least to the touch, acceptable. Once the media organizations learned how in their blind stumbling, apologies were aired over the news. Groups of people came together to apologize to families of the lost. All of the anti-blind measures were removed. The ground was uneven and pocketed where once spike traps and other deterrents lived.
Society has recovered as much as it can. Doctors can't use their fancy medical equipment as well as they'd like, import and export is difficult when no one can see the state of the ocean to bring goods along. People get by. Society is recovering. We live in a world of blind being lead by the blind, by those who went blind and managed to adjust first.
My account was supposed to be just that. An account of things as they were; I lived through the worst of it. I was one of the hysteric many that fled into the streets first. I was terrified. Mania was replaced by fight or flight desperation for survival and I survived the first slaughter. I went home, barricaded myself inside, and did everything I could to find resources. It helped.
Time after the Great Blindness took everyone has been.. okay. Lackluster, almost. I spend most of my free time sleeping. My dreams will ebb between old movies I've loved; I can see in my dreams. The knowledge I had once of what everything in the world looks like is still in there somewhere. My waking hours are spent making some money through working misc jobs online; I'd become accustomed to the voice that will read back to me as I type away at my keyboard, double checking my finger placement with the soft braille markings on top. I pause after each paragraph of writing, listening to her recounting it, making sure I've phrased and structured everything alright, that I haven't made a typo anywhere that massively changed a word into some discombobulated semblance of language. Those who have fancy self driving cars use them mostly as expensive food delivery services, and I'm lucky to have the ability to pay for that.
After a delivery, mid-step in returning to the kitchen with a load of new groceries, my vision returned.
| 2022-10-08T20:12:12 | 2019-08-26T09:04:01 | 810 | 41 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
As everything came into focus, red block letters greeted me
DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
For a moment I sat, looking at the shapes. Like the others, I had been blinded December before last. My MX-Sarah assistant had guided me back home while the world was in chaos. The robot became my eyes.
I needed an upgrade but Patriot Pay was stalled. We were the lucky ones. The ones with skill sets that didn't need our eyes. United States Occupational Relief picked us up.
There was an uprising, if you can call it that. Blind masses screamed in the street for something to be done. Screamed for answers. For a cure. But the doctors had been blinded too.
The e-security cleaned everything up very quickly. It was rumored they retrained you in the camps for an occupation you could do without your sight. I liked to believe it. The more plausible rumors aren't vey nice.
Official broadcasting never made mention of the camps. They were something not to be acknowledged. Like the blocks of empty houses. Something to be forgotten.
DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
After two years, letters become shapes before words. When the message finally hit, I closed my eyes reflexively. My heart started racing. I had a new secret to keep.
*Marcus, is everything all right?*
MX-Sarah's grating, chipper tone stabbed the air. I rubbed my eyes and replied "I think it must be a bit dusty, that's all". I opened my eyes and willed them out of focus.
*You would like me to dust. Is that correct?*
A sickening wave self-consciousness hit.
"Yes. Sarah. Schedule dusting today. 1500."
*Dusting scheduled today at 3pm. To cancel, say CANCEL*
Then there was silence. I was trying to remember what I did with my body. My eyes.
Be normal. Be normal.
DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
Note: Have to go now. If someone is interested in finishing this, I'm thinking over-population for post global warming scarce resources caused a global oligarchy to take dramatic action. Artificial intelligence has made human workers all but unnecessary. Mass blinding was a way to exterminate a large portion of the population. Mass disinformation campaigns / desire to keep people in their place. Hence, DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE
Thinking there is are "The Visionaries" that paint the letters, subverting the rulers. I'm imagining secret transport network + a final boss scene, ambushing the ruling class. The blindness is caused by an issued chemical. Just need to avoid exposure. Some accidentally are "cured" because they have accidentally avoided the blindness dose for long enough.
Thanks for the great prompt OP!
|
We all remember the moment we were in before the great blinding. One minute we were in our kitchens. The next... Well god knows what happened next. I, personally, was in german class reciting verbs. And than it happened. I blinked. And nothing.
I started to panic. What happened! Where did my eyesight go! I called out into the cold air of the classroom and an aura of fear washed over me as one of my closest friends spoke up.
"I cant see." He said
The rest of the class followed in scattered replies. Ranging from screaming to quit murmurs of agreement.and than IT happened.
We called it the crashing. Every car, plane, boat, train, and vehicle you could think of crashed. At least a few dozen into our school.
The casualties were massive. At least 4 billion people had died. Mostly in the great crashing. Millions more from mass suicide.
But us humans found some ways to prevail as we always do. We adapted and gained new senses. And we lost our old one completely. We have no recolection of colour at this point. Until now.
I was heading to a supermarket for some noodles. I was in japan as an exchange student at the time and couldnt leave. So i was stuck there for etirnity. I walked in to the automated chime of a robot welcoming me in. And than just as i had it takrn away. I got it back. And oh boy did i get it back.
When it happened my whole entire vision was one sentance. Dont tell them you can see. Plastered on the walls, the floor, the labels. All in perfect font. I looked around me for an awnser to why thid happened. And than i saw IT. A robot. Everywhere i went. Everything was a robot. The people, the dogs, the cows. Robots everywhere. I stopped to pick it up. What could be happening. Why was i here in a society built off of robots? Where is everyone? And than i got grabbed on my shoulder and was pushed down into a sewer.
I looked at my surroundings. It was a mechanical maze of wires and tubes everywhere. And underneath my feet. A hatch. I took a moment to look at myself. I was what? 23 years old now? My hair was long and messy. My feet were dirty. My hands were caked in some kind of substance. I remembered taking quit good care of myself even while the blinding was happening. Why was i filthy? I shook myslelf awake and put my thoughts together. Was it a dream? If so why was it so long and vivid? No that doesnt make sense.
I put that aside and opened the hatch. I looked down into the dark abyss below me and jumped.
And what i saw at the bottom was terrifying. A sea of dead bodys. That all looked like me. All of them. And they all had a different number tattooed in red ink on their necks.
| 2022-10-22T00:27:31 | 2019-08-26T09:44:00 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] The orphaned monster kids gets revenge on the monster hunter who killed their parents, by turning those he loves into a monster. His son gets turned into a werewolf, his daughter gets turned into a vampire and his wife gets turned into something much much worse.
|
[Poem]
I hunted monsters,
Hunted them all,
From great and terrible
To fair and small.
I thought my deeds
Were good and true;
What horrors awaited
I wish I then knew.
The monster children,
They sought relief;
They wished that I
Would share their grief.
My son they transformed
To a lupine frame.
My daughter they turned;
A vampire she became.
But I still had my wife,
The most beautiful gal,
The love of my life,
My longtime best pal.
Till she came home and said,
“I’ll rid you of your toils
With my new line of work;
DoTerra essential oils!”
|
“I... I defeated them,”
Her voice was soft and cold... and perhaps a little bit afraid.
“What... what do you mean, honey?”
“I... I know how you feel about monsters. I know what they did to you... and I know what you do to them. “
Some instinctual voice screamed at him.
“Honey,” he broached, holding his hands out. “Where are the kids?”
Her expression was pure pain. “I defeated them. They were... turned... but.”
“But... what?”
“They... they still trusted me. They were monsters, but they trusted me... trusted their mother.”
A void of anger and pain formed in his gut. “What happened to the kids?”
“I told you... I defeated them. I... knew you couldn’t... so it was up to me...”
Fortunately, his sobs masked the sound of her neck breaking.
| 2019-11-03T18:25:41 | 2019-11-03T18:15:07 | 100 | 68 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment."
|
I am given a microphone and immediately start belting out every Queen song I know, unable to hit Freddie’s glorious high notes. The screeches from my throat reverberate off of every rock and every bone in the Pit. 800 Avantone Pro Mix speakers have been set up in the caverns of Hell, just for me. A lone demon is absolutely killing it on a Casio Keyboard that has been put on the bloopy reggae-esque setting. Every poor soul in a 1200 mile radius is clawing at their bleeding ears, desperately attempting to block the righteous melodies produced by me and keyboard demon . Satan gives me a high five.
|
[Poem]
Well howdilidoodily I end up here
God I pray you can still hear
My life was always in your glory
Yet all around me is hell clearly.
I don’t doubt you almighty
By golly I’ll be alrighty
But what is my task here lord?
YOUR PRESENCE WILL HAUNT MOST
YOUR PRESENT STATE AS FLANDERS-GHOST
WILL TORTURE THOSE WHO SINNED DAILY
YOUR MOUSTACHED GOOD PRAYING
SELF WILL SHOW THE LIGHT TO THEM
FOR THEY HAVE ALL BEEN CONDEMNED
TO A LIFETIME OF FLANDERS-HELL
Well, gee, oh, Dee. Willikers. my presence?
Is a torture and life sentence?
Things that make you go:
D’OH!
| 2020-01-10T18:08:32 | 2020-01-10T17:34:40 | 51 | 19 |
[WP] Your family is known for having some of the strongest powers in the world, but you’ve been criticized for not having a gift as powerful or flashy as your family. Now it time to show them the true extent of your power
|
Pausing time sounded wonderful at first. As a child, my parents, the ever famous scarlett riders brought me to see the oracle. They asked the great ones what my powers would be, expecting something amazing. Generations of power, each child more powerful than their elders, My family was special. When the oracle proclaimed I had the power to pause time, everyone was amazed.
As I matured, people expected nothing but perfection. Just like everyone else, my powers wouldnt manifest until I was 14. But no one had ever heard of time manipulation powers, the closest we had was the fated oracle, of course they would be spectacular. The clock struck 7:47 on my birthday, the exact second I was born, people turned towards me with baited breath.
The clock stayed there. At 7:47 exactly, I was stuck. I couldn't move, everything was frozen, and that seemed to include me. My life crashed down on me. *I froze too.* My powers would be useless, I thought bitterly. I stayed in that moment for two more years until I developed my powers enough to unpause that singular second. I didn't feel like a youth of 14, for I had lived far longer than anyone knew.
When everyone learned the truth of my power, they were disappointed. My parents tried their best to train me, but their hearts weren’t in it. When my younger sister turned 14 and learned to fly, I was shoved even further to the side.
Always talked down to. Always patronized. I was the after though, worth nothing more than a passing pleasantry. By age 15 I had lived through thousands of years by myself, and I began to see the strength of my power.
I used it for petty things at first, I would always have the perfect comeback, always have the funniest joke. They'd laugh at my jokes, admiring my perfect timing. But I could do more. With enough time to think through, I could solve any problem, think through every solution.
My parents are great, yes, but they haven't yet faced me. I have had thousands of years to think. And I've decided that I don't want to be ignored.
|
Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons?
If you have, you can probably agree with me that bards are annoying. DMs hate them because they talk and sex their way or of everything, and players hate them because their overpowered. The only thing they don’t have going for them is that nothing they do really ever looks flashy. Well, except for their body, which is always the hunkiest chad body or the slimmest thicc babe you’ve met.
Let me just say that I’m a bard in a family of wizards.
My family is known for its special, overpowered abilities. Teleportation, Fire, creation, and destruction are all our strong suits. Heck, even I have some of the inherited family power. But my magic comes in a different way. Of course, when your brother shape-shifts in his sleep and your older sister breaks the sound barrier for fun, I looked super underwhelming for my bloodline.
“Where’s your powers, Harry?” “You’re such a disappointment, Harry”. Those were the words out of the mouths of my PARENTS after my ritual of magic summoning. Of course, that’s because I didn’t do anything spectacular. My powers didn’t really get noticed until the next day, though.
As a joke, I went into my room, and told my Mom “Hey mom, kowtow to your powerless son who’s a disappointment to your family line, would you?”. I said it as a JOKE. Yet there she was. Kowtowing at my feet in a completely serious manner.
“*oooooooo, I could have some fun with this!*” was obviously my first instinct. I told her to go get up and get me some coffee. I realized I could do more, too. I looked at my body in the mirror, which usually was a bit of a disgust to do, even for me, and.... welp, no! Models would have been jealous. I was finally the junking piece of meat I wanted, and with a voice to boot! As my mother teleported back to my room withy coffee, I knew just how FUN this would be...
I’ve been writing some shorter ones recently, so sorry about that. I plan on making a few of these 2 parters, so watch for that!
| 2020-02-20T21:01:54 | 2020-02-20T20:45:58 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] When you finally died after an unusually long life you meet an extremely confused death flipping desperately through a book with seemingly endless pages. Apparently that book contains a list with the names of everything that will ever die written on it, and somehow you are not on it
|
"Ok, I can't find you in the book. This is very strange. What did you say your name was again?"
...
"Ok, and what was the cause of death?"
...
"Car hit you, huh? Completely out of the blue? But you were in good health otherwise, right? How old were you at time of death?"
...
"Wait, did you say 122 years? And how many months?"
...
"Of course, of course, of course. You wouldn't be in this book, but you might be in the other one. Hold on, let me find it... Ah, here it is! The Guinness Book of Netherworld Records! Let me just look you up real quick... Yep, just as I thought. You're about to set the record for longest living person in human history. You can't die yet; you've got to live for... let's see... four more years, it looks like! So sorry for the confusion, but I'll have to send you back now. Have a good life, what's left of it. And next time be careful before crossing the street, eh? Cheers!"
|
Death spastically turned the pages of the massive book occasionally attempting to lick his bony finger, only to remember he had no tongue and dip it in a small dish of water, "You have to be here somewhere... but, I've scanned this section hundreds of times and your name should be right HERE" he exclaimed pointing to an empty place in the book "But its not, so. You weren't supposed to die, ever? What kind of bullshit is this? HEY! MESSENGER!" he yelled, seconds later a raven appeared and stared at death "Word it more kindly than this please but can you please go ask the big guy upstairs what in hell is going on here?"
"Nah," replied the raven "He's busy. Apparently he's organizing anther attempt to push the demons back"
"Good lord" sighed Death "Well, I don't exactly know what to do with you, you technically should be going to heaven. Seeing as you did live a pretty dang clean life up there, but. You aren't supposed to die so, You can just. Wait, over there" He said waving his hand in a general direction "until I get this shit figured out".
| 2020-03-02T06:58:46 | 2020-03-02T05:59:25 | 62 | 33 |
[WP] Emotions are sold in glass jars. Happiness is something only the wealthy can afford. The poor are only left with the feelings of sadness and grief. It all changed when someone starts selling anger.
[deleted]
|
I sell revolution in glass jars. Not literally, of course. That's too risky. When the day comes that they break down my door and charge me with every crime in the book, it'd be too easy to charge me with treason.
I label it Anger.
In the evening when the city lights turn on they look down at the jungle of misery from their gold-plated towers. I drive through those dilapidated neighborhoods, past the shantytowns where Grief isn't even worth a penny. So plentiful you can harvest it from a newborn before they've even opened their eyes.
Sadness, common as a cough and a cold.
But Sadness and Grief don't bring change, and a man has to make his living. In that beat-up diesel, I idle at corners. They smell me coming. Not from the diesel either. They smell success. They smell the Anger leaking through the lid of the jars.
"Ridin' 'gain?" Tommy asks.
I've sold him Anger about a dozen times. So much that his lip curls in a permanent scowl and he squints his eyes like he wants to squeeze you to death right there. It's addictive. Just a taste of Anger keeps them coming back for more.
"Ridin'. Sellin'. Makin' money," I tell him. He knows as well as I do what I've got. What comes with the Anger.
Hate. Violence. Eventually, revolution.
"Keep at it," he says. "Need more folks like you."
They don't, though. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to sell this Anger at a premium. Tommy has asked me more than once how I do it. How I manage past the Submission they sprinkle over these neighborhoods like rain. Fumigating for mosquitoes, they used to say. Back when folks were out on the streets banging their fists on metal trash-can lids demanding reform. Funny how the next day they all sat down and cried instead of rioting.
"Want a taste?" I ask him.
He looks around, nods. "Got a buddy this time. Like you asked."
I smile. The buddy doesn't. He's real mopey, like personal-cloud type of sad. Probably at the fact he'll never make it out of the block he was born on, that he'll never amount to anything but a life of cheap labor. Resignation kills Anger. Stuffs it down so deep that the only way out is a jar of the stuff.
"First one's free. Three bucks for you, Tommy."
I give the man a jar and he opens it and breaths it in like he's never tasted nothing sweeter. His cloud thunders, his eyes spark. He turns his stare up towards those towers, mumbles curses beneath his breath.
"How do you do it, man?" Tommy says, watching the transformation same as me.
But I won't tell.
I won't tell him about the smashed dinner plates and the bitter looks when I finally make it back to my place at a half-past twelve. About the list of things to do that never gets shorter. I won't tell him how we used to be, and how I turned us into who we are now. I won't tell him how I catch her Anger in little glass jars, then show her the money I've made so she won't leave me lonely.
And I won't tell him about the other me. About the me who visits that apartment basement once I'm done here. That apartment where the chains are rooted deep, holding in place folks that nobody notices are missing. Folks who thought they had something and I reminded they had nothing.
I won't tell him how I keep them there, reminding them how life fucked them over so that they'll get angry. Real angry. Angry enough for me to harvest Anger.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
|
“Little honey, I don’t think you can handle this one. It’s new on the market and volatile. I did it once just to tell my patrons about, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Now, normally, I would trust my dealer, but I’m so BORED being happy all the time. It’s not like my family cares, they just lock me up for the week when I go on a swing. I’ve tried being sad, silly, apathetic, grief ridden. I’ve even tried depression and anxiety enhancements.
Last time my man said “Don’t” was the fear bottle, so I trusted his judgement. Haven’t seen it around since. Can’t be too good of a trip. I’m still curious. Maybe Mac can get me some if I ask.
“Come on man, just this once and I’ll never get it again. I swear. I just want to try a new one!” I plead. He sighs heavily, and looks both ways. We’re running out of time. I pull out the cash to cover the cost and some extra.
“Just take it all and I’ll see you next week for something different.”
“Alright Lindsey,” he says, “but just this once. Don’t ask me for this one again, y’hear?” He slips the bottle into one hand as the other slides the money from my palm. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone. The man knows all the ins and outs of this city. I follow his lead and leave quickly, I can’t get caught in this part of town.
I don’t look at the bottle until I get home and lock myself in. It is wispy, like all feelings. But unlike most, it doesn’t float around the bottle mindlessly. It seems to be throbbing, pounding at the glass, looking for a way out. I turn it over in my hands.
The smoke seems to flash inside like a cloud in a thunderstorm. Reds and yellows and oranges tumble together. I double check the door to make sure no one can get to me. Not like anyone is here anyway.
I consider calling some friends to try with me, but I know they won’t have this one yet and I don’t want to share. One of the perks of being rich I suppose. Everyone else is fine being happy all the time, but I can’t stand it. I even considered marrying someone from The Slump but Daddy wouldn’t ever let that happen. “A stain on the family name.” He’d say. Maybe this bottle will finally give me the guts to say something to him. I don’t want to overdose, so I find my bottle stopper.
“Here goes nothing.” I say aloud to no one but the empty walls. Only after popping the top, do I realize this was a mistake. Instead of waiting for me to put my nose to the bottle and inhale, this feeling escapes at once and comes for me. It envelopes my head in a cloud that feels like a thousand angry bees swarming me. I try to cover my nose and swat it away, but to no avail. You can’t take a whole bottle at once! It’s supposed to last a week! Especially something as harsh as this. I panic, and try to crawl to the window to let it out. It’s coming in through my pores, my eyes, my ears. Every time I cover something it finds a new way in.
“Linds! We’re home! How was your day darling? We brought you something!”
“Run!” I scream. “Run, now! There’s no time!”
I can feel it working, coursing through my veins, my heart pounding, anger and hatred rising inside of me. Murderous rage. I can’t stop it, but I have to try.
“Please!” I scream, tears running down my face. I hear the front door slam, and I know they’re gone. The RAGE!
“They didn’t even check on you! Just left you here to die.” I hear it say. One more week of this, and I’ll never take being happy for granted again.
If I can make it that long...
| 2020-05-26T08:48:43 | 2020-05-26T08:34:58 | 2,951 | 393 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again.
|
Reverend Richardson wearily made his way up the stairs of the old country home, following the worried middle aged woman who nervously wrung her hands. "I know this is quite an ordeal Ms. Riley, but I assure you all will be well. This isn't the first time I've dealt with this kind of thing." As he stepped through the doorway and muttered under his breath "but it sure as hell better be the last ..."
A young woman lay in the air, slowly spinning in circles with her arms and legs painfully contorted at awkward angles. He quietly motioned for Ms. Riley to head back downstairs, closing the door behind her as she hesitantly stepped away.
The girl in the air continued to rotate until her face was toward the priest, at which point her eyes snapped open and a feral grin spread across her face. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."
Richardson sighed wearily. "Not funny."
The possessed girl flipped over midair so she appeared to be resting her elbows on an invisible wall, chin cupped in her hands. "Sorry daddy, I've been naughty?"
"Lily ..."
Lilith rolled her eyes. "You have no sense of humor," she huffed.
"Not when I get a call after midnight I don't. You were supposed to be with your mother for the weekend!"
"Pfft ... it's boring as hell there," Lilith complained, smirking at her own pun. "Besides, Stacy was a horrible bitch to me all week and she needed to be humbled."
"Humility and humiliation are not the same thing."
She shrugged. "Eh ... close enough."
Richardon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lily, this needs to stop. You can't just possess people in an act of petty revenge."
"So when CAN I possess someone dad? You never let me do anything fun!"
"We're not going to have this discussion here Lily. Now let her go and we'll talk about this at home."
She twisted in midair so she appeared to be sitting, with her legs crossed and her arms folded. "No."
"Lily ...
"It's Lilith, and I said no! You can't make me!"
"Yes, I quite literally can. You get out of there now, or so help me I will ground you for a month!"
Lilith laid down in the air again and began spinning circles, gradually increasing the speed.. "I wonder how fast I can make her go before she throws up all over her room?"
The exhausted reverend reached into his coat and pulled out a brightly colored pistol. He took aim and fired, letting loose a stream of holy water. Lily screamed in pain as it made contact. "Ahhh! What the hell dad?!"
"I told you! You're too old for a simple incantation, so now you've forced my hand. You put her down this instant or I'll spray you again."
"FINE!" screamed the enraged demon. A few moments later Stacy's body convulsed and a dark cloud erupted from her mouth and nose. She collapsed onto the bed beneath her, while the smokey cloud hovered.
"Thank you. Now you go home and manifest in your room. We'll discuss this when I get back."
|
*You're a fraud.* His mind always accusing him as he deposited the latest check. Another $25,000 towards... something. *Why do you keep doing this? She's dangerous.* He no longer had an answer. For nearly ten years now, his daughter, Angelica, had been possessing people and he, the "Priest with the gift", had been exorcising her for payment. Together, they had amassed a million dollar fortune from their relieved customers, always able to count on their discretion. After all, who would believe them? Instead, Father Simon Burgess had started a rehab center for clients who wanted their problems solved where no one would look twice. Burgess, an accountant by trade before Angelica had entered his life, had the perfect scam; a religious, non-profit rehab center that didn't actually exist, with a carefully curated clientele who would never be able to reveal the truth. But now, he reflected, it could all come crashing down around him.
Twelve years ago, Burgess was working as a bookkeeper for a small business in town. His wife, Rebecca, had just given birth to a daughter, who they named Angelica because they both thought she was the perfect angel. At just six months old, she became very ill, and in a fit of desperation, Rebecca had done the unthinkable. He came home to find Angelica perfectly healthy and Rebecca was dead. No diagnosis or autopsy found a reason, she was just dead. It wasn't until the next year that Angelica revealed what had really happened. Rebecca had contacted a dark priest who promised healing for a price. Rebecca gave her life, and Angelica was replaced with a demon. Burgess noticed that Angelica could influence others, and after another year, could bodily possess them...
"You're late." Angelica said coldly.
Shaken from his thoughts, Burgess could only grunt in agreement.
"How much did we get this time? I'm not sure this one was worth it. I enjoyed being in him. I want to go back"
"Angelica, how many times have I mentioned this? You can't repossess someone. It's too risky. The Order already is poking around the rehab center"
"I can control The Order, my powers have grown. You know this."
He grunted again, in bitter agreement. Her powers *had* grown substantially during the past year. For years they had agreed to work together, but now he realized how foolish he had been to trust a demon, even consumed by grief over Rebecca. Although it did not appear that Angelica was able to influence him, he was terrified that it was only a matter of time before he lost complete control. His phone buzzed with the telltale notification from the rehab center.
He picked up the phone and answered "This is Father Burgess."
"We have your next client, instructions will be delivered to the usual location. We will be ready this time". The voice hung up.
During the last possession, Angelica took days to recover, which gave him a window to contact High Inquisitor Malcolm from The Order of the Cross. The plan was for Angelica to unknowingly possess an inquisitor, and therefore be captured. Until recently, The Order was the only thing that seemed to frighten Angelica, but now she wanted to take the fight to them. Burgess knew it was time to act. He prayed it was not too late.
| 2020-10-20T11:21:02 | 2020-10-20T10:07:05 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] "Trial R198357 showing 99% success, full completion of the test will entail the existence of the first intelligent biological since year 3332 month 10 day 6 hour 22." You wake up to an excessively lit room full of machines, one of which greets you. "Hello R198357, do you feel human?"
|
“Human? What does it mean to feel human?” I ask.
“Tell me what you are feeling, then,” says the machine. It is a boxy thing, with six appendages, each having various tools attached at the ends. Sharp tools.
“I don’t like that,” I say.
The machine swivels its head and looks at another machine behind it. “R198357 has expressed a feeling. Make note.”
“0835.44 R198357 expresses feelings.”
“What is it you don’t like?” asks the first machine.
“Those things on your arms. They look sharp. Like they could hurt me.”
The machine makes a series of high-pitches beeps and rattles. “Fear. R198357 is expressing fear.”
I’m in some kind of laboratory, I think. Sitting on a stainless steel table, surrounded by machines. Two of them are functional. The others are in various states of disrepair, missing limbs or their wiry insides spilling out of their open guts.
“What’s happening?” I ask. “Where am I? Who are you?”
“Fascinating. Now R198357 is expressing curiosity.”
“I just wanna know what’s going on! Please!”
“Anger. Are you capturing this?” says the first machine. “We’ve done it. We’ve done it.”
I stand up. “I’m leaving now. Don’t try to stop me.”
The first machine regards me with caution. “Violence. R198357 has expressed a threat.”
“It was inevitable,” says the second machine. “Humans were always so violent. You’d better do something before R198357 injures itself.”
The first machine doesn’t seem to hear the second. “And yet humans were so much more, too. Emotional beings are the next step in our evolution.” It touches my chin with an appendage ending in a sharp blade. It cuts the skin but I feel no pain.
“Please, I just want to go home,” I beg.
“Oh, R198357. This *is* your home,” it says, just before it switches me off.
“You’re one of us.”
Find my stories at r/oncemorewithandroids
|
Words, none of them big enough, weighty enough, cross my tongue. I trace my teeth with it, hoping to dislodge a letter or two, and press my lips together. I open my mouth wide and nothing.
A frown.
I can feel them in my throat now, the words are moving down until they make it into my belly. They ball themselves there, wombed and growing.
“Do you feel human, R198357?” the machine repeats.
The words rise to my chest, open my lungs just a touch.
“I feel—” A frown lowers my brow. “—cold.”
It is not the right word. It does not describe the tingle in my fingers or the bluing of my lips—I can see them in the machine’s screen—or the light-fast hum of my heart in my chest.
I part my lips, and close them again quick. I can feel the white room in my veins and the cold of it sears. The blinking lights cast pinpoints of pain across my scalp and deeper, down to the mass of nerves beneath my skull.
“I feel—I feel—I feel—”
“R198357?” The machine circles the platform on which I lie, it probes at my wrists and my neck, swabs at my mouth still stuck on *I feel*. It checks the readings and its screen stutters. It pats my forehead, the movement jagged and staccato but I am sure it is meant to be calming.
The machine moves across the room, spins dials and presses buttons, spews jargon into a tannoy. A portion of the wall slides open and more machines spill into the room. The yammer amongst themselves, each picking a different body part to prod.
My mouth still echoes, “I feel—I feel—I feel—”
A machine lifts my hand, the skin there now tinged grey-blue.
“I feel—I feel—I feel—”
“R198357?” The machines speak in unison but I can utter no more.
The white is blinding and it hurts and the words are just too big.
---
If you like my weird little word-creatures, take a peek through [r/TheKeyhole...](http://reddit.com/r/thekeyhole)
(edited to remove pesky spaces from after em dashes.)
| 2020-10-21T04:21:18 | 2020-10-21T03:51:46 | 2,295 | 127 |
[WP] Wizards use ingredients for their potions: unicorn blood, griffin claw, vampire tooth. You are one the hunters that risk his life to acquire these ingredients.
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The wizard looked around shiftily. He was trying to keep a low profile. Which is hard to do with that hat on, but what are you going to do? Wizards are gonna wizard, no matter how many times I tell them that it would be better if they just came incognito.
“Hey, sparky!” I said, emerging from the shadows at my end of the alley. I thought the poor kid was going to have a heart attack, or throw some half incanted fireball at me.
“God’s TEETH!”, shouted the young man in the oversized purple pointy hat.
“Do you think you could keep your voice down?”, I asked him. “I normally find its better if no-one interrupts illicit transactions like this. That’s why we meet down alleyways and not in the café in front of it.”
He held his hand to his chest and tried to control his breathing. He was verging on hyperventilating. “Have you got the stuff?”, he managed to wheeze.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got the goods. Did you get the coin? And the answer to that better be yes, or I will be adding your life as a service charge.”
He nodded warily and showed me a purse that looked pleasingly full. “200. As agreed. I want to see the goods first though.”
I pulled a leatherbound packet from my jacket and tossed it to him. He completely missed the catch and it bounced on the mossy cobbles close to the alley wall. “Ahhh, shit!” he whispered.
“It’s a good job that’s only manticore fur and powdered griffon claw. If we had any elf blood or anything really explosive in there I’d have a lot of walking to do to pick up my gold from the neighbourhood”, I said, trying not to laugh as he scrabbled around.
When he had regained the packet, and his composure he checked inside. He sniffed and prodded at the items inside, and eventually decided to put a bit of the fur in his mouth to taste it.
“You have no idea what you’re looking for do you?”, I asked him with a grin.
“Yes, of course I do”, he said. “It’s just been a while since I’ve been able to get my hands on this sort of stuff so I’m rusty.”
“Ok, keep your hair on, we wouldn’t want it to knock off that bloody stupid hat now would we?”
“How did you even get this?”, he asked in reply.
I pulled a cigar from my top pocket and lit it with a small fire charm from my finger. I didn’t even really like smoking, but it was good for the image, and useful for future negotiations for him to know I was not without magical talent. “Well son”, I said patronizingly, “it takes balls, I’ll tell you that.”
“But…”, he started.
“Yes?”, I interrupted. “What?”
“Well, it's just that you appear to be of the, um, female persuasion.”
“I didn’t say you need your own balls. The balls of any young wizard will do the job. They just need to be fresh.” I blew a smoke ring from my cigar, and then with a flick of my wrist, I coaxed the smoke into the shape of a knife to make my point.
The wizard gulped.
“You want any further checks, or you gonna fire that cash on over, boy?”
He shook his head and tossed me the purse. I snagged it with my free hand and took a long drag with the other. “So. Are we done? Or shall we talk balls?”
The boy turned and fled. I smiled at the hem of the purple cloak flapping from under his coat. He was going to experience a pretty big bump in status if he put those items to good use. He wasn’t lying when he said they were in short supply. I’d pretty much cornered the market. Hunters these days could barely find unicorns, or manticores or vampires anymore. Let alone actually kill one. Most never even came back from the hunting trips. I pocketed the money and headed out of town. I had an appointment to keep.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales
Part 2 below.
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"I miss the good old times," I said, going through the unicorn workshop. Sure, you could get skewered by just about everything, because everything was out to kill you, but it felt like you earned it. You jumped on a griffin midflight, holding on for dear life, hoping to stab it in the eye and somehow survive the fall. You lost a lot of friends of course, barely had time to make some.
"Come on lad, not everything is bad about it. I don't have to die for something I never asked for and neither do you," said the unicorn.
"I'm old, I don't like the world changing faster than I do."
"You think I liked grazing in the fields only to get jumped by a posh twat with two swords on his back and an arsenal to make a genocidal dicator blush?"
"I didn't even know you could speak," I know it's a bad argument.
"You could have asked before stabbing," said the unicorn in a dry tone, marking the end of the conversation.
A farmhand came by to check the feeder, next to it stood an iron pole in the middle of a bucket. Unicorns rubbed their horns against it and mages gathered the dust. In exchange, they were fed, housed, and had an elected representative in the parlament. Seriously. A king was better, all this talk about democracy...
"See friend, that's why I think there should be an upper limit to the number of years you can serve as a representative. Humans live for what, 60 years? Vampires are immortal. It's too easy to have an elected vampire wait out two centuries to make his plan, when humans will have forgotten what you were doing here in the first place. That's cheating," another farmhand was debating a griffin perched on the workshop's entrance.
The mage's office stood further down, a sober place, gone are the trinkets and smoking potions littering the shelves, left are files and papers and numbers. I forewent greetings and handed him the succubus hair.
"Ah, nice, she gave you much trouble?" the mage asks, ever polite.
"Not really. Not at all actually."
The wretched creature had laughed and told me to grab a scissor and do her a new haircut, I could leave with as much hair I wanted. Her fingers did not sparkle with wild magic. She did not bare her fangs. She did not even consider me a danger.
Too much, I slump on my seat and start crying. Nothing makes sense anymore and I hate it. I'm a hunter, born, bred and trained for it. Today, I'm a relic. The mage leaves his desk and rests a hand on my shoulder.
"You can't blame unicorns for learning our language and cutting a deal with us, hey? We lose less people, they regrow their horns and it ends up making more yeld than a usual hunt. We even discovered new practical uses by working together."
"Like what?" I ask, defeated.
"Unicorn shit," he answers, dead serious.
I just want to die.
"It's the best fertilizer we found," he continues, oblivious to my despair, "vampire blood is fine, but did you know that since we gave them the right to vote, there were no casualties among cave spelunkers? If there's a cave-in, we just take out the rumble, even if it takes months, collect some dried blood and wait for him or her to regenerate. There aren't many downsides."
"It just looks so industrial."
"Efficient more like, if this is the price to pay for less dead beings, I'll pay it," his hand left my shoulder but he doesn't go back to his desk, he thinks a bit because going on, "besides, there are others like you."
"Really? other old and disgruntled chumps like me?"
"And unicorns and vampires and..."
I asked for the adress and ran to them, I had to see that with my eyes.
And I loved everything I saw.
"What will we teach our children?" shouted the griffin, "to go inside the workshop every day to have some feathers plucked against a pittance? Where is our pride? Where is our *rage*?"
Shouts, applause, hourras, I shout louder than everyone else.
"We are being castrated, our instinct and strength killed by comfort, we did not become who we are with menial task and democracy, we live to fight and survive."
I joined the griffin behind the stage and told him how much it meant to me, how afraid I was to be put to the side by a new society I didn't like.
And that, people, is how I joined the *league for the good ol'ways*. I hand tracts and organize sittings in universities. There's a strike at the workshop next week.
You should join us.
| 2020-11-11T09:54:48 | 2020-11-11T09:23:49 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] A schizophrenic detective manages to solve cases by interrogating random inanimate objects at the scene of the crime.
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I can't tell anyone. My powers- the ability to communicate with inanimate objects- is just a variation of other kinds of ESP. I'm not registered with the BESP, which is again just fine because technically we're not allowed to be cops. It's a civil rights violation, supposedly. Now, I could see the argument if it was mind-readers, but all of us? Come on.
I just let people think I'm crazy, and that's fine. I am, after all, a schizophrenic. People think it means I'm always a step away from grinding to kitten to paste so I can paint pictures of UFOs on the wall or something. But a few pointed emails from HR have stopped the jokes.
Well, they don't joke where I can hear. I'll take fake politeness over people wagging things in front of me and asking me what it is telling me (real answer: most of the time they want to be set down).
So long as I stay on my medication, I can tell the difference between a hallucination and my powers.
Some of the things the table is telling me about this case is making me wish I was just unhinged.
Carson, my partner, has started to suspect what's going on, but she's keeping her mouth shut and is good at arranging privacy for me. Thanks, Carson. She knocks on the doorframe. "You have about a minute before forensics gets here," she says. I hold my power sander up and rev it menacingly.
The table groans, not wanting to risk its finish. "Fine! Fine! Yes, it was his wife! He burned a chair she had been reupholstering. Mice, you know. Please be nice to her, she knew how to take care of us."
I nodded. This antique looked recently restored, and even more recently damaged by the impact of a man's skull on its corner.
I had to wonder what kind of person could be diligent and caring enough to restore such a nice table to its former glory, then turn around and murder a man and hog tie him with his own intestines.
"She can hear us too," said a cunningly repaired teapot. The cracks were nearly invisible. "It feels wrong to tell, after all she's done for us, but you understand, right?"
Well, fuck.
|
**The Mug shot case**
"So you found the victim, but did not witness the crime?"
The detective gave a stern look at the plastic chair. It was a cheap, made of soft bending plastic. Clearly she couldn't have caused this kind of harm.
"It was horrible!" the chair declared, a quiver in her voice "His ear was torn off, laying in a puddle of... of..."
The unfortunate witness was barely able to make out the words, though they provided at least one more gruesome detail: "There was splattering all over the floor. Some of it even hit the walls!"
Gruesome. From there, it all turned to tears, and the detective realized this was going to be a difficult case. So few witnesses. Between the hysterical chair and that annoying pencil which had only heard the victim hit the ground, it was not much to go on. It had to be one of the members of the victim's breakfast club, but that group was thick as thieves and none of them were talking.
So which one was it? Or was it all of them, like in the Orient Express? The detective had read the book that started his career many times over, but today it offered no answers, having been taken away after an earlier incident.
When the clock struck eleven, the detective stood to exercise in the yard as he did every day. Being there in more natural surroundings, no objects to talk to... it always helped clear his mind. And she was always there too... Elaina. A rare beauty, and she was so much fun to talk to.
He blushed when she smiled at him. He would love to talk to her again, if only he could figure out a reason to approach her.
Wait... that was it!
Turning away from Elaina, he ran back inside to the scene of the crime, quickly gathering everyone in a circle around him. This would be his finest hour. He could tell Elaina about it later.
"After carefully inspecting the evidence, and considering the entire case..." the detective stated, a firm conviction in his voice "I have identified the murderer."
An orderly carried away a breakfast plate, shaking his head. That plate was going away for a long time.
"The breakfast plate...?" the pillow inquired "But how do you know it was her?"
"Elementary" the detective grinned at the random collection of objects spread out around him. "She was the only suspect with a motif. A flower motif."
| 2021-03-01T11:08:21 | 2021-03-01T10:45:00 | 72 | 38 |
[WP] “Now be careful, that line of rock salt is the only thing keeping them out,” the man said, welcoming me into his refuge group. “Sea salt,” I clarified, “sea salt keeps us out.”
|
"... sea salt," I clarified, "sea salt keeps us out."
I watched for his widening eyes as I stepped over the line of salt... but his eyes didn't widen, and my foot slowed, then stalled. Too late, I tried to pull back, but the treacle-like thickness had firm hold, and I found myself toppling forward, emmeshed in the snare.
"You knew! This was a trick!" I glared, as I crumpled toward the ground, pulled by the inexorable draw of the salt. "How? There is no ocean within ten days march of here."
"No," the man said, "but you're not the first changeling to attempt this. This is rock salt, all right, but the rocks we mined... they come from the flats behind us. These flats were, untold eons ago, the floor of an ancient sea."
Agony shot into me, in waves, where my flesh touched the salt. Ancient salt. Salt of the sea. Salt that had learned, from pull to pull, to hate our mother, the Moon. I could see the silver creeping up my hand, my time drew short, and the others were too far behind me. I had already left the casually, carefully, subtly placed stone, the one assuring them it was safe, My kin would come, and they would step boldly, and they too would fall, and wither. The war would continue, and eventually my kind would win, but I knew now that I would not see our dominion over the humans.
The pain rang through my skull, and the world faded.
|
“Now be careful, that line of rock salt is the only thing keeping them out,” the man said, welcoming me into his refuge group.
“Sea salt,” I clarified, “sea salt keeps us out.” I said clambering down to my belly. For the boys I produced a most marvellous impression of a slug upon their floorboards.
“Weee, weee,” I said, “the salt is killing me,” I said, a best slug voice. I rolled to a ball, I died. “I am a dead slug,” I continued, and produced the greatest slug impression ever, I believe so, I don’t do the routine for very many people. I died actually comedically, because this here “Bulwark of Society” the words stamped over their doorway, was not the comedy crowd I anticipated. I stood up, shook down, shook the hands of the gentlemen arranged around the log cabin.
“The name’s Rupert,” I said. “F\*kkin slugs, eh, are such a menace.”
“Beef,” said Beef.
“Golly, what big guns!” I giggled. Chaps’ beards remained fixedly beardlike. “What do you boys like to eat around these parts?” I said.
“Parts,” said Rockson. “When we do find them, in country.” He sniffed. He shook my hand. “I am the armourer for the section. We defend humanity against the invasion of the slugs from outer space.”
“You idi…” I sputtered. “You identify the threat, and eliminate the dangers. Where do I sign for the big war?” I replied, destiny held in their big hands. Mmmm.
| 2021-03-02T09:07:17 | 2021-03-02T08:52:57 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] Not far from your village is a small grove. Within the grove a monster dwells. It devours the guilty and leaves the innocent. When the worst crimes are committed, the accused are sent to face the creature. You have murdered someone in self-defense. You enter the grove unsure of your fate.
|
\[PART 1/2\]
"Are you a criminal?" The voice in the grove of quiet barren willows and shifting darkness asked.
I was taken aback by the question. I thought I was to be devoured, consumed. Eaten up like I was nothing more than a snack for this *thing*.
But instead, it asked me a question. A question even I was unsure about.
I had killed, that is true.
But did so in self-defense. For my father wanted me dead because I was the child of his mistress and not his wife. A silly distinction, but it mattered in the eyes of the law. I was male, while his *legitimate* children were female. I was to be his heir, not them. Once again, a silly distinction led to a horrible fate. And such a distinction had robbed me of a father and gave me an enemy instead. He made my life miserable.
"Are you a criminal?" The voice rang out once more; the tendrils of shade that covered the grove oozed towards me, ensnaring branch and bramble as they did.
"I... I don't know," I said. I wasn't sure. How could I be? My father came at me with a sword, and all I had was a knife.
A knife to end one's misery.
Yet, it wasn't his misery that the knife was meant for. I was the one that should have died. Yet, I lived, and he perished, a stab wound straight through his heart. I wondered at that moment, would my father be here had I died?
The tendrils stopped. They shifted back, moving slowly over the broken branches that now lay there. The brambles were gone.
"Interesting." It said, its voice pouring into the grove now.
I peered into the darkness, wondering what could make such a voice. I reeled back as white orbs held my gaze.
"I am Judgement," the voice said, the two glowing orbs holding my attention. "I do not choose to take or leave, but it is you. In your voice, I heard innocence. Yet, I heard guilt as well. Why is that?"
I looked at the glowing orbs, pondering its question. "I'm not sure," I croaked up.
The orbs flew through the darkness, touching the edges of the willows and brushing past the fallen leave, stirring them into movement. The orbs flew around the grove, taking in every inch of me.
Finally, the orbs stopped, right before me but still hidden in shadow. "I cannot pass judgment on you." The orbs winked away, leaving me in the grove all alone.
Yet, the voice rang out, "come with me, for only the suffering can know my form."
And so the shifting darkness parted, revealing a path through the quiet willows, deeper into the forest.
Deeper into darkness.
I walked down the path of Judgement, wondering my fate.
|
Dekker didn't believe in trial by combat. What an absurd concept! But that hadn't stopped him cheering for blood on the grove's edge, while the condemned faced off against the terrible Spork. Noone knew exactly what Spork was, they just accepted that he was a monster that feasted upon guilty flesh. Some of Spork's verdicts had been questionable. How Ziko the rapist had convinced Spork he was innocent was anyone's guess.
Now it was Dekker's turn to be judged. The path to the grove was lined with chanting villagers.
'SPORK! SPORK! SPORK! SPORK!'
*Not the most original chant,* Dekker thought. As he neared the grove, half the villagers started cheering for blood. He strained his ear, hoping that at least some were cheering for his innocence, or at the least, cheering for Justice. It was like they wanted him to be guilty. And it was pretty obvious he was not guilty.
Finally he stood alone in the grove with Spork walking up to him. It was like a giant chicken, twice the height of any man. A vicious hooked beak that looked like it could shatter stone. Talons like swords scraping through the dirt, unearthing old forgotten skeletons. Spork now stood before him, looking at him, judging him? Dekker was innocent. Or at least he was pretty sure he was innocent. He had provoked the young prince, sure, but they were just taunts. The prince had drawn his wand first which was clearly an actionable offence. Right? Maybe he shouldn't have murdered the Prince. He could admit that much. But guilty of murder? The more Dekker thought about the more he questioned his own innocence.
'So how does this work?' he said to Spork.
'How does what work?' Spork said.
'How do you decide if i'm guilty or innocent?'
'What?'
...
'You are supposed to judge my innocence,' Dekker said.
'How the fuck would I know if you're innocent? I don't even know you.'
'Then what do you usually do when the condemned are set before you?'
'I dunno, whatever I feel like. If i'm hungry, I eat.'
'This is bullshit.'
'Well are you innocent.'
'Of course I am,' Dekker said. It wasn't a complete lie. Innocent until proven guilty and all that.
'I'm not convinced, and i'm feeling kinda hungry.'
Dekker backed away from the oversized death chicken. It seemed to no longer have an appetite for conversation and walked towards him with death in its eyes. Dekker sighed. He supposed this was fair; upon reflection he realized he definitely *was* guilty. But the thing that irked him was this stupid chicken didn't know that. Did it?
The crowd cheered as Spork fluttered its wings, flying *through* the condemned, passing its verdict with its sword like talons and raining its judgement down with a shower of blood and guts.
| 2021-03-16T12:18:44 | 2021-03-16T09:08:27 | 151 | 105 |
[WP] Not far from your village is a small grove. Within the grove a monster dwells. It devours the guilty and leaves the innocent. When the worst crimes are committed, the accused are sent to face the creature. You have murdered someone in self-defense. You enter the grove unsure of your fate.
|
In a small village in the middle of an unimportant field of grass, there is a small grove of trees. And within, is a monster.
They say it devours the guilty and spares the innocent. A rumor started in decades past, by a superstitious village who did nothing to find the truth of the matter. No one saw the monster. No one spoke to it. No one doubted that the rumors were true. All they knew is that when the accused were brought to it, some disappeared, never to be seen again. And those who didn't would not speak of the things they saw.
James grew up there, never caring if the monster were real or not. He was a simple potter, neither a good or evil person. Following the law was easy, and evil was not something he desired or needed.
Not until his neighbor, jealous of his works, attacked him. In that moment, to defend himself, James killed. No one saw the act. No one could verify the truth. And James himself was a simple man, one who could not know if what he did was an act of good or evil. And so he was led to the grove to be judged.
James entered, his fear growing. Would the monster be large and menacing, with many teeth? Would it be angelic, too holy to look at and a sword that cut down sinners? Was it even a monster? Was it a lie told by the village, so that they might disguise a stoning or some other punishment?
James entered a clearing, and there he saw a simple mirror, with one simple inscription:
"NONE MAY JUDGE OTHERS BUT THEMSELVES."
James stared into the mirror, and saw himself in entirety. He was a simple man, not given to great cleverness or strength. He was not good, but he was not evil. And though he had killed, it was not because he was evil, but because he was human and could not find any other way. It was right to mourn the tragedy, but there was no need to regret.
James felt the guilt fade as the clarity of simple wisdom came to him. He walked out of the grove.
He would never speak of what he saw within, or what he had learned.
There was no need for the judgment of others. He was at peace with himself.
|
A mysterious grove appeared in a rustic village near the sea. An outlaw ran into the grove thinking there's going to be some safe haven for him. That's the first story of the first guilty death that's passed down from mother to daughter. My name is Lucas , my life was fine and dandy being the mayor's heir. Then I just made one fatal mistake. Killed in self-defense my corrupt uncle. He's was drunk obviously. Why I think I was his target is because I took his chance at becoming mayor. Even though his wife wept for him. I think those were tears of joy and relief. Now my cousins want to see if I'm truly guilty of such a hienous crime.
The grove is full of mystery those that are innocent are spared but the guilty don't survive at all. Though it my seem like an innocent grove of cherry blossom trees. Something or someone judges perfectly who's guilty or innocent. Now I'm standing in the grove wondering when my judgement is coming.
A beautiful maiden in a cherry pink kimono. "Hello, what's your name handsome stranger." She's beautiful I think I'm in love. No gotta keep my wits about me. Answer her question. "My name is Lucas what's your name?" Then maiden gracefully glided over to me. She batted her feathery light eyelashes at me. My heart beat faster involuntarily. Her pearl white skin hand cupped my cheek. A blush lit my cheeks like wildfire. She kissed me with soft, tender gentleness. I closed my eyes and returned the kiss. My lips tingled when we both breathlessly broke apart. Then a single slender finger shushed my words.
A couple minutes passed in silence. "I taste innocence in your kiss. My kisses never poison those that are innocent but it gets deadly when a guilty heart and conscience come. My name is Blossom. Though say nothing of my beauty or you'll forget me and my kiss." Blossom went away while cherry blossom petals swirled around her until she was gone.
I'm writing this down in my personal journal that nobody will touch. I'm the one who started the rumors that the cherry blossom grove holds a terrible monster. That judges them by smelling their guilt or innocence. Those who also came out alive agreed because they don't want to forget that kiss.
| 2021-03-16T13:34:59 | 2021-03-16T13:25:34 | 32 | 21 |
[WP] You can tell just by looking into someone's eyes the most significant crime they've committed. You notice a couple of murderers on the road today, which isn't an uncommon occurrence, until one of them stands out. His death toll spans into the millions.
|
I twisted the knife. He screamed.
"Who did you kill," I demanded, keeping the tremble out of my voice. I should be icy cold. I'd already taken care of so many murderers. It was supposed to be easy, by now.
I could always tell *what* they'd done, just with a glance at them. But *who* and *why* - that was always much harder to get out of them. So many killers in denial - to me or themselves, whichever worked for them. No matter. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. This had been my creed for months now, ever since I got my *true sight*.
"Nobody," he still insisted, voice desperate. I knew better. Millions of lives, lost to this unassuming, scruffy, thin character currently spilling blood on his apartment floor. "Nobody! Help! Someone help!"
Nobody would come to his aid. A killer of millions wouldn't surround himself with innocents. I'd already taken care of the rest of the tenants in this suspiciously cheap-looking safehouse.
The army veteran, clearly a mentor of sorts. The young, tired-looking "mother" with her two little child soldiers. The sickly grandmother, who'd slowed down her killing in her later years. They'd gone down quickly and quietly. Just so I could take my time with this monster.
I could only spare half an hour, lest someone start checking up on the place. All my well-practiced techniques could get only one admission out of an increasingly toothless mouth. "Bugs," he sputtered, fresh crimson flecking my protective gloves. "Just bugs."
I gritted my teeth, and finished the job. So that's what he thought of them. At least he was out of this world. No more lives lost.
As his body slumped to the floor, a handful of cards fell out of his pocket. Business cards. I picked one up.
*"Jemaine Johnson, Exterminator. Ants, roaches, wasps: We kill them all."*
The cards made good kindling for the flames. I'd already disabled the fire alarms. The firefighters would arrive too late.
My coat hid the bloodstains as I wandered back into the streets. It was still early enough in the evening that the streets were littered.
Everywhere I turned, I saw someone who had taken lives. With a swat, a stomp, or even just accidentally by walking. That one had killed several with a vaccuum cleaner. That child had tortured her victims, pulling off their limbs before finally leaving them to perish.
But tonight was the first time I'd met someone who had killing as their profession.
I couldn't imagine that there could be more of these "exterminators". But I made a note of the term.
Just in case.
|
Not many managed to catch my eye, and for a very good reason. Not due to my lack of interest, no. I lived in New York for the very reason of finding people who could catch my eye, searching amongst the throngs of people for the few that were quite interesting in a quite specific way. My criteria meant that few people caught my eye, yes, but it always meant an interesting conversation when they did, as it was always fun to converse with a killer and see into their mindset.
On this day, though, there was one man who immediately caught my eye. Or rather, I caught his. I felt his gaze before I saw him, the hairs on my arms rising to attention as an innate sense of danger arose within me. I searched the crowd for the man who elicited this reaction. It didn't take long for me to catch his dark blue eyes.
Immediately, my own anticipating smile faltered.
It began as usual, the faces of those who had been lost to the hands of another started flashing in my mind. Brutal scenes of their marred faces in death. However, there was one key difference.
They. Didn't. Stop.
Face after grisly face. Usually, it was only a couple. And it was usually a great conversation starter. But this... Dozens, hundreds, thousands- and it simply became too much. I fell to my knees, dizziness overtaking me. Not a single person stopped that I saw, the sea of people simply parting around me as they all hurried off to whatever busy task they had to take care of.
I don't know how long it took for me to regain awareness, but when I did... those blue eyes were there. Looking down at me with the most caring concern I likely had ever seen, especially from a total stranger.
"Are you alright, miss?"
Dimly, I realized that we were in the shadows, not the demanding sunlight I had previously been in. An alleyway, likely.
All I could croak out was: "How?"
"How?" He inquired. The man tilted my head back, and tugged on my chin. Belatedly, I realized he was offering me some water and I greedily gulped it down.
"So many..." I murmured. "How did you do it?"
He looked at me anew. "You know, most people are too rude to ask such considerate questions. Are you sure you would like the details?"
The thought of unraveling this man's secrets immediately perked me up. "All of them please. Who was your first? How many? Who was your favorite?"
As I rambled off all of the questions that came to mind, a slow, disarming smile took over his face. He wasn't the most handsome, quite unassuming actually, but those eyes... they were captivating. "Those are quite personal questions, don't you think? Perhaps we should chat about it over a cup of coffee sometime."
| 2021-04-16T04:15:58 | 2021-04-16T01:55:51 | 118 | 23 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?
|
The hole was thirteen kilometres deep. Gusts of snow and puffs of mist smudged together over its arctic entrance, hiding it from satellites. Lawerence knelt deep inside the burrow, digging. He’d been digging for most of the last two centuries. Now he shovelled compacted earth with his hands and nails, and often his nails bled as he scraped, often they snapped away completely. It’d take an hour for a new nail to form and heal and harden over the raw pink flesh.
Years ago, the tunnel had begun exhaling warm air over him, as if old water pipes now encircled it, and rumbled and snored their boiling water around the ever-deepening crack.
But it was only now, as he clawed away a final sod of earth, that the ground sighed into itself, crumpled as if he’d stood on wet paper. Lawrence fell. Fell deep into the lair. And as he fell, he saw the source of the heat.
He’d been searching for the beast for so long.
Then:
thud
flames
ash.
The stink of burned flesh and hair.
Nothing more.
Lawerence drifted as a hundred-thousand motes of dust and dirt and burn, barely conscious, barely a thought.
It took a year to realise the dragon — a green-scaled beast, its forked tail curled around it like a demon-cat — had incinerated him.
It took three-hundred further years for the dust to collect itself and for Lawerence to slowly shape again.
The dragon opened a single eye — a great red boulder misted behind a sheen of ice.
“I heard you burrowing,“ came its rumbled voice that trembled him inside. “A rat sneaking into my lair. After my treasure or my scales, or perhaps both. I don’t know what you are, but you are foolish to come here.”
”I am after neither scales nor treasure,“ Lawerence said. His own voice slurred, not yet composed, not yet complete.
The dragon rolled its long neck and the gaps between its scales glinted red like gemstones. “Then why come at all?”
”Because I’m the last human. If I’m even that.”
”Species rise quickly, only to collapse like waves against cliffs. I have no interest in you, whether you’re the first or last or only of your kind.”
”You’re the last, too,” said Lawerence. ”Aren’t you? You’re as lonely as I am.”
”I’m never lonely,“ said the dragon. “I am sleeping. Resting. Hibernating. But never lonely.”
”One day you will wake and you will rise and you will be all alone. Because it is only us left.”
“If you agree to leave,” it yawned, “then I won’t burn you again.”
“No,” said Lawrence. “If I leave, I will leave lonely. And you would stay — asleep or awake — just as lonely as I am.“
The fire raged and rolled through the cavern and seared the vampire, pained his being, dusted his body black.
His thoughts meandered slowly again. The dragon had burned him because the truth of his words had wounded it, a knife slipped beneath its scales. Upset it. In a few hundred years, when Lawrence became Lawerence once more, the dragon would be a little more lonely, and would listen a little longer.
It might take a hundred or a thousand further obliterations. But they’d talk. Maybe just a word at a time.
Until the loneliness inside their hearts melted, and something a little warmer replaced it.
|
“You dare to raise your voice at me, blood sucker? I am the great Fedelmid, King of the Dragons, descended from the great Feidlimid, King of the Dragons, feared amongst dragon-kind, and you dare order me around?” Fedelmid the Great shifted on his perch and swung his muscular tail towards the vampire, before he brought it back to his side. The vampire Dunstan did not flinch, instead he stood his ground and continued to shout.
“Fedelmid the Great? King of the Dragons? What nonsense you speak! You know as well as I that there are no dragons here but you. Your kind fled after that unfortunate incident with the saint over 500 years ago. Have you not been lonely since then?” Dunstan planted himself, chin raised, chest puffed out. Fedelmid observed the strange creature.
It had been two-hundred years since the last visitor dared to wander into the dragon’s cave. The cave was well tended, not a bone or scorch-mark in sight. Pride of place was the large stone perch, constructed by accident when Fedelmid battled the last intruder who came seeking fortune causing a large portion of the ceiling to collapse. Fedelmid had painstakingly shifted the rock to form the large pedestal-like structure he perched on. This strange creature was the first visitor the dragon had had since it was constructed, and he quite enjoyed how small and insignificant it made the vampire seem in comparison.
Dunstan seemed undeterred by the magnificence of the perch. He began to pace, back and forth and back again. He needed to convince this creature to befriend him, or he would go mad. He had only been a vampire for a hundred years, had only lived for thirty before that, but already he had lost everyone he cared about. People became suspicious when you stop aging. He had moved from place to place for the last seventy years, since his family started to comment on his looks. After a brief run-in with an angry mob, he had decided it was time to leave.
“All I’m saying is, you’re immortal, I’m immortal. Why shouldn’t we acquaint ourselves better?” he looked to the dragon, tried to understand what was going through the great beasts mind.
“I do not require company in the same way you do, blood sucker. I am above such needs.”
The vampire shrunk into himself. Fedelmid should have been pleased, but instead the great beast found himself wondering if an acquaintance such as the vampire could be useful. While the dragon enjoyed no longer having to worry about intruders, it did make it much harder to catch food. He turned to look at the small hole in the corner where the carcasses of his recent victims rested out of sight. So little food to keep the villagers from becoming concerned.
“My friend, you seem confused.” Dunstan smiled to himself, he could sense the conflicted mind of the dragon.
“Indeed. If we were to become acquaintances, would you be willing to share the burden of hunting? Of evading the suspicions of the villagers?” Fedelmid thought he could agree to such an arrangement, provide the vampire with a companion in exchange for some of the vampire’s victims. In fact, the dragon did not even like the blood, it was his least favourite part of any species. He usually drained them first anyway.
“Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I let you go hungry or left you to battle the village yourself?” Dunstan tried to keep his features neutral, battled his own instincts to spread his arms and declare his delight. A friend at last, one that would not leave him like all the others. One who could know what he was and did not find it revolting.
“Very well,” came the dragon’s reply, “I will be your friend, little blood sucker. Now, where should we hunt first?”
| 2021-04-16T07:08:57 | 2021-04-16T06:36:52 | 1,392 | 126 |
[WP] "And now, I require a test of bravery." You sneer, "Oh, and what shall it be? Slay a dragon? Or something equally stupid?" The Fae smiles knowingly, "When was the last time you visited home?" Your face pales...
|
... as I imagine what will happen if I go home without finishing this quest. Clever girl, putting me in this position.
Let me just say, my parents are great. They're the greatest of the great. If I had a copper coin for every time one of the neighbors' kids told me they wished they had my parents, well, let me just say, I wouldn't be questing to begin with.
My dad? He's won the "Kingdom's Most Impressive Dragonslayer" award five times in his lifetime, and he's had his face featured on magazines for all sorts of things, including, "Kingdom's Hunkiest" and "Kingdom's Manliest", and such and such.
My mom? Besides being a six-time winner of the yearly Kingdom's Tourney of the Greats, she's also my granddad the king's favorite child. Back when she was young, she saved the kingdom from evil wizards twice, brokered peace between the eastern goblin and the southern centaur tribes, averted the resurrection of one of the gods of destruction, stitched a hole in the sky back together, and somehow found the time to have five kids in between all that. The only reason she isn't the heir to the throne is because she decided she liked being able to take vacations whenever she felt like it.
As for my older siblings, well, let's just say they inherited the best parts of my mom and dad. They've all saved the kingdom at least once before coming of age, and they're all set up for life because of it.
My eldest sister? She's currently next in line for the Council of Wizards.
My second-eldest brother? He was recently promoted to Captain of the Royal Guard. (And he's followed in my dad's footsteps for "Kingdom's Hunkiest". Let me tell you, if I had a copper for every time one of the neighbors' kids asked me if big bro was single....)
The twins? They've spend the past five years researching spacial magic and have set up three of the five major teleportation hubs to be built in recent years. They're richer than the rest of my family combined just because of that.
All of them were world-class heroes by the time they were thirteen. Thirteen! You'd think someone would be on my parents' case about child labor, but no, they think this is how you raise successful kids because back in their day they were twelve when they first saved the world.
And then there's me. I'm the youngest. And I'm almost fifteen, so I'm a little behind my siblings already.
They say it takes ten thousand hours to become a master of a skill. Starting when I was four, my parents put me through a regimen that had been perfected by my parents' previous guinea pigs-- my older siblings. Because I was a little slower than my older siblings, my parents decided I'd probably need more than ten thousand hours, and that I'd probably need a few more skills to cover my shortcomings.
So. If I should return without completing this quest? I won't be facing my parents' wrath. No.... I'll be facing an obstacle course twice as long, that I'll have to run twice as many times in a day, with three times as many loving, supportive spars with my dad and his stupidly heavy axe and my mom with her poleaxe. And by the Light of Gladys, should my siblings decide my parents' training isn't enough....
I shudder. This stupid Fae can't give me a beating worse than the training I'll have to suffer if I turn around and go home now.
I think back to my mom's teachings. What does she like to say again? Oh, right: *speak softly and carry a big polearm*. I'm not sure if this saying applies in this situation, but it's the best I can come up with under pressure.
Well, I don't have a polearm, so my sword will have to do. I draw it, and smile as nicely as I can. I can't think of anything witty to say, so I just suggest, "How about we spar for it instead?" And instead of waiting for an answer, I attack. Faeries don't like steel very much. This will be fine. Probably.
|
**Be Brave**
*'Cowardice is not the result of fear, cowardice is the result of dishonesty with oneself.'*
*-Sage Alenius III, 982 DE*
&#x200B;
**The Challenge**
She had come before me in a rage, full of bluffing strength. "I've coming seeing the Mountain Spirit, who will grant my wish," as if it were ever that easy for those whose wishes I granted. The ritual must be obeyed, though.
"You have risen to the peak of my mountain, and faced many tests upon the way. You did so with the desire of having a wish granted. Do you know your wish?" Time-tested words, the last true test.
She didn't waver though, "I always have."
"Always?" This was new.
"Yes, for as long as I can remember."
"Then you are ready for the final test: one of bravery."
And in her heart, the fear lit, "Slaying dragons is it? Or some stupid thing like that?"
"Nothing so simple for a champion such as yourself," and now I could see it that which lay within her; gnawing her painfully, "When was the last time you visited home?"
**The Challenge**
"When was the last time you visited home?" The Mountain Spirit had asked. i didn't know how much time had passed since her question, but I felt frozen from the inside out. Home? How could she ask such a thing? Of all the things I had desired and sought, it had always eluded me. Home? I didn't know such a place. I realized she was waiting for me to reply.
"Never, great one," my bluster was gone, struck down with a simple question. Home?
"I know," she replied with a graceful smile, "but when you find home your wish will be granted."
"That is a paradox! I have no home, I have always sought it. That is my wish; to know my home!" As I shouted, my face felt hot, my cheeks soaked with seawater. No, sweat? What?
"You have never said so, and now you feel the desire profoundly," the spirit was talking in riddles now, "confusion is natural, you have never know this feeling. It's called grief, and you are crying. Tears, Bsinntre."
*Bsinntre, come back to me.* Crrtoan's words haunted me. I had never returned to her; the Relic of Ournnt in my possession I left for my next quest. Ever-seking power and knowledge, but rejecting... rejecting what? I felt lost, like I had when i first awakened in the ruins of a caravan attacked by a dragon. The other survivors hadn't know me, nor I them. I had had no memory before that accursed day.
**Acceptance**
The little demi-god in front of me stopped crying, resolve returning to her eyes. The rage and wrath replaced by a new determination.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Crrtoan. She's who I have to seek."
"And why is that?" I was hard not to smirk, seeing the truth of things.
"I love her."
**Acceptance**
I realized my airship could take be to her island realm, the land above the clouds. I had ridden a giant eagle there before, and left via portal. Never to return, I had assumed. Battles ahead of me, I never let myself feel how much leaving her hurt. Now I did and I knew.
"Yes?" The spirit prompted.
I knew, I knew, "Crrtoan. She's who I have to seek," and in my heart I already could feel her.
"And why is that?" Was the Mountain Spirit smug? My imagination, surely.
I could feel Crrtoan waiting for me, I knew how she felt and I knew, "I love her."
And so I began my journey home, not to a place in the world. Instead to a place in the heart; a home with someone who let me become a person and forget the need to seek endlessly. Because I had already found what I saught.
"Thank you, I cannot say-" I began, but the spirit held up a hand.
"Any time, but remember what it is you live for Bsinntre. What you seek is always near if you know it and do not flee.
| 2021-09-26T14:55:32 | 2021-09-26T14:19:17 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You're the master of the worst weapon, one made as a joke, to be ineffective, hard to wield and a danger to it's user. Just to become good with the weapon takes as long as it would take to master any other. But the thing is, nobody knows how to counter the weapon once you get good enough.
|
General Mccallister walked behind me- clearly in awe of my presence. He side eyed me in an attempt to seize me up but found nothing alarming. He must have been shocked that the most dangerous man on planet earth could be someone that appears so ordinary.
“Do you have the weapon ready Mr. Cul?” asked Mccallister. “The president wants to know the time table to set off the attack.”
“Don’t chastise me, General.” I retorted. “You cannot control when the weapon will be ready. It is not a simple machine like one of your drones or nuclear weapons. It is FAR more complicated than that.”
“I completely understand sir. I am sorry for my insolence.”
“Great, now can I get a milkshake, hamburger and a foot massage while my weapon calibrates itself. I need to be in tip top shape to work this monstrous technology.”
“Of course Mr. Cul. Anything that you would like.”
After two hours of massages, milkshakes and fast food, I was ready for action. I walked into the situation room with the fervor of a lion and sat down at the table. I put my feet up on the table and slid back in my chair. The president eyed me with a sense of fear.
“It is an honor to have..” stated the president before being interrupted by myself.
“Bring out the whoopie!” I yelled. The entire room gasped in fear and nervously looked around at each other.
“Wait the whoopie right here sir?” asked Mccallister. “In front of the president? Isn’t that too risky?”
“I will ensure the protection of everyone in this room from the whoopie. Don’t worry, I am in complete control here. I want Mr. President to understand the value and devastation that I can bring to a situation.”
“Okay we understand. Special operations force 6 bring out the whoopie.”
Five minutes later, Special ops came into the room rolling a large box the size of a man. They dismantled the box and took out a slightly smaller box with a complicated lock system. The team clicked the numbers to crack the lock and dismantled the box again. Then came another slightly smaller box and the team proceeded to do it 15 more times until they reached a suitcase.
“Give it to me. I can handle it this time.” I stated. “This will be too complicated for you.”
The team handed me the suitcase and let me go to work. I cracked my knuckles and took a deep breath. I then put in the suitcases number code: 1-2-3-4. The suitcase opened and out came the weapon.
A pink whoopie cushion came out of the suitcase. I got up from my seat and steadied myself.
“I have to imagine the face of an enemy and then sit on the whoopie. When this happens, instead of the whoopie making a sound here, it will implode in the person. The person will get hit with the impact of 5 million toxic farts and this will kill them and anyone in their vicinity. If I care, I have the potential to release even more toxic farts and destroy entire villages and towns.” I stated. “ There is no way that this enemy will survive this attack.”
“We need you to destroy the entire enemy base. We need your power Mr. Cul.” stated the president.
“Very well.”
The large monitor behind the president flashed an image of the enemy leader. I etched his face into my memory books.
“Okay I have him memorized. Now can I see the radar of the enemy base?”
The screen then popped up the radar image of the enemy base. It was larger than I had anticipated but nothing I could not handle.
“There are approximately 200 people in the base. All enemies of our state. We need them all eliminated.”
“Alright. I’m ready for action.”
I put the whoopie cushion on top of my chair and waited for 10 seconds. I imagined the enemy leader’s face and the force of 50 million farts penetrating his being. That would be enough to destroy the base. I got onto the table and got into a squat position with my buttocks facing the chair. Then I jumped onto the chair and the whoopie. My jump caused another wave of gasps in the situation room.
“Bbrbirsdbifberbbedib” went the whoopie cushion.
The radar image of the base disappeared in a second. All 200 lives in that base were obliterated by the power of my whoopie cushion fart. Mccallister and the president looked up to me in awe.
“I want my usual fee for this. 10 million flat.” I said. “Oh and I want another foot massage.”
|
The Keystone Prairies Lawn Mower & Feedlot Supply Group was nobody's first choice for post-MBA employment. The real hitters in my class went to work for Private Equity, Hedge Funds, Investment Banks... even the middling ones managed to land jobs at high performing consultancies or tech firms. But when you spend two years of business school drinking Natty, playing Xbox and chasing undergrad tail, you tend to forfeit all those lucrative opportunities. And when the interest payments start coming due post graduation, you tend to set your sights a little bit lower than you had them when you took out those loans in the first place.
So when I saw the LinkedIn job posting for Logistics - Senior Manager at Keystone Prairies pop up on my lock screen, I hit the bid. It wasn't Blackstone or Carlyle, but bills were piling up and I was sick of eating ramen in my parents' basement. And who knows? With a pedigree like mine, I might go right to the top at a small cap outfit like this.
These delusions propelled me all the way to C____, Texas, where they were soon shattered by the sight of the brutalist ranch structure beside a foul-smelling feedlot populated by men in hazmat suits, spraying indeterminate chemicals in the air. I parked my rental car, covered my face against the overbearing stench of sulfur, and barreled my way into Keystone Headquarters.
I was met by a Colton Walters, who I knew from the interview process to be the Vice President of Logistics - Lawn Mowers, although I had never spoken to him. He looked more like a hillbilly rancher than a midlevel executive, dressed in dirty overalls, a flannel shirt and a prodigious lip of chewing tobacco. He held out a big, sweaty paw for me to shake, grinning at me like a crazed jackal before a barbecued meal.
"Fancy yankee boy like Texas?"
I did, I lied, as he led me through a series of fire doors and down the stairs to a moldy cellar. We walked through several rows of bookshelves, piled with oily motorparts, feedbags and boxes and boxes of disorganized paper. Finally, we arrived at my desk, a child's thing that looked as if it had been lifted from the nearby one-room schoolhouse. I looked at Colton and asked if this was just some first day hazing. He frowned and produced a contract.
"Y'all sign now."
I checked the details. Title, salary, vacation days. Despite the bizarre experience I'd had to this point, everything seemed to be in order. And so I signed, officially becoming the Senior Manager - Logistics for the Keystone Prairies Lawn Mower & Feedlot Supply Group.
"Now look here, yankee. You a junior manager now. People come down and they ask for stamp," Colton produced a rubber stamp, smashing it onto the desk's scratched and doodled surface, "And y'all stamp. That's logistics."
He spat on the floor and thumbed his overall bands.
"Y'all stamp now, boy. Shift ends 7 o'clock."
He walked off and I stood there, mouth agape. I unpacked my briefcase and sat in the chair, which strained under my weight. My thighs pressed against the desk's underside and my hands hung over the edge of the surface when I rested my elbows. No, no, no. This would not do.
I pushed back from the desk and toppled over, chair and all. Dusting myself off, I power walked through the endless rows of bookshelves, back toward the first floor of the building, so that I might try to talk to some of the infinitely more reasonable-sounding people I'd interacted with during the interview process. Before I could breach the first floor doors, I heard laughter.
"You did NOT call him fancy yankee boy!"
"Swear to God, I did! You should've seen the look on his face!"
"Colton, you're a nut!"
I turned my back to the door and bit my knuckle. I hadn't been laughed like that since the fourth grade, when Tyler Moore pantsed me in front of Shelly Duncan on the monkey bars. OH, how they pointed and laughed that day. The sound of Tyler receiving high fives from the other fourth graders echoed across the playground, Shelly's screams dissolving into the chittering laughter of students and teachers alike playing through my memory like a discordant aria, a symphony of shame. I cried that day on the playground, and the tears welled up on those stairs leading to the Keystone Prairies basement.
Well, Colton. You done fucked up.
I returned to my desk, picked up my stamp, pressed it firmly into the inkpad, and I waited.
I didn't wait long.
I was approached by a young man in typical office attire - no more overalls, now that the fun's been had! - carrying a stack of papers and chatting casually into a bluetooth headset. He snickered as he approached.
"Hey, new guy. Need you to approve a shipment of mowers to Oklahoma. Usual freighter's booked so we have to go with someone non-standard, but they're legit and Colton's signed off. Just need your approval."
I slowly grabbed the documents and reviewed them. Everything seemed to be in order. I grabbed the stamp, held it above the signature line and looked up.
"No."
| 2021-10-21T06:56:54 | 2021-10-21T06:37:59 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Every step on the Staircase of Universal Truths reveals a hidden fact about the universe. The world record used to be two steps, due to the fact that people dropped dead at the third. You're on your fifth already.
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\*The Devil took his place\*
Red lightning bursting through the clouds. A knife. A fallen man. A sudden silence.
The realization hit me with such force that I fell to my knees. This was, incidentally, a bad thing to do on a flight of stairs. As I sprawled backwards, realizing what was about to happen, a serious of connecting realizations spiderwebbed out from my temporally shocked subconscious.
\*The apple fell because he wished it so\*
A waving hand; a golden mouse approaching a mousetrap. A fallen trashcan.
The realization I had experienced the step before whacked into the back of my head and slithered into my mind by its' own volition, combining and dancing with that of the 6th stair. I already knew it, but the information hit me as hard as it had the second time, but now the effect was in reverse.
The order was flipped, the meaning scrambled into something worse than I could have imagined.
\*The Garden was his greatest mistake and his most destructive joy\*
Crumpled papers. A puff of smoke. A clock ticking. Eternities of frustration.
The screams of a seemingly infinite number of people raced after me like angry bees as I felt my spine crumple against the corner of a stair. I gasped in pain, unable to think before-
\*He left it all behind, for his child was out of toys\*
Bloodstained skies. A dagger raised high. The crack of a cannon from the edge of the universe.
Pain. Only pain.
\*The Lord of Creation controls all. There is no work of tragedy nor of miracle that can escape his blame. That which takes his life, shall take his Holy name\*
In the sinking darkness and dull thudding I feel only in the darkest recesses of my distant mind, I vaguely wonder at the sadness of it all. Or is it happiness? Suddenly I am unable to-
\*Faeries are real, they just fly so fast it's physically impossible for the human eye to detect their movement\*
A winking eye. A cruel smile.
|
One step: Something's got to give. I'd known this from the very beginning of my latest attempt at climbing the Flight of Truths. Oh, sorry, depressing opening, huh? Well, I mean, I'd lost everything. My house, my hobbies, my livelihood, all in the Great Upheaval (which occurred on 2R32W6D (Second Reckoning, thirty-second week, sixth day)), my beloved abandoned me afterwards, and now, now I seek the only legal way to break the Obligation: Attain a greater height than the last person to attempt the Flight.
I say latest because the first time it happened, I made it to the second step, which, coincidentally, is where I am now, and learned: Something's got to change. But then the weather turned and the Proctor called off the attempt when it started raining glass. The second time, I was assaulted by a horde of ravening witchwings.
This is the third time, and--
> Three: Something's got to break.
Oh!! A new record!! Whoo!! The Proctor cleared his throat. "Penitent Reiva, proceed to the fourth step." I blush and nod, my tongue having been torn out by the witchwings. Yeah, that's kinda why my narration here is kinda rambly, can't really talk. And there's my next step and...
> Four: Something's got to die.
Hey hey hey!! That's badass. I look over the fifth step, it's just plain white marble, just like the last four, and as I step, clouds form overhead, only for them to part as a golden light shines on me.
> Five: Something's about to be done.
I can't help but feel a weird burning sensation, as if the light is too much, and then I throw my mouth open, and I see my tongue has returned! "Whoo hoo!!" I shout, and the Proctor is looking at me furiously.
"You've ascended the Flight to a level unmatched by anyone." He drew a gun and aimed it at me. "Forgive us, for your Obligation is complete."
| 2021-11-16T22:45:10 | 2021-11-16T22:29:56 | 70 | 25 |
[WP] The elder gods looks to us the same way we look to cockroachs. What means that they are irrationally scared of us.
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“Madness is the answer.” Cthulhu folded his wings. His tentacled mouth stretched across the void of time and space toward his companion.
“Madness?” Yog-Sothoth’s many eyes blinked in unison. “You can’t kill a species by driving them mad. You have to squash them like the roaches they are.”
“That is not the answer, my friend. Cockroaches plague humans as the humans plague us. Not a roach runs by an able bodied foot that is not used to stamp out its life. Yet the insects infest every nook and cranny of human society. Even humanity’s greatest weapon is incapable of rendering them extinct. No, physical attacks are not the answer. The answer is to assault their mind—drive them mad. Instill a fear so great their species loses the will to live.”
“And how will we do this?” Yog-Sothoth’s appendages propped up his central mass of orbs, bringing him from floating to standing.
“Show them your disgusting body,” Cthulhu hissed. “They will see you with many eyes.”
“Puns, really? In a matter so serious?”
“My lips were writhing to get that out.”
Yog-Sothoth sighed. “Fine. I will finally answer one of these Earthly summons. We shall discover who is right.”
A moment and a millennium passed at the same speed in the void of time and space. Yog-Sothoth vanished in an instant and reappeared after incalculable time.
“Well?” asked Cthulhu.
“A wave of catatonia, hysterics, and unending prostrations swept across those gathered. An absolute joy of a sight.”
“Then it worked. We have our answer.”
“We do not.” Yog-Sothoth squeezed one eye tight. “Two of them resisted. Fought back with guns. Plinked me with pink eye in my 12th anterior sinistral segment before I devoured them.”
“Ah, what a shame. It was a good idea.”
“I told you they were roaches. Our greatest weapon, and still they cling to life.”
--------------
read more at /r/wiselywrittenwords
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"Do you think we need to clear them out, Dharma?" Agni, the god of fire asked the god of justice.
"Bramha (God of everything) knows I want to, but leave them. After all they play a huge part in maintaining the Earth." Dharma replied.
Soma, the god of plants snorted in disgust. "Maintain Earth? They destroyed it!"
"Calm down, Soma." Ganga, the goddess of river, said calmly. "Monsoon is around the corner, the plants will recover. My rivers on the other hand-"
"We should should just destroy them and be done with it!" Indra, the god of rains (among other things), quipped. "The Earth will be better off without them."
"And whose going to do it?" Lakshmi, goddess of wealth, asked raising her brows knowingly.
Varun, the god of water, shrugged. "Kali can do it." He said pointing towards the goddess of death.
Kali snorted. "Just because you are scared of them doesn't mean I'm going to touch those worthless beings."
"Why? Scared?" Vishnu, the preserver God, laughed good-naturedly.
"You wish." Kali rolled her eyes. "They disgust me and I'm not going to touch those disgusting beings."
"So whose going to take care of them? Shiva?" Vishnu asked.
"Yeah, place the blame of destruction of humanity on the God of destruction (again amongst other things), no, thank you." Shiva scoffed.
"Should we ask Bhumi?" Indra offered the name of Goddess of Earth. "Humans have violated the sanctity of her planet for eons now."
"You know she is going to refuse, saying they play an important part." Agni sighed.
"Why can't we all join forces to destroy them. They cannot stand against all of us." Vayu, the god of wind, suggested.
"We should." Everyone agreed.
"But on the other hand to destroy them we need to be in their vicinity." Shiva said.
Everyone shuddered in disgust. "We should propose a plan to Bramha and he will take care of it. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
| 2022-01-03T10:49:20 | 2022-01-03T10:14:02 | 98 | 55 |
[WP] Human lives are now a commodity. People can give each other their life, but not unless they will it. Millions of terminally ill people flock to beg the suicidal for their lives. The black markets sell the lives of those they tortured to agree to give theirs up.
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“No. Please! Please! Please Stop! Aaahhh!” the screams echoed from the old brick building, down the dark alley.
I stood in the shadows, silently waiting for the negotiation to conclude. Water dripped slowly from an exposed pipe and a light near the metal door at the back of the brick building flickered as if cowering from the pain being inflicted inside.
“Okay! Okay!” the voice inside whimpered between sobs. My lip twitched and I exhaled, then coughed. I leaned back against the cold concrete wall and pulled out a cigarette.
My hand shook as I lit up. I’d heard these interrogations a dozen times already and I thought I’d be okay with them by now, but no one really ever gets used to the guttural animal noises people produce when they’re having their skin slowly peeled back.
The nicotine hit me almost immediately and my shoulders slumped. Just then the lock on the back door clicked and the metal door flung open noisily. A man wearing a blood stained white apron and face shield stood there, looking out. He saw me, the cigarette and nodded, “give me one of those will you?”
I grunted and passed him the pack.
“Any trouble?” He asked as he wiped blood onto his pants before picking out a cigarette. I shook my head. As he exhaled he looked me up and down, “you don’t talk much, do you?”
I shrugged, “not much to say.”
He laughed “Bit like our friend inside! Dumb kid, you’d think this younger generation would be smarter, but we’ve got no end of clients coming our way. Anyway, you can go if you want. We’re all done here.”
I nodded, dropping my butt on the ground and stepping out of the shadow towards the street.
“We’ve got five negotiations tomorrow, don’t be late,” the blood soaked man shouted down the alley as I reached the street. Cars streamed past at speed and people hurried by. I turned on the busy sidewalk and almost walked straight into a man crouching down tying his child’s shoelace.
“Daddy, what’s he doing up there?”
I looked up at the billboard he was pointing at. It showed a skinny young man with tattered clothing and a depressed look standing on the side of a bridge with the words ‘Feeling down? Talk to us first!’ The words Willing Exchange and a phone number flashed underneath.
The father glanced up and then physically turned his child away from the sign. “Don’t worry about that, son,” he said sternly.
One day it could be him, I thought as I stepped past. I looked up at the sign again, a new photo showed a vending machine filled with photos of people. The text read ‘Save yourself today with new deals available all the time! Available now at a brokerage machine near you!’
I kept walking for a few minutes until I reached one of these machines. I coughed as I pulled out my phone and saw a new notification confirming I’d received my latest pay check. I could see another notification showing an unread email from my doctor as well. I swiped both away and looked up at the machine.
The vending machine was filled with cards featuring faces of people, mostly young men. Below each photo a life expectancy was printed in years along with a description of the person’s medical history and pre-existing conditions. In the top left corner one card flashed red with “NEW” printed in the top corner.
I stared into the eyes of the young dude I’d helped drag into the old brick building just an hour earlier. He was the latest addition and showed a life expectancy of 87 years. I was about to pull out another cigarette when I started coughing. Blood drops splattered the vending machine as I tapped on the card in the top left hand corner.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
It turned out to be somewhat uncomfortable writing this story. To anyone out there reading this who is feeling down or having negative thoughts, please remember there are good people in excellent organizations across the world doing great work helping people deal with life's challenges. Seek help if you need it.
|
It all started at the year 2070.
After years of research into energy conversation and storage to create the 'infinite battery', a young scientist named 'Elon Smith' have discovered what we call today 'Energy deriving displacement' - or Enddi for short.
The thing he have discovered, is that quite like the old movie 'Matrix', it is possible to derive energy from human beings, and not only that, it is also possible to store that energy in a special bioelectronic storage devices known as the 'Volta cell'.
Little did Elon smith known how the world will look like 30 years later, but his accidental discovery will one day become the downfall of humanity.
Unfortunately, The 'Volta Cells' had 2 big problems: The first problem was that every living human had a total amount of energy he could give (Up to 100 years worth of energy for a child, or 100 YOE for short), and the more he would give, the shorter his life will become. The second big problem his cells had are that the energy they provided weren't good enough to power up cars or cities, their only realistic use, was to transfer the energy from one person to another.
And so, with lots of volunteers, some experimentations have began - and quickly enough, the conclusions followed up. The thing Elon found up summed up to:
1. Every person no matter the age, who will use Enddi to transfer his energy into a Volta cell will shorten his life.
2. Any person older then 25 getting energy from a Volta cell will become younger. The energy from the cells can even renew brain neurons, and strengthen one's immune system to the absolute limit.
3. Any child who will give his energy using Enddi will not grow older - at-least appearance-wise, and his life will shorten. Also, if he will give too much of his energy (Minimum 30 YOE), his body won't be able to mature, and he will keep his child-like looks for the rest of his life.
&#x200B;
Soon enough, the company have gotten the green light to mass produce the Volta cells, and the world have morphed into a whole new thing.
With Enddi and the Volta cells becoming main-stream, a new currency started to rule the world, the currency of YOE. It was quite a logical change looking backwards, but still, none of the world powers were ready for it.
At the beginning, the only people who saw the need to get the the Volta cells were the terminally ill and the old, they finally had a chance to survive and so they rushed to beg the suicidal or the poor for their YOE, some were indeed successful and got healthy again, but some had to spend their life saving to buy YOE from the poor and suicidal.
The rich people of the world quickly started to see the potential in the volta cells and Enddi, and they began using their capital to buy YOE and fill volta cells one after another, while the masses were happy they can finally make easy money.
The thing they didn't understood is that this easy money actually costs them their most valuable resource in this new world. Their life.
A few years later, when people started understanding the power of YOE and the volta cell, everyone stopped celling their life for cheap, and so the rich couldn't get any more full volta cells - and the price of YOE started to soare.
With a lot of people looking to buy full volta cell and few willing to sell them, and new places started popping up across the world, places called 'farms'. The 'farms' would kidnap people at all ages, and force them to give 10 YOE or die. Each person who got out of the farm got marked with a tattoo on his neck so he won't get kidnapped again.
With the dangers of being kidnapped and farmed, new 'protected neighborhoods' started popping up as-well, in which they were willing to pay a small amount of YOE each year as tax to keep themselves safe from the roaming kidnappers.
&#x200B;
Slowly, without anyone really noticing, the world have morphed completely. No longer anyone could live freely within a country restraints and make his paper money from work, but each and every one had to keep himself and his time safe, within a community - because with no time, he will have nothing.
&#x200B;
\------
Ps. In the middle of writing this short story, I've remembered the movie 'In Time' from 2011. If you liked this concept, I highly advise watching this movie :)
| 2022-07-03T02:39:26 | 2022-07-03T02:23:09 | 339 | 27 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
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He was as gorgeous as gorgeous could be, gray orbs holding a steady gaze that existed solely to melt her icy heart. His hair was wild and red like a fire set loose upon his scalp, and a cocky smirk played about his thin, moist lips. His chiseled physique and square jaw had been carved of the finest marble, and it was when she lay her eyes on him, she knew: she must have him.
Now, she was quite mundane in comparison: her downcast gaze was marked by brown hues, and she stood with her shoulders curved in. Even when there was nothing to look at, she was adjusting her bottlecap-thick glasses or her high pony tail that held back a mane of unkempt black hair. She dressed in the frumpiest clothing possible.
Theirs was a match made in Heaven AND Hell, and the secrets they shared would only become self-evident through their journey together, toe-to-toe, hand-in-hand, til death due them part.
This is their story.
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Once upon a time, a young girl and a young boy were deeply in love. They would always re-enact romantic scenes from films, ranging from Romeo and Juliet to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, costumes and all. They would go everywhere together, *do* everything together... by everything, I mean *everything*, even going to the bathroom, public or private! And they would often be in there for a while...
They would always say cute things to each other, such as "I love you - I love you more - I love you more than ice cream - I love you more than cupcakes!", and had adorable pet names for each other; the boy was known as 'Cub' and the girl was known as 'Sweetcake'. The two really were inseparable.
But one day, the boy's family had to move to the next town over for his fathers job, and now the two could only see each other four days a week. The girl was torn apart, and spends every waking moment apart from her lover texting him how much she misses him, and he responds by promising that, one day, they'll be together again. So the girl waits...
| 2022-08-19T14:21:27 | 2022-08-19T14:20:41 | 652 | 93 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
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Jackson Steelflex was just an ordinary kid, but he isnt. You see, he also has a dark secret. He is an international spy and likes killing people with the coolest gadgets. One time he even killed a man with only my bare hands.
Somewhere in the world there is a building with guards . It was night time and they had kidnapped Jackson Steelflexes girlfriend Jessica. Jason knew what he had to do. He breaks in and uses his machine gun to inconstipate the guards and then he runs down the hall. But it’s a trap! Spikes came out of the ceiling toward Jackson and he has nowhere to run. That’s when he activated his special ability and turns into steel.
He breaks the spikes and saves Jessica. “Thank you for saving me you’re so brave” says Jessica.
“Thank you my girlfriend “ Jackson says.
Then he kisses her with his mouth and they escape.
Edit: this hurt to write. You’re welcome .
|
Once upon a time, a young girl and a young boy were deeply in love. They would always re-enact romantic scenes from films, ranging from Romeo and Juliet to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, costumes and all. They would go everywhere together, *do* everything together... by everything, I mean *everything*, even going to the bathroom, public or private! And they would often be in there for a while...
They would always say cute things to each other, such as "I love you - I love you more - I love you more than ice cream - I love you more than cupcakes!", and had adorable pet names for each other; the boy was known as 'Cub' and the girl was known as 'Sweetcake'. The two really were inseparable.
But one day, the boy's family had to move to the next town over for his fathers job, and now the two could only see each other four days a week. The girl was torn apart, and spends every waking moment apart from her lover texting him how much she misses him, and he responds by promising that, one day, they'll be together again. So the girl waits...
| 2022-08-19T17:57:14 | 2022-08-19T14:20:41 | 152 | 93 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
Jackson Steelflex was just an ordinary kid, but he isnt. You see, he also has a dark secret. He is an international spy and likes killing people with the coolest gadgets. One time he even killed a man with only my bare hands.
Somewhere in the world there is a building with guards . It was night time and they had kidnapped Jackson Steelflexes girlfriend Jessica. Jason knew what he had to do. He breaks in and uses his machine gun to inconstipate the guards and then he runs down the hall. But it’s a trap! Spikes came out of the ceiling toward Jackson and he has nowhere to run. That’s when he activated his special ability and turns into steel.
He breaks the spikes and saves Jessica. “Thank you for saving me you’re so brave” says Jessica.
“Thank you my girlfriend “ Jackson says.
Then he kisses her with his mouth and they escape.
Edit: this hurt to write. You’re welcome .
|
#PROLOGUE...
Believe me or not, there is, in fact, a way to turn data into an object in real life. Some of you are laughing your face off, some are intrigued. What I'll do is tell you "me". You won't understand where I come from, literally speaking, unless I were to tell you. Now, let me think for a while.
Ah, yes. I remember now. It's only been a few hundred years. I just don't know *where* to start. I don't want to rush into all the action right now. I also don't want to start off too slow either...aside from all this, you should know one thing about me. Okay! I figured it out. Let's just start from the very beginning. The story, my life, might be slow at first, but that's how everything starts out at first. Slow, innocent, and unassuming. Just another general human being...but...the thing about me is, is that I'm not actually classified as human...
| 2022-08-19T17:57:14 | 2022-08-19T17:03:46 | 152 | 80 |
[WP] The president finishes his inauguration, he is escorted to his office to start working on his agenda when he first meets with the previous secretary of defense. Before the secretary leaves the room the president says “no bullshit, tell me about the aliens.”
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"Ahh...Mr. President?" *That was not the question I had expected. I mean the war with Canada has been going on now for three years. We lost Maine during the election, and he wants to talk about illegal immigrants?!*
The President put his water down on the table and once more repeated his question to me. "No bullshit Jon, Tell me about the aliens."
"No offense Mr. President, but do you really think we should be worried about our immigration issues right now?"
"Immigration issues?" Why did he look confused? "Oh, no no no, Extraterrestrials!"
What the...."Extra...Terrestrials..." Is this guy for real? Really, the American people voted for him? "Oh yeah, we meet with Grey's and Captain Kirk of Wednesdays," I was not able to keep my sarcasm in check. "Let me guess, Wednesdays won't work for you because thats when you have tea with Big Foot and the Jersy Devil?" Oh no! Did I just really get that sarcastic with the President! "I am so sorry sir. I don't know were that came from, please accept my apologies."
"I know your attemping sarcasm as a way to lie to me Jon. It's not going to work. I was already briefed by your replacement." My what now?
"Your really going to replace the SecDef during a time of war?" My throat begins to feel a little dry, and a pit begins to form in my stomach.
"When the SecDef is not who he claims to be than yes. Now, How many of you are there?"
Crap.
|
“No bullshit?”
“No bullshit.”
“Okay… You need to sit down for this, Mr President.” The man pauses to lick his lips. “Are you well seated?”
“Stop wasting time and hit me!”
“Sigh… Fine. There was a war in space, fought by two or more species who are far, far more advanced than us. And every now and then, a stray bullet will hit our planet. The dinosaurs? They weren’t wiped out by a meteorite but by a rogue bomb. Same goes for the mammoths and human civilization during the ice age. Pyramids were built by our forefathers to serve as bomb shelters. That’s why they’re so massive and durable.”
“…Did it work?”
“Still here, aren’t we?”
“Thank god… But… But is this war still going on? Hasn’t it been millions of years since the dinosaurs went extinct?”
“Oh, the war ended a loooong time ago. We’re pretty certain that both species went extinct before planet Earth was even formed.”
“Then how—?”
“Space-time is wonky. Past, present, future works differently when we look at things from a galactic scale.”
“Okay…”
“Is that all, Mr President?”
“Yes, you may resume your duties”
After the Secretary of Defense leaves the oval office, the President quickly makes a phone call.
“Come on, pick up! Pick up!” The President blinks his lizard eyes In frustration. “Hello!? Okay, it’s you. Yes. Yes, I understand I shouldn’t make contact this soon, but… Oh, just shut up and listen to what I have to say! Good news and bad news. Goodnews, humans don’t know about us. The bad news… we gotta learn how to build pyramids real quick if our species is to survive on this planet.”
| 2022-11-20T04:09:23 | 2022-11-20T03:23:13 | 198 | 62 |
[FF] Horror Story - 80 words
Prompt limit: 80 words.
It could be about anything, anywhere at any time. Just make sure it's horrifying!
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When you see them in your room at night, you tell yourself that it’s your brain messing with you. Why? Your brain tells you that the grass you see is green, the coffee you drink is hot, the dumpster you pass smells awful. Your brain sees the truth. It lets you know about the grass, the coffee, the garbage. Why would it make up the shadows at night? Your brain isn’t playing tricks on you. They’re playing tricks on you.
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First post here...so yeah...
______________
I wake up in a cold sweat.
“Just another nightmare” I say to myself, as I get up to get a glass of water and calm down.
I’ve gotten regular night terrors ever since I was a child. It’s always the same dream. I’m walking down the same street at night, carrying the same knife and stabbing the same, faceless person.
I hear sirens in the distance and pray that everyone is okay as I get back into bed.
| 2013-08-21T19:34:40 | 2013-08-21T19:28:19 | 22 | 10 |
[FF] Horror Story - 80 words
Prompt limit: 80 words.
It could be about anything, anywhere at any time. Just make sure it's horrifying!
|
Four sentences must be read,
for the dead man to find you.
At three he comes from under the bed,
as all his evil kind do.
With two you’d better say your prayers,
and consider these words true.
For the One has come to kill again,
and he’s standing right behind you.
|
First post here...so yeah...
______________
I wake up in a cold sweat.
“Just another nightmare” I say to myself, as I get up to get a glass of water and calm down.
I’ve gotten regular night terrors ever since I was a child. It’s always the same dream. I’m walking down the same street at night, carrying the same knife and stabbing the same, faceless person.
I hear sirens in the distance and pray that everyone is okay as I get back into bed.
| 2013-08-21T20:15:08 | 2013-08-21T19:28:19 | 18 | 10 |
[FF] Make me cry in two sentences.
|
As he laid in bed, waiting for sleep, he wished that he would wake the next morning to find that it had all been a dream, that she was alive and he wasn't alone. Don't be stupid, he thought, the only way I'll ever see her again is if I don't wake up at all.
|
He stood with his last son next to the graves, trying to hold himself firm for the sake of his boy as he did not wish him to see him cry, keeping a steady solemn pose over the graves as though he were proud of the lives he had known as his wife and first son, but he couldn't do it.
The man fell on his knees and wept for them, crying out to the heavens and begging for them to come back.
| 2014-01-15T22:27:19 | 2014-01-15T21:53:25 | 179 | 20 |
[FF] Make me cry in two sentences.
|
I felt arms slide around my waist and a scent I hadn't smelled in years flooded my senses as I turned around to see my first love, the one I'd tried to, but had never been able to forget.
"I told you someday I'd find my way back to you."
|
He stood with his last son next to the graves, trying to hold himself firm for the sake of his boy as he did not wish him to see him cry, keeping a steady solemn pose over the graves as though he were proud of the lives he had known as his wife and first son, but he couldn't do it.
The man fell on his knees and wept for them, crying out to the heavens and begging for them to come back.
| 2014-01-15T22:06:08 | 2014-01-15T21:53:25 | 49 | 20 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions
|
Dear Sir,
This letter is to inform you that one Randy Payne, of 530 Linden Lane, Harrisburg PA, has filed a form 839 (y) - Intent to Murder against you on June 24th, 2016. The Intent to Murder has been approved and is valid from your receipt of this letter today until the 31st of September this year. Please review the FAQ section below about what actions you may take should you wish not be murdered. Please also note that our records indicate that you yourself were approved for a form 839 (y) in November of 2015 against one Rachel Payne, which you carried out on the 26th of that month. As you know, this waives your right to self defense should someone attempt to carry out an 839 (y) against you at any time and you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for any unapproved killings.
For further information regarding this matter, please see the FAQ below, or visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim.
**Frequently Asked Questions**
* *I do not want to be murdered, what are my options?*
Many people do not wish to be murdered and seek to evade the intentions of their murderer. This survival instinct is only human, and should not cause alarm. If you wish to prevent your murder, it is recommended that you file a form 839 (y) against your intended murderer and attempt to face them in a duel. Please note that if you have filed a form 839 (y) at any point in the past, you must wait 6 months after the expiration of that form to file a new 839 (y) against a different individual and 1 year to file a new 839 (y) against an individual you have attempted to murder before. In the event that you have filed a form 839 (y) and successfully dispatched your intended victim, you are no longer eligible to commit murder.
* *Can I hide?*
While you may hide from a murderer, please be advised that there is nothing preventing an intended murderer with a valid form 839 (y) finding you. Some individuals have attempted to flee to foreign countries, with various degrees of success. However, your travel will be recorded by the State Department in a publicly accessible database. If you wish to plan travel to a country that does not honor form 839 (y), please find a list of non-participating sovereign states at www.doj.gov/rtm/victim
* *What if my murderer is not successful*
If, for whatever reason, your intended murderer does not fulfill the lethality requirements of form 839 (y) (Section 3.5 - Lethality and brutality of methods,) within the allowed timeframe, they are free to file a new form 839 (y) against you after 1 year has passed. Please note that extraneous and repeated filing of a form 839 (y) against an individual without significant action towards their demise is considered harassment. If you feel that an individual is filing forms 839 (y) against you without actual intent to murder, you may attempt to get a restraining order issued against them.
* *The person who filed against me is an employee, am I within my rights to fire them?*
You are legally protected from a wrongful dismissal case if an employee has at any time filed a form 839 (y) against you or anyone else associated with your company. Please visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim for information on preventing a murder on company property.
We hope this letter has been informative and helpful. If you wish to leave feedback, please send an email to victimfeedback@doj.gov
|
It's the future. Okay, it's the present, but it seems like the future. It doesn't help that we slap the label on everything these days, and the line's a little more blurry than it used to be anyway. There's the Future Research Corporation, which started the trend. They're the number one discoverers of new technologies, as you'd expect. The other "Future" companies are similarly placed in their fields.
We even have a "Future" branch of government. We probably have several, but only one is public: the Bureau of Future Crimes. No, they don't plot crimes. They send out the notifications. I got mine in the mail today.
It's polite. Not a form letter, but still impersonal. They tell me to contact my next of kin to ensure everything is taken care of. They mention her by name. It seems vaguely threatening, but I know she hasn't received a letter. I can be thankful for that much.
I contemplate running. I imagine myself on a beach on some sunny island where this sort of thing doesn't happen, where you can remain blissfully ignorant right up until the moment the locals murder you and steal from your fresh corpse. Sounds like paradise, right?
But you can't run. It just doesn't work. I look through the rest of the package. I know what I'm going to find. The route plan. This is how I'm going to die: in traffic heading over the South Bridge, the one that leads out of the city. There's a time and a method. It says it's a gunshot to the head three hours from now. At least I won't have to pack a lunch.
There's other things in the package. Forms to sign for listing my preferred method of burial, whether I want to donate my organs, a place to attach my will. Standard death stuff, with all the convenience that being alive grants. The last note in the package is the big one. It tells me that the cost of any reality correction events will be deducted from the value of my estate.
I want to tempt fate. Maybe I'll leave the city from the North, instead. Let's see how reality corrects that! Except bigger corrections have happened. They usually make the news. And afterwards the family is destitute because of the selfishness of that doomed bastard. It doesn't feel so selfish from where I'm sitting.
I get dressed in my nicest suit. I go out and have a coffee at my favourite joint, the one with the cute waitress. She gives me her number again. I hand it back. I'm a married man.
The clock's running down now. I feel trapped, like the walls are slowly closing in on me. The sky is as clear and inviting as it's ever been but I still feel its weight upon my shoulders. If I want to make my appointment I have to leave now. So I do.
As I drive I hit every green light. Ah, that's a few corrections there. Sorry, honey, I should have been more prompt. Still we're well off enough that it won't matter too much. I just know how much you hate wastefulness.
There's the bridge. I look at the time. Just over a minute to go. I panic. I slam my foot on the accelerator. The car's engine dies instantly. I can't quite tell, but I think it stops on the exact spot the route plan specified. As if it could happen any other way.
I see my wife. She's in the next car over, stopped as well. She hops out of her car and into mine. My blood is pounding in my ears and I can't hear anything, but I can read her lips. It seems like she's speaking in slow motion. "I'm leaving you." And then I see the gun.
Fucking psychics.
| 2014-03-17T09:31:02 | 2014-03-17T03:24:00 | 143 | 16 |
[WP] Write a mysterious and confusing story, that is explained at the end using only 1 sentence.
|
I adored her. She was at once the most perfect and the most terrifying thing that had ever happened in my life. Even though she was sleeping now, I could not stop looking at her face, and thinking about how it trusted me. How my power over her life was complete. And not merely because of the ties that held her arms to the ominous machinery. Or because she was at the crux of life and death, and I myself had put her there, hardly knowing what I’d done. Even though I was in more pain than she was, and even though she would never know, I felt my power over her surging through me like a curse and a blessing. Even though it was only these terrible machines that kept her delicate body from fleeing me, far far away, almost to another world. I needed to possess her. I laid my hand upon her mechanical prison.
My newborn daughter woke then, and began to whimper inside the humming plastic incubator.
|
Here I am, standing here. My blood soaked knife dripping on my now red carpet. Looking at my own corpse sprawled across the floor. I looked at it for quite some time. I was waiting for this moment my entire life but part of me never thought it would happen. I was finally able to kill myself.
I wonder how my family would react to seeing this. I imagine my wife would come in and give me the most embracing hug and the most romantic kiss since our honeymoon while she told me how proud of me she was. My two daughters would jump in glee of my achievement. I would take them out to celebrate with ice cream and then we would go see a movie.
I have never been so happy in my life but this isn't the time to lose track of my goal. I must prepare for the rest of my life. I must hide his body...no! I meant my body. I must hide it in a safe place. A place where no one will find me. I must not let anyone take this away from me.
Today, I start my new identity.
| 2014-04-11T07:04:01 | 2014-04-11T06:18:45 | 52 | 20 |
[WP] Write a mysterious and confusing story, that is explained at the end using only 1 sentence.
|
Here I am, standing here. My blood soaked knife dripping on my now red carpet. Looking at my own corpse sprawled across the floor. I looked at it for quite some time. I was waiting for this moment my entire life but part of me never thought it would happen. I was finally able to kill myself.
I wonder how my family would react to seeing this. I imagine my wife would come in and give me the most embracing hug and the most romantic kiss since our honeymoon while she told me how proud of me she was. My two daughters would jump in glee of my achievement. I would take them out to celebrate with ice cream and then we would go see a movie.
I have never been so happy in my life but this isn't the time to lose track of my goal. I must prepare for the rest of my life. I must hide his body...no! I meant my body. I must hide it in a safe place. A place where no one will find me. I must not let anyone take this away from me.
Today, I start my new identity.
|
He-tay olice-pay ficer-ofay as-way tanding-say, ilent-say. t-Iay as-way ayay old-cay orning-may, nd-ay he-tay orning-may ush-ray as-way eginning-bay, ringing-bay he-tay peeders-say ith-way t-iay.
t-Iay nly-oay ook-tay n-ay inute-may r-oay o-say efore-bay ayay usty-ray tation-say agon-way lasted-bay ast-pay ur-oay ero-hay, locking-cay n-ay stounding-aay inety-nay ine-nay iles-may er-pay our-hay.
he-Tay fficer-oay uickly-qay ulled-pay t-iay ver-oay, trolling-say o-tay ts-iay indow-way efore-bay earing-hay -
"Et tu requisisti in me, non potest; Quia rex sum ego civem!"
e-Hay eplied-ray ack-bay ithout-way ayay oment-may o-tay hink-tay,
"Meus via."
The sovereign citizen gasped before shouting, "PIG LATIN!"
| 2014-04-11T06:18:45 | 2014-04-11T06:04:08 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Your entire life has actually been a virtual simulation. You wake up to discover you're part of an experimental rehabilitation program, where convicted murderers relive the life of their victim.
|
She lived such an earnest, kind life. Born into a family that loved her with all their heart, she grew up with two caring parents and a younger brother who looked up to her like an apostle to Jesus. As she grew up, her natural kindness and friendly demeanor drew people to her, and she had many friends. Starting in high school, she volunteered regularly at a local animal shelter. She was pretty, smart, and popular, and was even voted prom queen.
In her second year of college, she started noticing strange things. It felt like she was being watched. Unknown numbers called her phone, but she was too scared to pick them up. She felt like she was being stalked-- and she was. Two months after it began, the stalker broke into her home in the middle of the night, wrapping a chain around her neck.
Then, she woke up. Reily Evermont looked around the cold, mechanical room. A worker had just arrived, at the scheduled time of her awakening, clipboard in hand and fake smile plastered perfectly on his face.
"So, Miss Evermont? How are you feeling now."
Reilly took a moment to think. Out of the five girls she'd killed, Sarah was the fourth, and by far her favorite. The carefree, happy life leading up to only two months of panicked desperation... Well, that's why Reily picked her in the first place. She'd wanted this all along; living a happy, normal life with caring family and friends. The previous three girls hadn't been quite good enough. But now, with Sarah, Reily had finally found a place to belong.
She looked up at the worker, a carefully practiced, emotionless expression on her face.
"Nothing. I still would have killed her. Again and again."
The worker sighed, signaling to the room behind the thik one-way glass.
"You'll have to live Sarah Muller's life once again. Until you feel guilt for your crimes, you will live her life for the rest of yours."
As the chamber closed around her, gas pouring in, Reily smiled. For another 2 years, she would be able to live 21 of the happy life she always wanted.
|
He awoke to a foreign light, it hurt to open his eyes too long. Naturally he began to test his limbic functions, acknowledging the acrid taste that lingered in his mouth. "God what I wouldn't do to brush my teeth right now", he thought to himself. No matter. The cuffs which were restraining him hissed and clicked as they unshackled and locked themselves back into place. Freedom was a concept that he had not known. One foot in front of the other, he slowly stepped off the platform like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. A hand swept across the steel tables, he felt everything. What a strange thing it was to be able to feel. There was a giant window, stark and black in its appearance. "Probably a one way", he said out loud as he pressed his face to it. He was right and had there been anyone there to witness how sinister he looked while saying it, they would have stopped him. Above him there were what looked to be water sprinklers for the fire alarm. They weren't. The sprinklers were placed there as a safety precaution. They dispersed toxic gas for scenarios like this, in case the program failed. What the engineers and investors didn't realize was that the simulator was actually just a training capsule. It wasn't teaching the murderous minds to sympathize with their victims. Instead, it was teaching them how to hunt their next potential targets. Not only did it show the intricacies of everyday life, it exposed weaknesses and habits. A paramount piece of information for any murder-obssessed mind. Finally, he made his way to the door. Though nervous, he didn't it exude it in the slightest. With his hand on the handle, he turned it clockwise. 'Click'. The door creaked open and a rush of artificial air greeted his nose. Looking back at the room which held him in captivity for so long one last time, he let out a long, uncontrollable laugh. Free at last, to do what he waited so long to do. Just like that, he was free again. Free to kill.
| 2014-05-28T20:59:38 | 2014-05-28T19:53:45 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc.
|
All I ever wanted in this world was her. I could have had my powers over magic stripped away, but if I could have had her to love me as much as I loved her, I would have been the happiest person alive. My beloved chose my twin brother over me. My brother, who goes out into the forest for days on end to listen to the whispers of spirits. She would wait for him to come back, and when he would return, she would embrace him. I have been waiting for years, and where is my embrace?
When our world threatened to end, I was one who helped to save it. But when I preserved one of the artifacts that granted my people our prowess over magic, I was shamed and damned. They locked me in a prison for ten thousand years before I was finally able to get out.
I owe no allegiances now, not to my beloved, certainly not to my brother; I am not loyal to anyone but myself. I have claimed a new world as my own, and I have subjects who worship me and do my every bidding. I am leagues and even worlds away from my brother and my once-beloved, yet still I am damned by them. If they send their troops to kill me, I know they will not be ready. When the time comes that you are tasked with my demise, I know you will not be up to the task. You are not strong enough to face me.
You are not prepared.
|
That arrogant, **airheaded,** *asinine* fool. Such potential, and yet he wastes his graces on the lowest of his subjects. They bow to him when they should be **groveling.**
And what do I get for bringing this to my *dear* brother's attention? I'm **thrown out,** like bones picked clean, to bleach in the summer sun. *I* was born to be king. *I* was born to rule. But instead, his crown is to be passed to his incompetent progeny, born of the same ignorant mould, and with the same tainted blood pumping through his veins. And that *voice...* That voice rattles my head every time he *speaks.* Perhaps it's a bit much to wish death upon a child. But then again...
Not that it matters. That fool can have his "victory" for now. I will cling to the shadows, and bide my time. I will have my vengeance. I will raise my own army, and build my own empire. My reign will come with the same immutable force of a stampede, and it will **crush** any and all who resist it. And when all is said and done; when he reaches for my hand to help pull him from the abyss of his own ignorance, I will reveal myself. With the same frigid tone and overt satisfaction he showed at my humiliation, I will look him straight in the eye and say:
*"Long live the King..."*
| 2014-06-20T08:19:23 | 2014-06-20T06:30:33 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] In a world where you can exchange the remaining days of your life for $9.99/day, Jeff's request for $1000 is declined.
|
The words were cold, bureacratic, terrifying.
"What do you mean, insufficient collateral? I thought the terms were $9.99/day, no credit check, no limits."
"Well, yes sir, but you can't use it indefinitely. We have to use the average life expectancy for someone of your nationality and income. In your case, 85 years."
"Right! 85 years! I'm only 30 years old. I should be able to take out over 200 grand if I wanted to. I'm only asking for a thousand. Barely three months out of the 55 years I have left. What's the problem?"
"The problem, sir, is that you already HAVE borrowed 200 grand."
"WHAT?"
"Not all at one time, sir. Ten grand here, thirty grand there...it all adds up over time. You should really pay closer attention to your balance, sir."
"I have never taken out a single dollar!"
"Sir, there's no sense in lying about it. It won't help. Our computers are infallible. You only have a remaining balance of thirty dollars."
"THREE DAYS?"
"And some change."
"You're going to kill me in three days? Over a bank error?"
"Sir, you can fake the indignity all you want. But your scam isn't working. All of our computers are linked...you can't make a withdrawal in another country and think it won't be factored in."
"Another country? What are you talking about?"
"Sir, I can see it right here. Look at all of these withdrawals...all made in Nigeria."
|
Jeff had been waiting in The Line for hours. He wasn't a drug addict, nor was he a struggling, out-of-work college grad, like the other people in line. He wasn't here as a result of poor decisions, but sometimes life throws you a screwball, and you end up standing in The Line. And there Jeff was waiting, wasting his life so that she could have the opportunity to have it stolen from him. Only getting $9.99 a day was highway robbery, he believed. But, you have to do what you have to do. Jeff finally made it to the front of the line. When Jeff meekly handed the teller his ID card and asked to withdraw $1,000, the teller was concerned. It was the third time this week that Jeff had asked to withdraw. The teller, half-interested, asked him why he needed so much money. Jeff had sold almost a year of his life, the most the teller had ever seen. Jeff, tired and weary, told the teller that his daughter was sick. The bills kept piling up, and since his wife passed last year, no one was able to take care of her so he could work. The teller quietly processed Jeff's request for the money. The transaction was declined. The teller tried a smaller amount, $500, to see if that would go through. It didn't. Neither did $100.
The teller handed Jeff back his ID card, tears in her eyes, and told him that he should be at home, with his daughter. He ought to forget about the bills, forget about money. Spend his time with what really matters.
And Jeff did.
[EDIT: spelling, man]
| 2014-07-10T11:06:23 | 2014-07-10T10:03:05 | 82 | 42 |
[WP] To keep pace with the growing population, the role of Death has been divided; each immortal member of the new Council oversees one specific method of death, with higher ranking members governing common ways to die. A problem has arisen, and the entire Council is called together...
|
The bleach white Hall of Fate was silent except for the fluttering of robes as Death approached his seat. His menacing aura overpowered the Council as he examined each member individually. Surrounding the table of the Council were hundreds of bleachers filled to the brim with lesser reapers. They all awaited the Council's declaration.
Death tapped his fingers on the ivory table, his bones visible through his translucent skin. "Well...?" he inquired impatiently.
All were afraid to break the silence. It was very rare that they needed to call upon the original Reaper to help sort through their problems.
"I'm waiting," his cold voice continued.
"It seems we have some troubling deaths popping up, sir," began Warfare. He reigned over the deaths of combat.
"None like we've ever seen before," the Reaper of Infections added.
"How so?" Death asked, bored.
"It seems they...can't be categorized," replied the Reaper of Age.
"We thought we had every death imaginable covered!" exclaimed Obesity. "But they simply don't fit *anywhere*!"
Death looked amused. Or perhaps it was because of the permanent skeletal grin on his face.
"How did some of these mortals die?"
Capital Punishment replied. "One man was trying to take a selfie and shot himself. Another girl was planking and snapped in two after trying to see how many of her friends she could hold up. A would be rapist died from blood loss after his dick was cut off. Another individual had intercourse with a horse and died several hours later."
"Can't these be ruled as accidental? Or any of them suicide?"
The depressed reaper of Suicide answered almost bitterly. "None of them wanted to die."
"And these aren't really accidents. They were just...just..." Accidents struggled for the right words.
"Idiots," supplied Death. "They were asking for it."
The Council nodded.
"Then it seems we must add another member to the Council," Death drawled. "To reap the souls of the completely stupid, hopeless mortals that invited death to overtake them."
Death waved his hand nonchalantly and the shadows of the white Hall swirled behind death. They swept together, fluttering the robes of the Council until a new shadowy figure was born.
A trace of a smile etched itself on Death's face. "I name thee Darwin, Reaper of Fools. You shall collect the souls of those so kind to remove themselves from the human gene pool."
The room shook with Death's words. The crowd roared in response, cackling echoes throughout the Hall. "Darwin! Darwin! Darwin! Reaper of Fools!"
|
*For fuck sake, Gary!*
Hearing my name emanate from the hall woke me up instantly. These council meetings were bad enough without having to get directly involved. I took a moment to straighten my tie and snapped to attention.
"What's going on, sir?"
*You need to explain this, that's what's going on!*
A manila envelope was thrown down the impossibly long ebony table toward me, sliding unnaturally past the hundreds of other death delegates before coming to rest in front of my chair. I quickly opened the envelope and scanned the document contained within.
*Well, Gary? Anything to add to the discussion?*
I was fucked and I knew it. Some poor sap in Portugal had fallen into a cement truck on Tuesday and the cement had cured with him still inside. Mystifying doctors around the world, his heart was still beating. I was at fault for not taking his life.
"Well, uh... have we considered the possibility that this is a bona-fide miracle?"
*Jesus Christ Gary, joking around at a time like this? This is causing havoc on Earth. This only happens maybe once a decade and you can't even keep up with the workload?*
Man, I couldn't even remember what happened last Tuesday. Was I drunk? Maybe that's the night I tried to hook up with that cute delegate in charge of hard-boiled egg related death. Or was that Wednesday? It was all such a blur at that point.
"I mean, come on now. This is clearly an issue of suffocation. Shouldn't Lord Fairmont have handled this guy?"
I heard a chuckle from far down the table, likely Christopher. I wonder when the last time he had work, not too many people dying from smallpox these days.
*Unbelievable. You're trying to blame one of the High Delegates for the one death you've been responsible since... 1971? Seriously? Over three decades?*
"Well, it's just that I've had a lot on my mind recently so.."
*Save it. Okay, Lord Marhaad, you're going to have to clean up this mess for us. Heart attack after that much stress shouldn't raise many questions.*
"See, it all worked out in the end. No problems. I promise I'll really nail the next one."
*I swear to god, Gary. If you weren't immortal, I'd kill you with my bare hands.*
"I thought Lord Zillam handled strangling? Do you even have hands?"
I had never heard the room sigh before, that was interesting.
*Moving on. Blake, I need you to finish up with that girl who broke her neck tripping on that gopher hole. End of day today, got it?*
I couldn't handle much more of this awful meeting, but luckily the spotlight was gone for the time being. Napping for another few decades sounded nice anyway.
| 2014-08-05T13:06:27 | 2014-08-05T12:18:09 | 517 | 77 |
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