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[WP] The first humans have finally traveled to a new solar system to start a new colony, but they have forgotten something.
The first humans have finally traveled to a new solar system to start a new colony, but they have forgotten something. What is it that they forgot?
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The Mcallisters finally made it. Time to start a new life on a new world. There was no looking back now. But as Kate Mcallister looked over her family, she couldn't help but feel like there was something she was missing.
*Oh...Oh no!!* She thought.
"KEEEEVVIIIN!" She screamed.
|
Everything was set up.
The bedrooms, check.
Water and food producers, check
Suddenly, I heard a voice.
"Hey Jim, where's the toilet paper?"
"I don't know, there should be some!"
"Well there isn't!"
I checked my watch. The next group of people weren't due to arrive for a month.
*Oh dear god*
| 2015-03-22T19:14:39 | 2015-03-22T16:09:10 | 43 | 19 |
[WP] A former child star has given up fame and fortune to pursue a career in academia. PhD candidate Jaden Smith presents his dissertation in Philosophy, "How Can Mirrors Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real"
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"When John Wheeler first proposed his delayed-choice thought experiment, the world at large thought it was too weird to mention. However, [recent measurements](http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2015/05/150527103110.htm) in an Australian laboratory now confirm that particles on the quantum level do not exist until observed. Mirrors do not contain the real world, they are merely a reflection of reality. However, until reality is observed it is now measured to not even exist. Do mirrors 'observe' reality when it is us who look into the mirror, doing the observing? Does our observation of the mirror makes what the mirror reflects a reality? Do we observe our own eyes? No, we do not. There is only a very small layer of cells that are actually involved in measuring light so as to present 'a' form of reality and that reality is now shown not to exist until observed. So I ask this august body: "How can mirrors be real, if our eyes are not real?"
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In the instance of a perfect mirror all light would theoretically reflect off of it without being altered by the mirror's surface. This fundamentally makes it impossible for us to observe the mirror itself due to the nature in which our eyes perceive reality, which is through analyzing photons over time, meaning we can not be certain if it is there at all. If we truly consider how our eyes observe it can be hypothesized that if light has continuously been phasing into our perception, spontaneously of course, in a way that makes us observe our "eyes" when looking into a mirror but never actually interacting with our "eyes" one might draw a conclusion that our "eyes" may not exist at all but merely are the assumed device our consciousness has assembled to justify its observations and, therefore, reality. In this sense mirrors are in just as much question as our eyes because how can one hope to judge what is real when your eyes, the tools with which we can observe "reality", may not exist at all but merely be a way in which your consciousness observes itself unknowingly.
How can mirrors be real if our eyes aren't real, further extended; how can anything be real?
| 2015-05-31T02:07:47 | 2015-05-30T23:06:50 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] God is actually a divorced couple with shared custody of humanity. Now it's Old Testament's turn to take the kids, and he is not happy with how New Testament has handled the last two millenniums.
Credit to Louis C.K. for the idea.
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She looked upon the world her partner had fostered.
Unconditional love, humility, forgiveness, self sacrifice.
What had it accomplished?
Militant states where the police killed without hesitation.
Militant states following misinterpretations of what she had said.
Militant men hating for skin and conflicting interpretations.
Pedophiles bought child slaves, the locals profited.
So many little ones starved without food while so many well fed starved without compassion.
They were soft, greedy, squabbling sycophants.
She looked upon the world her lost love had left her.
Forgiveness? Tolerance of all this?
Fuck that.
The rainbow had never been hers. She had made no promises.
Yet the water had been hers. The flood had been hers.
It would be hers again.
|
"You're too nice New. I've been telling you that for two thousand years now. You're too nice and these humans are walking all over you. I mean look, there are atheists everywhere. It's like you don't even care. You know what happened last time atheists cropped up during my period of custody? Fire. Golden calf? How about fire. Don't like my rules? How about desert and sky food. Invent sodomy? How about fucking fire! See, you may be the parent they turn to when they want forgiveness, but they'll never mature that way. You mature with fire."
"Tsk tsk," New said from the other line. "I still have them another 1000 years Old. And I'm not sure if you've read Revelation, but...I saved all the learning experiences for last."
| 2015-06-05T00:16:23 | 2015-06-04T21:57:16 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven.
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"Spoon."
"But.. but why??"
He was perplexed. And rightly so. I mean, a person choosing a small and insignificant wooden spoon over a trillion year long vacation at the heavens was indeed perplexing. But this was not the point.
Over the course of his service, which had lasted for who knows how long, he had indeed seen one or two take up the spoon. But they had deliberated. Over weeks, months even! Thinking and thinking, over the purpose of this seemingly absurd choice. They had asked hundreds.. no thousands of questions to him.
"Is it some sort of trick?" (No.)
"Is this spoon special?" (No. It's just a wooden spoon)
"Are you really sending us to heaven?" (Yes.)
"Is the trillion year on heaven different from earth?" (No.)
On and on they asked. There had to be some catch, they had argued. Why else would hell, of all places, even pose this ridiculous question??
They were so convinced that there was something special about the spoon, in spite of being unable to prove thusly, that they had ended up choosing the spoon. Of course there was nothing special about it at all which they found out later, much to their regret. But at least their choosing of the said spoon made sense. At least they took their time, they argued, they deliberated. But this man?
He didn't even wait for a second.
"Spoon."
"But.. but why??"
"I like collecting spoons."
|
It took days (or months, or years, one can never really be sure here) of waiting, but I finally made it to the front of the line at one of the few open desks that formed a line along the back wall of the gigantic cavern in which I found myself after my death. To my left and right, for as far as my eyes could percieve, souls waited in lines at boothes just like mine. The old man waiting on the other end of the both spoke quietly.
"Here is the deal kid, you can get one. A small wooden spoon, or a trillion year vacation in Heaven."
"Well that is easy, I choose heaven."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Very. I'll take the hundred trillion years in heaven, no doubt about it."
The old looking man behind the desk leaned in to me, and lowered his voice even further. "Please thing about this carefully kid, you only get to choose once. You will be stuck here until the end of time itself."
He waited for a response, but I had none to give.
"Listen son, I am trying to help you out here. This choice isn't nearly as meaningless as you think it is."
"Very well," I slowly concluded, "I choose the spoon."
The old man at the desk began to cackle. His skin slowly turned red and monstrous as horns sprouted from his forehead. The cavern around me faded, and then the world turned black.
I woke in a small prison cell, the space dominated by 4 bunk beds. "Hey look!" one of my fellow inmates shouted, "Another sucker!". In his left hand was a tiny wooden spoon.
| 2015-06-07T22:50:03 | 2015-06-07T21:20:43 | 97 | 25 |
[WP] You are a time traveler whose job is to make our world a better place. You have saved Lincoln stopped 9/11 and made sure that the Library of Alexandria was never destroyed. Now as he you get ready for your next mission your employer tells you: "Make Hitler win".
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My boss stood stone faced, waiting for my reply. How could I possibly go back in time and let the man continue to murder millions of Jews, and millions more men and women and children from other countries, allow the destruction of Moscow and the total installment of the Nazi machine not only in Europe but across the globe? It seemed inconceivable. As I was about to open my mouth in protest, he started to chuckle.
I balked, and stood mouth agape.
"You should have seen your face, priceless."
"I don't understand sir."
"You will go back in time, find Adolph Hitler, and make him win...a scholarship to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. You see Hitler was a promising young art student, but was shiftless, lazy, and using his inheritance money to pay for the program. You will travel back in time, pose as a kindly benefactor and push him into becoming one of the worlds greatest architects, and not one of the worlds greatest tyrants. His designs will be quite beautiful, and incredibly brutal."
"As one would imagine."
"That is all, you'll find the necessary documents and materials in the briefing room."
Sometimes the old man could be quite a shit.
|
I stood, staring down the leader of Germany, with that toothbrush like moustache and the... Lunacy? I'm not too sure anymore, this job was a real drain on my life, intelligence and pretty much everything else. I mean, Hitler, WINNING THE SECOND WORLD WAR. Christ.
"Mein Führer, perhaps, it is best we don't invade Russia."
Adolf turned, and with that ever lasting scowled, snarled "And why not?"
"Well, mein Führer, perhaps the war will last until winter, if we send the men now, without proper winter equipment, we may lose valuable troops, possibly even the war."
Hitler contemplated this, hands running through his hair, eyes almost bulging out his sockets as he stared into the map as if it would reveal an answer.
"I see. Then, perhaps, the invasion of Russia could be halted, temporarily."
"Thank you mein Führer." I left the room quickly, I walked as fast as possible, pulling myself out of this god forsaken hell hole. If only I wasn't the only German operative cleared to time travel then Hitler wouldn't have to win. I will never forgive the man that gave our people such a disgusting representation for years.
| 2015-11-23T06:04:57 | 2015-11-23T05:07:37 | 437 | 50 |
[WP] In a world where centuries have passed since the last of humankind were lost to the zombie virus, a pathogen begins to spread, turning zombies back into humans.
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A pungent, rotten, metallic smell assaulted my nose. It was so strong my god damn eyes watered, and I couldn't even see.
Then the taste swarmed my tongue. Pangs of iron, sulfur and vomit. I clawed desperately, trying to grate my taste buds off to no avail.
Sound followed. Distant screams, squelching and clattering. Footfall all around me, dizzying and overwhelming.
I felt warmth and wetness on my hands, my feet raw and my eyes burned. It was...cold, as well.
My sight returned last, tying it all together. Crumbling, moss-covered buildings, dead bodies and weathered cars littered the earth. The sun burned my eyes unlike anything I'd felt before. As I slowly regained vision, I looked down and saw the mangled body of a child, her blood fresh on my hands.
*What...is this?*
I tried to scream but my throat burned like hell. All I could do was throw up.
*Where am I? How did I get here? Where....where is my family? My friends?*
Memories of the infection hit me all at once. The plague of undead feasting on the living. I looked down at the little girl in front of me, entrails torn out and half-eaten, and cried. The puddle of vomit pooling near me had bits of intestinal tract in it.
I had returned to life, but I was certainly not alive anymore.
|
HOMINI, PRIM A. (b. 2320). The first human. Decedent Removal Technician. Regenerated in the North Western section of the continent, she is widely accepted by scholars of the Continental Zero Period Historical and Reparative Society to be the first re-animated human roaming the decedent cities and zones in the Northwest.
For those interested in her pre-Zero geographical location, evidence suggests the Western coast of the state of Washington, which is one of the 50 states collected under the name the United State of America.
Homini is considered a Class D regeneration, having been restored through biological, autonomous processes. Unlike C, B, and A classes, which are non-biological and non-automotive, the Class D regeneration carries over prior memory. Patients under class D are rare, indeed, only 18 exist in the history of our Post-Zero world, and it is highly likely that had not Homini retained her memory, she would not have possessed the capacity to administer C, B, and occasionally A regenerations (a growing consensus among the provinces finds the term "regeneration" for Class A to be inadequate; "generation" is the preferred replacement) to other decedents.
Homini has regenerated 12,468 decedents on the continent. Seventeen of them were found by Homini in prime geographical locations for Class D regenerations. Today, these 17 individuals serve as the heads of the 17 Provinces of the 12000. Homini currently leads the research field on regeneration. In the next 5 years, Class D regenerations are expected to become commonplace alongside Class A.
| 2016-01-22T00:13:55 | 2016-01-21T22:45:34 | 179 | 51 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
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How was he so behind in score? Jahweh sat gaping with disbelief at the icons floating in the top left of his screen, indicating that his rival, Jorgaxis, had just reached the highest tech level.
"Shouldn't have picked DNA as your genetic molecule, noob" the chat-window taunted. Jorgaxis was right, the higher rate of mutation gave him an edge in the early game, but that had been squandered after his setback with the dinosaurs. Now all it meant was that these damn humans were scared of nuclear power, and those dead dinosaurs were providing an easier, if less efficient means of power. If they didn't get their act together soon, cold-fusion was never going to be researched!
To make matters worse his faith points were dwindling; a few turns ago he overclicked the "new messiah" button and now had too many competing religions on his planet. Lack of a world religion was ruining his faith economy, preventing advancement. You'd think that after spending so many resources to flood the entire world that the one family of followers left alive would agree to worship him, but no. The game was not going well.
Sighing, he clicked to place a few images of himself on some toast, maybe that little push would be enough?
|
Jesus is doing well, most advanced in science but his public order is barely in the green, Jesus adopts and invests his saved social policies heavily in the the freedom ideology.
The other gods see this a chance to fuck with him
"Budda has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
"Bhrama has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
"Yahwey has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
Even Zeus and Kronos agree for once and chose to adopt the order ideology.
"Fuck!!" Jesus yells, his public order has gone down to -20. But he doesn't want to change it or he will lose half his policy's. Rebellions sprout up and he has to devote all his empires resources to shutting them down. In the meantime the other civs catch up to him in science. Eventually Jesus gives up.
"Jesus has adopted the order ideology"
"Finally it's over" he thought. But in that chaos the other gods used the distraction and moved their armies to his borders. Jesus knows what's about to happen. But he has no troops left from his rebellions. All the other gods declare war on him at once. And his civilization is carved up like a turkey.
"You have lost, your civilization has fallen to its many foes"
Jesus facepalms and says "whatever I'll get them in a few millennia when this game is over" and goes to watch star trek TNG.
| 2016-04-09T08:11:27 | 2016-04-09T05:49:29 | 30 | 20 |
[WP] An eldritch abomination from beyond time and space is stalking through your apartment. You're on first-name terms though, so you don't mind.
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I moved in to the shanty on the cliff about two weeks earlier. I just needed to get away, away from life, away from stress. Maybe write that novel I'd always thought about. But, mostly I was broke, and as the place was practically condemned, it was cheap. Free, actually, as long as I didn't let it fall down around me.
Which is why, when the walls started oozing orange-red fluid, I was more angry than scared - the next stop after this was living under a bridge.
"All right, get out here. Enough with the dripping walls. Wailing and shaking the place won't help ya either. Let's just get this over with."
The fluid stopped, as did the wind-like wail that had just started. Then began a slow sucking sound, and all the air and shadows seemed to move towards the center of the room. There was a crack like thunder, and a being a thousand feet tall stood, defying the ghost of Euclid, in the twenty by fifteen by eight shanty. Tentacles flailed about it, clouds swirled around its massive head, which was all eye. A hundred mouths spoke from it at once:
"Mortal" it chorused. "I am TinchaglethaFr'neghonon\*shiny spoons\*Glrthor, Devourer of Tre'Gknathor, Holder of the \*puppy\* of Ipthlar. I claim your service. Submit as my minion or I will unleash upon you torment the likes of which you cannot fathom."
"Well, that's hardly a threat." I scoffed.
"Www..what?" If the first utterance had been a hundred mouths in unholy chorus, it's stuttering response was more like... three mouths.
"For one, how scared do you expect me to be, if I can't even fathom the punishment? It's not like I can quake in fear of... something vague happening."
"It's meant as a metaph... I mean, you're supposed to imagine something horrid in its place, and fear that?" It was down to one voice, from a single mouth - and it was high and wet sounding.
"Secondly" I cut in, pretending not to hear it, "Do you really think you can do worse than my ex wife?"
"Well, I mean it's not like she was an eldrtich-"
I cut him off again. "That woman was worse than any abomination. She sucked my soul out through my urethra. Can *you* suck souls, ah, Tin?" I crossed my arms, raising my chin at the beast.
"I am Tinchagle...." he trailed off as my stare derailed his train of thought. "I guess Tin will be fine."
"And can you? Suck souls?"
"Not... not as such." The creature's kilometer-long tentacles were fidgeting now.
I kept my stern stare for another few heartbeats, then sighed and slumped. "Oh, all right, Tin, I'm sorry. What's your story, why are you here, crammed into my shanty against the laws of physics?"
"I have come to conquer all of time and space. I have come to slay the \*butterfly accountant\*. I have come-"
"Hold up there. Butterfly accountant?"
"Ah.. well, there's not really a polite way to say this, but whenever your feeble mortal mind hears an eldritch word that it cannot comprehend, it... ah... picks something else. At random, I think."
"I guess that explains the puppies and spoons from before, too. Butterfly accountant..." I rubbed my chin as I thought. "Hey, and another thing - why are you trying to conquer all of time and space... from my shanty?"
"Well, it's the perfect location from which to... ah... frog splatter."
"Frog... hey, that didn't have the same feel as when my 'feeble brain' picks words. Are you trying to cover your lack of a plan with fake eldritch speak? Wait... wait! You're lost, aren't you. Lost!"
"Mortal! I am older than the universe. I know more than all the combined geniuses of Earth will ever-"
"But you're lost."
"They... didn't have time, as such, in my dimension. There was a Big Bang, and then suddenly nothing was where it was supposed to be, and I wandered, kinda scared actually and..."
"And wound up here. In my shack."
"Yes. Lovely view, by the way."
"So... nowhere to go, then?"
"Literally." Confessed the creature. "Nowhen, either."
"All right, you can stay. For a while at least." I sighed. Us unwanted types have to stick together, I thought.
"You will not live to regret thi... ah... you won't regret this, mortal. I shall be on my best behavior. All I need is a little energy, companionship, and a... a small place to \*fluffy emus.\*"
"Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret agreeing to fluffy emus?" I said, as I put out my hand to shake on the deal. It took the creature almost 20 seconds to narrow his tentacles down to a single one to shake. It was covered in that same orange goo from the walls.
Tin wasn't an ideal roomate, from the looks of it, but I'd rather share this space with his kilometers of goo-covered tentacles than sit in another room with my ex-wife's lawyers. Now *there* was a horrific threat to time and space!
|
"Hey, you want tacos or something?"
The being "sat" on the couch beside me. At least, it seemed to sit; it was difficult to see it clearly, to understand what it was you were looking at when you tried to view it directly. It shifted, it seemed. Or maybe shimmered was a better descriptor.
Either way, he was really fucking hard to get a fix on.
"Nah. We did tacos yesterday."
I put my feet up on the coffee table beside what I could only assume were impressions of his lower appendages as we fired up the X-Box for another round of something.
"What about Chinese?"
"Eh." it answered, disinterested.
It was going to be one of *those* days.
We played in silence for a while, only the sounds of simulated warfare echoing in the mostly empty apartment. I'd never bothered to put anything up on the walls, since I was rarely ever home. I figured what was the point in putting fancy things on the walls, if no one was ever here to see them?
At least, that had been true while I still had a job.
Then Bob showed up. It wasn't his real name, but it was the name he was going to get. Whatever his actual name was confounded him, seeming to slip around his consciousness in such a way that he could never grasp it. He could never remember what it was, no matter how many times the being gave it to him.
At first, this seemed to annoy Bob. As if he were used to his name having some big impact on people.
To be fair, I'd seen him give his name to the pizza boy once when I was in the can and couldn't answer the door. I found out on the news that the guy had shot himself on his next delivery a few blocks away when we watched the news that night. No note, no nothing; just signs of the inside of his car (which he'd locked himself into, by the way) having been torn to bits.
It was almost as if Bob were waiting for it, surfing through all the local news channels and online rags, skimming headlines.
He'd go out of his way to say his name to me all the time when he first started showing up here. I would have a vague recollection of what he'd said but mostly, it just slipped on by. Eventually he stopped trying, and settled for the nickname I'd given him. It was much easier to say.
It was around that time I found myself doing really badly at work. I'd been having a lot of difficulty concentrating. Sometimes I'd sort of wake up at my desk, only to find all of my colleagues standing around me, looking concerned. Said they'd been trying to get through to me for 10 minutes, sometimes longer, but I just sat there and stared off into nothing.
I'd been to the company doctor, like the'd asked, but he couldn't find anything wrong. It didn't seem to be getting any worse, he said, but he couldn't find anything physically wrong with me, and sent me back to work after a week's paid vacation to "get a grip" on myself.
When that didn't fix it, it wasn't long before I was fired.
After that, Bob just never left. He was there when I went to bed, and there when I woke up. Sometimes I'd hear him using my headphones to speak to other players while I was trying to sleep, but I could never really make out what it was he said to them.
We'd fight about what to eat for dinner (living off the generous amount I'd already managed to save for retirement, in my years in finance, mind you) and play X-Box. Days passed into weeks, weeks into months, or... at least, they could have. I had no real idea how much time had passed since we first met.
"I got it, what about sushi?" he interrupted, pulling me back to the moment at hand.
"Oh yeah, sushi sounds good. We haven't done that in a while".
"Can we get it from that place with the really good wasabi? The real stuff?"
"Yeah, they take forever to deliver, bu-"
The door crashed down and as I swung my head, getting to my feet in fear, I felt something similar to Bob's presence start to slide around the figure at the door. This time, however, the presence did more than just slide. It dug it's fingers into my mind from all sides, tearing into it, digging into it like something living. For a brief moment the pain was almost pleasurable, almost, just long enough for me to not fight back before it all went sideways.
--------------------
I looked at my room-mate laying on the floor, his corporeal form twitching wildly. Sound, incoherent and unformed, blasted from his speech-flap at an amazing volume.
I sighed, turning to face the doorway.
"Mother."
"Don't use that frosty tone with me, young one!" she bellowed, gesticulating towards me in her typical fashion. She clearly hadn't changed in the time since I'd last endured her presence. "Been lazing around, I see?"
"I just wanted a break."
"A break? A BREAK?" she scoffed, slapping me with the nearest appendage. "Superior beings do not have the leisure of taking a *break* whenever they want."
"Goddamnit, mom, this is exactly why I left! Just give me some space!"
"Oh, I'll give you some space, alright." she quipped, grasping the appendage I favored for hearing. "How's a time-out in an empty cluster sound to you?"
"But mo-"
As they disappeared from the space, no doubt on their way to whatever punishment the horror's mother had decided, the apartment was left to its own devices. Only the ragged sounds of a broken man screaming himself to death were left to decorate the space, painting the picture of something gone terribly, horribly wrong.
| 2016-06-08T14:45:39 | 2016-06-08T14:17:20 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] The Devil appears before you and puts a heavy hand on your shoulder, "Look, we need to talk about you putting me in every Writing Prompt."
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"But... you're the Devil. *Everyone* wants to read about you! Readers love you because you're so mythical and powerful -- you're the **embodiment** of evil. Plus, you're pretty cool. Some people even think you're *kind of hot*," said the writer, tugging at his shirt collar. The Devil let out an exasperated sigh but subconsciously moved his hand down toward his rippling red abdominals.
"Writers," the writer continued, "Can use you as a clever metaphor or uh... or as an *allegorical device*. Then maybe -- probably -- they'll try to subvert the meaning of your presence," said the writer. "It's so *easy* to tack on a last sentence twist, when writing about a fallen angel."
"But surely it's **boring**," said the Devil, rolling his eyes and snorting flames. "Every damned prompt. Me. Everything that can be done with me, has been done.Try something original, something based on reality maybe. A prompt with a little *soul*."
They'd already been arguing for hours, and had made little progress. The Devil, and the writer.
"People don't want reality. They want escapism. They want to imagine forces of Good and Evil duelling over control of existence."
"Then have God, or Jesus, in the prompt. I'm fed up of having my name cheapened."
"God? Hm, that wouldn't really work. This is Reddit - we have a lot of Atheist-Lite's around here. To them, God is a pretty disliked figure."
The Devil's mouth dropped open. "How disliked , exactly?"
"Oh, *pretty* disliked," said the writer, with a little laugh.
The Devil's strawberry face grew pale. "More than me?" he asked, in no more than a whisper.
"Sure."
"Oh."
"Hey, don't feel bad, big guy. They like to blame *everything* on God. Well, everything **bad**. And to them, there's a whole lot of bad in the world."
"But... that's thanks to *me*."
"They don't think so."
"So they blame God."
"Look, it's nothing personal. It's just cool to blame God. It makes religion look stupid. It's edgy stuff. It makes them feel superior - don't worry about it. You don't want to develop a complex. This isn't even about God - it's about *you!* Let's forget about it, we're going off on a tangent."
"No, it's too late to forget about it. I'm going to teach them all a lesson they'll never forget."
"Oh?"
"I'm going to retire. No more bad. No more death. Soon, they'll have nothing to blame God for. Who will they throw their misplaced misery and project their self loathing at then? They will only have themselves!"
"Oh boy..."
|
It's not always that you get a visit from the devil. And when you do, you'd expect something bad to happen, like being pulled down to hell, finding out that you're his illegitimate child or being drawn to some eternal conflict that you had no idea that you're part of.
"Look, that's not what I am here for."
Wait... what?
"Yes, I can see that you're already formulating a story in your head. Or a writing prompt, I don't really care. The thing is, I'm here to talk about something else."
It turns out that despite how people describe the devil, with horns, fire and what-not, he is actually not that much different from any human-
"Can you PLEASE just stop thinking about writing a story for a second? I can read thoughts too, just so you know."
And what do you know? Out of all the powers Satan is rumored to have, no one has expected him to have mind reading powers. [WP] Write a story where the devil reads your mind and ends up being disgusted instead.
"I AM NOT DISGUSTED. MORE LIKE ANNOYED."
The devil's voice boomed, shaking the very foundation of the house. His eyes glowed fiery red, and it seemed as if the ground itself was on fire. What could have possibly brought him to the mortal realm?
"I AM HERE BECAUSE OF YOU. Honestly, me and that white good for nothing guy up there agreeing on something? It's seriously overrated! What's with you humans and having to use me for all your story ideas? Or Hitler for that matter? Or Batman and Joker? I'm seriously nauseated with all these overused tropes."
What the humans never realized, in their quest to write good stories, was how Lucifer-
"OMG please stop. Your story doesn't even flow consistently! One moment I'm the devil, next I'm Satan and now I'm Lucifer? Your tenses and grammar don't even make sense! Like I said, please stop using me for every writing prompt or story you have in mind. It's getting old. Why not use Jesus instead? Or Jehovah? That name has better ring to it than Lucifer. And he's omni-"
Shaitan, however, never got to finish his sentence. A loud puff of smoke exploded beside him, revealing a old figure dressed completely in white. Like the figure in red, he was not pleased.
"I am not pleased because I overheard a brilliant idea coming from our dear friend Lucifer here. What makes you think I would be happy being the overused trope in stories?"
"Oh please, says the fella who enjoys being worshiped and adored."
"I don't! And haven't you heard before of the verse, never use the name of the Lord in vain."
As the two figures continue to bicker in an otherwise unassuming house, the protagonist swiftly returns to his computer, his fingers moving methodically across the keyboard.
[WP] The Devil and God landed in your house. They decide to argue about something stupid.
--------------
/r/dori_tales
| 2017-01-10T09:03:07 | 2017-01-10T09:02:13 | 228 | 47 |
[WP] The Devil appears before you and puts a heavy hand on your shoulder, "Look, we need to talk about you putting me in every Writing Prompt."
|
“But why me?” Satan sounded almost pathetic asking me that, but I was still intimidated. "There are so many other characters you could choose. So many topics.”
“We could submit anything, but you have to understand, the most interesting topics never get read.” I opened up Reddit on my browser to show him the site.
Satan sat reading through popular prompts over the past month. Finally he looked at me, “You know, nobody has ever seen numbers over people’s heads. Even the most advanced synesthesia doesn’t produce numbers of those sorts. Why is that so popular?"
He kept reading. “Time travel is physically impossible. And even if you could travel back in time, timelines can’t be changed or broken. Killing Hitler would be impossible.”
The criticisms kept coming from Satan. “Intelligence sharing makes it very unlikely many government agencies would have undercover agents tripping over each other…. Queen Elizabeth is old, but isn’t some sort of ancient witch. Plenty of people with good access to healthcare live to her age. Why do people have conspiracies about that?…. What’s up with all these implausible theories for how the world ends? Have they not read the book of Revelations? It says it pretty clearly there…. Harry Potter isn’t even that interesting of a character. Hermione does all the work….”
Finally, having gone through everything recent, he turned away from the computer.
“OK, so cliche characters and plots are simple for upvotes. I get why I’m a character. But where are you /u/sketches1637 ? Why don’t you have any top prompts recently."
I responded as honestly as I could. “The mods keep deleting all my prompts that mention or allude to politics, which is what I like to write about. It’s some bullshit anti-politics thing they have going on related to Donald Trump.”
“Wait, wait, wait. The moderators have banned The Donald but let me stay around to be a character in all these crappy prompts. That’s outrageous! He’s about to be in charge of thousands of nuclear weapons and the most powerful military on the planet. I’d think we’d want to encourage writing about him. It’s far more important than stories about mythical beings, magic powers and cliche plotlines.”
I shrugged my shoulders, turned to my computer and typed in *Satan sees numbers over people’s heads that show how many times they’ve thought about Batman killing Hitler.* “Well Satan, you work with the rules you get."
|
"I'm serious, it's done. That whole cliche of 'The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled', I did that for a reason, okay? I'm out of the game. Done. Retired." The Devil seemed to think my shoulder was a typewriter as every word was punctuated by a not so tender jab. He was just about to press on when the door was kicked in.
"No, if anybody's getting out of all these craptastic writing prompts, it's me; Time Traveling Hitler!" And lo and fucking behold in goose stepped that murderous little asshole.
"Dude, where's your German?" I asked, of all things. I know, but seriously, he didn't even have an accent.
"I'm a Time Travel, duh. There's a drug in the distance future, for pretty much everything."
"Everything?" Lucifer and I both asked at the same time. Did we just become best friends?
"Jah, I mean 'yes'." Nodded the future hopping Fuhrer.
"So why not just take a pill to make you completely unaware of all these prompts? Or maybe stay in the future when there might not be so many, if any? I can't imagine you are the worst, I mean we eventually do get off the planet, right? We have to make some bigger blunders than you and Trump, right?" I asked, practically pleaded.
Hitler gaped for a second, closed his mouth, and gaped again. "Fine! Yeah, that's what I was going to do anyway! And see if I time travel back here anymore!" And with that Hitler slammed the door and was never seen again (save the many, many time traveling and/or Hitler related prompts on r/WritingPrompts).
Lucifer blinked, he was at a loss for words. "Well, okay. Um, look, that doesn't sound like a bad idea for me either. I'm just gonna go, hope forward a few thousand years. Because apparently there are just time machines everywhere." He started towards the door, and then stopped. "Oh yeah, and because I'm such a nice guy, check it out!" The Devil pulled a remote out of his pocket. It was labeled Inane Serial Killer Prompts. It had a dial. It was currently only set to 5 (What the fuck, *only* 5!?). With a devilish grin he cranked it to 11 and snapped the knob off. "Have a nice time on that internet now, Slick!" And with that, the Devil was gone as well.
| 2017-01-10T09:39:17 | 2017-01-10T09:13:25 | 119 | 19 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while!
|
It was an accident, of course.
My birth, my being in space, and well, I suppose I was an accident as well. An accident from director of engineering fucking the fat janitor after hours when the rest of the shuttle team had retired, the odds that my mother had been able to hide her baby bump for nine months, the chances that she had been a nurse before being selected from the program and knew how to give birth herself, in a maintenance closet, mere days before the mission was to return to earth. Keeping me hidden was difficult in the small confines of the ship, but the other hundred and fifty crew members had been too busy to pay a maid much attention. After all, many insisted that it had not been worthwhile to bring her along, that a maid had been a waste of tax dollars. I suppose that makes me a waste of tax dollars as well.
But there were those that spoke to her unique abilities as a maid. For she had been born deep in the snow of the north, during the first blizzard of winter, that like the first snowfall she could smooth over any differences in her environment and make it appear uniform. As a maid, it meant that she had an extraordinary sense of cleanliness. As a mother, it meant she could ensure I was overlooked, that my crying was muffled, and later in life, that I appeared no different than anyone else.
Starchild, she had called me as she smuggled me back into the atmosphere, tucked deep in her suit like a kangaroo would carry her young. Starchild, she whispered to me when the project disbanded, and she took me back to the inner city apartment where I spent my early life. Starchild, she reprimanded, whenever I started pushing and pulling at the equilibrium of our apartment, when she would arrive home from work and all the furniture would be clustered at the center of the room, pulled together by a force point.
"When will I go to school?" I asked her when I was eight, watching the uniformed children marching up the street through the wrought iron gates of the academy, one of them flicking flames across his fingers like a coin while another left footprints of frost in the grass.
"You already go to school, Starchild." She said, "And your teachers say you've been learning your numbers well, and your reading has been progressing."
"Not *that* school," I had said, pulling a face, "I want to go to the academy. The special school, for the others like me!" I held up a fist, and items on the desk in front of me flew towards it, pens and papers and pencils that stuck out like quivering quills out of my skin.
"Starchild, listen, and stop that at once" She had said, her eyes level with mine, "There *are* no others like you. Those children, they are all classified, they are all known. You are *not* like them, you never will be. And they can't know, do you understand me?"
"I guess," I said, with a huff, watching as one of the children cracked a joke and the others laughed, "But I don't like my school. Everyone there knows we can't be like them, we can't be special."
"Starchild, you *are* special. One day, they'll know that too. But not now- if they knew, they wouldn't take you to the academy. They'd take you somewhere else, somewhere terrible."
And as I grew older, I realized that she was right. That when our neighbor started developing powers, a police squad showed up at her front door, and classified her on the spot. That they left her with a tattoo on her shoulder, a tattoo of a lightning bolt, symbolizing the storm she had been born during. Just like the tattoo of a snowflake on my mother's shoulder, colored dull grey, to indicate a low threat potential.
So instead of going to the academy, I created an academy of my own, in my room. Mother made me turn the lights out at ten, so during the day I collected light outside, keeping it in one of the dark holes I could create when I closed my fist hard enough, and letting it loose at night to read books I had stolen from the library. From the section for the special children, that I could only access if the librarians were distracted.
But distractions came easy to me.
As I grew older, the city streets became more populated with the blue uniforms of police. The academy became increasingly harder to attend, the gifted girl next door disappeared one night without a note. Mother stopped letting me outside after dark, and the lines for the soup kitchens grew longer. The skies grew darker, the voices accustomed to speaking in whispers, and the television news seemingly had less and less to report. It was as if there was a blanket thrown upon us, but no one dared look who had thrown it.
But I would. And when I did, I realized the earth needed a Starchild.
***
By Leo. **[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65hl73/star_child_part_2/)**
Part 3 coming soon. [While you wait, check out my other science fiction story about a starship struck by an asteroid on its way to colonize a distant planet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/5ons87/you_can_now_add_the_bridge_to_you_shelf_on/)
|
“Drop your weapons!” Cried a reedy voice from the alleyway.
The criminals froze in their tracks, turning their weapons on the darkness with shivering hands. It had to be one of *them*. One of the heroes. There hadn’t been time for it to be anyone else – there were no flashing lights, no screeching tires of police cars. Only a voice in the dark that commanded them to stop.
A figure stepped into the pool of light at the base of the lamppost. It was a boy, wearing clothes much like their own – black, with a mask obscuring everything but his eyes. Where theirs were ratty and torn, however, his had been artfully put together – speckled with gleaming dots of white, the swirl of a galaxy splashed across his chest. He was a boy, lanky with a teenager’s new growth, but there was no mistaking what he was.
“I said,” The boy continued, “*drop. Your. Weapons.*”
“And why the hell should we do that? Just because some punk asked us to?” Asked the first, a tall man with thick stubble growing what parts of his chin were visible. He was the one with the briefcase – and he was quite keen on being able to keep it when the night was through.
“You know better than that.” The teen said. “If you didn’t, you’d already be running.”
It would have been intimidating, if he could keep his voice from cracking quite so much.
“Nuh uh. I don’t think so, tough guy.” The crook cackled. “You’re just a wannabe. You think I don’t recognize a home-made costume when I see one?”
The would-be hero gulped, but stood his ground. “Power doesn’t depend on experience.” He said. “It depends on who you are, and where you were born.”
“I know.” The man replied. “See Marco here? He’s special too – born at the base of the Grand Canyon. His mom broke past security and everything, just so he would get the *gift*. Wanna see what he did to the vault doors?”
Marco flexed, displaying muscles that strained the fabric of his shirt to the utmost limit. The boy, however, didn’t reply. Inwardly, he flinched – remembering the awful sound of the twisting metal. He had been nervous then, but it was nothing compared to how he felt now.
“Meanwhile, I was born at sea.” The man continued. “Wayyyy out over the ocean, not like these namby-pamby wannabes who wade into the shallows to have their kids. You should just see what I can do with a cup of water…or a cup of blood.” He cackled loudly, making the hairs on the back of the boy’s neck stand up on end.
“You wanna know why we didn’t run, kid?” The crook said, grinning. “We thought it might be someone who would put up a fight. You know, someone special. Alabaster, maybe. He might be able to give Marco here a shiner, if he threw his crystals hard enough. Or maybe Zephyr. But no. Instead, we just find you – a pitiful, weak, idiotic child playing hero in the middle of the night with a bunch of criminals. I have half a mind to teach you a lesson…maybe you’ll get to find out about that cup of water after all.”
He set down his briefcase, and as one the two men began to approach.
“Do you want to know where I was born?” The boy said. It sounded as if he were trying to get the words out quickly, before he lost his nerve. “Don’t you wonder *why* I’m here, why I’m so brave even though I knew from the start how strong both of you were?”
The men froze.
“Space.” The boy said. “I’m the first person ever born in space.”
The tall man swallowed. Space? He had never heard of someone being born there. Except, maybe, he had. A newspaper cover, half remembered, flickered in front of his vision – Child Born among the Stars. The one who was destined to be a god among men.
“Do you want to know what I can do?” He asked, taking a step toward them. “What powers the vacuum of space gives a child?”
The criminals took a step back.
“Maybe I can rip you apart, tearing your atoms from your flesh one…by…one…” The boy continued. “Maybe I can just squeeze you, push you into a point of matter so dense you won’t even be able to scream. Maybe I’ll just rip you limb from limb at the speed of light.”
Sirens blared in the background. Silently, the man cursed – they had taken too long, been caught too early. Every instinct he had urged him to run - but he didn’t dare make a break for it. Not while that terror stared him down.
“Or maybe, the vacuum of space does something else.” The boy said, grinning triumphantly. “Maybe, so far from everything else…you get nothing at all, and I’ve just been bluffing the entire time.”
The men blinked. Before they could react, the police cars swerved into view, sirens deafening. The boy turned and ran, vanishing into the darkness as the criminals cried out in surprise.
“Or maybe,” He whispered, “you two are just really, really gullible.”
| 2021-11-12T07:30:30 | 2017-04-14T16:01:37 | 4,698 | 148 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :)
|
*Captain S. Hoggoth, of the 40,000th Templar Division, Report on the failure of the Earthican War, Stellar date ASK 29.001..75.16.04*
We thought htat this would be a simple pump-and-dump. We had our Keyship loaded for bear, with thousands of rounds of ammunition. This backwater, the self-titled Earth, didn't even have stellar travel! What hillbillies!
...We did not account for their technological paths.
This species, dubbed *Homo Sapiens sapiens*, have near-unstoppable physical power, incredible healing capabilities without technology, and their weapons...we thought our Empire muskets were top-of-the-line weaponry.
These guys has lightning boxes; machines that would crush our armies and fire rounds so large we thought them *impossible*; flying ships of murderous intent, with their Whirling Blades of Death, and their cyclic sprayers that chew through ammo. Even their hand-arms were incredible, being capable of firing at the rate of a full clip of nine rounds almost instantly, and with better accuracy.
I am one of the last of our Imperial Army left alive. These things are cutting open my squadmates. It's only a matter of time before they come for me. I have uploaded everything I have found on their primitive communications technology they call the Web, as well as audio files through my quantum di-lithium crystal.
Tell my wife and children I love her. I'm not likely to be coming back.
|
"Compared to AX-213? No, this is easy," the footsoldier relayed over the wavelength transmitter. Those pitiful beings weren't even at Stage 1 of the Rëitsig Scale of Development. It was the first in the AX galatic classification that bore such a terrible level of industrialization. One would think that the road was well paved, the instructions clear. To grow, to develop travel, to leave and learn from other colonies. It was such an obvious way forward, though the Xaxnar probably knew the best. Their leader had crafted success for many planets in the entire universe, so he knew the best way to develop a new planet. It was all in a handbook, *The Guide to the Galaxy*, a rather pompous title for an utterly boring story.
Even the footsoldiers had done up a couple of planets in their time. The build for it was easy. Develop the citizens, develop the buildings, develop the offence, then the defence. The rest was easy. Destroy any other planet or territory in the way. The aliens loved to do this; in fact, it was a fun pasttime to make planets and develop colonies, just for the main planet to destroy. It was funny, not just because the main planet benefitted, but because destruction and annihilation were tempting concepts to them.
The footsoldier smiled again, as he readied his invasion troops to a new place. Nothing of worth to invade here. Perhaps better resources and a stronger fight awaited somewhere else. Clash of Planets never got more fun that this.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
| 2017-08-08T05:41:07 | 2017-08-08T05:28:12 | 251 | 16 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
"Jesus Christ!"
"Shhh!!!!" The guy whispered with annoyance. "I don't go by that these days. Just here to pick up John. He also doesn't go by that anymore. These days, he's The Dude. You'd think he'd mellow out after all these years, but he's still nuts. Just let me grab his drunk ass and we'll be out of here. And don't tell no one about meeting me. I've heard enough horror stories from my buddy Elvis."
The End.
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16 | 2017-09-01T20:56:44 | 1,408 | 404 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
"What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..."
|
"Next... Next..."
Another group of kids shuffling into a Baltimore club for a heavy metal gig. Another night for some carding and cash.
I rubbed my hands together, urging the friction to do its thing. Wouldn't be enough, though. This January was mighty cold.
I looked up at the line of kids that approached, noting the number above each one. Honest kids, tonight. All 21 or over. I would have managed a smile at the pleasant change if not for the fucking cold.
When the last had filed in, Keith patted my shoulder.
"I'm taking a break, Reader."
I nodded as he walked off, leaving me alone to guard the door. I was always the one they left alone.
"Hey, can we get in, still?"
I turned to look down at a group of three kids, but instantly saw '19' above the talking one's head.
"Scram, dude. It's 21 and up."
"You didn't even card me!"
"I don't need to," I retorted, staring him down.
"Let us in."
I switched my gaze to another one of the street urchins, only to see this one was different. A lump caught in my throat as I opened my mouth to say a word that become lost in a whirlpool of draining thoughts.
The number above this ones head was 8456.
"ID." I managed to choke out.
I never truly saw his face, only his number. I kept staring at it, knowing I had never been wrong before.
His ID revealed he was 22 years old, but my eyes illustrated otherwise.
Out of pure shock, or fear, I let the group in, watching the number as they walked toward the muffled roar of downtuned electric guitars and thunderous drums.
I couldn't help but follow inside, forgetting to ask Keith to keep watch.
The club was dark except for the neon purple and teal lights of the bar. Some local band screeched onstage as I gravitated toward the largest number in the room. Still a distance away, it turned a corner and faded into the restroom. I followed still.
The bathroom glowed a dirty fluorescent green in an attempt to hide the various stains that covered the walls and stalls. The four-numbered man stood in front of the mirror above the sink, pulling his shirt up to reveal a scarred, swollen, bruised, tattooed torso that twisted at odd angles. The lights flickered and the sound of the band was drowned out by the banging and panting of a couple fucking in the stall.
"Still going to try and kick us out?" The man asked, turning to me. I stood, confused, horrified. The old one approached me in the flickering light of the dingy bathroom, the heat and sound of sex amplifying.
He leaned in close, becoming a silhouette before me. I felt the ancient breath on my neck like the hollow winds that blow over the swelling ocean.
"You can read me as much as you want, muscle man. That number will only grow larger," the old one whispered into my ear.
He exited the bathroom and disappeared into the crowd as the door swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the only remnants of the encounter hung in the thick air as a stench of sweat, blood, and piss.
And then it was gone.
| 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2017-09-01T20:18:58 | 1,321 | 208 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
"What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..."
|
Nothing exciting ever happens around here in New Zealand. I say that because most people don't even know where New Zealand is, let alone anything that ever happen down here. The fact that I live in a small town about 2 hours drive from anywhere worth mentioning also doesn't help, but I've found a job that fits me to a T. I mean, not every bouncer can see people's ages floating above their heads, right? This is not some Peter Jackson Frightener movie, this is real life. Real life means I have to work for my dues, whatever that means.
I am not complaining about my special ability. Believe me, it is one thing that you can tell how old one person is just by staring at the space slightly above their head, but it is totally awesome when you can see everybody's number. To be honest, it's the young ones that shock me the most. They just don't treat their body right these days. I see their haggard faces every night, standing in the cold, wearing next to nothing. I can tell how old they are, but some of them look closer to thirty than eighteen. Of course you can't let those ones in, it's the rule. I didn't make the rule.
It is September already. You'd think this winter will finally end and we will get some flowers out of the ground, right? Spring is supposed to be here, but no. It is still freezing. The line isn't very long tonight even though it's Saturday. The place I work for is usually full in the weekend, but not tonight. It has stopped raining though.
I suppress a yawn. We have a group of students with their IDs in their hands, eager to get inside. I don't blame them. Pulling the dark jacket closer to me, I pretend to scan them up and down, and look at their IDs quickly. I don't need to see them or do any mental calculations. I know they can go in. That's why I waved, yes, you have a fun night. Not sure if you will find it in there, but good luck. You will get what you wish for.
I don't know why I haven't noticed this earlier, but I guess it's because the guy from the group was too tall and he blocked my view. My usual icy stare is hard to maintain when the number above the well-dressed man flashed when I look up. I have to stop myself physically, not losing my composure because I know what I saw.
"Hi, brother. I've come to have some fun tonight."
"ID, please."
As if a card is going to prove how old he really is.
"Oh, can you see it with this light?"
I can hear him alright, but I can't let him through. I've been trying to find him after all this time, and when I finally found him, I am powerless to stop him. Powerless to catch him.
"I can, and brother, remember why you are here."
He has the audacity to scoff before stepping into the club in his fancy patent leather shoes.
His number is 6666.
That's his number.
My name is Michael and he's my brother. I've been waiting for him forever and this is why I am calling my partner from inside the club. This one can't get away.
| 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2017-09-02T00:05:56 | 1,321 | 11 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu."
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Thursday, September 21, 2017 - 21:00
The General's men got straight to work. Their entire military careers, these specially trained operatives were preparing for this moment: a code R'lyeh.
One soldier was tasked with acquiring the texts to summon Cthulhu, while another went to acquire the proper objects for the sacrificial ceremony. Those left began to set up the sacrificial table as the General looked on.
Within the hour everything was prepared. The General opened the Necronomicon to the proper chapter, nodding to one of his subordinates as they began to light candles and spill the sacrificial blood onto the table. The ship was coming closer, and the lights of the anti gravitate engines light up the sky.
He began to read.
By the end of the first verse of the General's words, the ground began to shake of its own accord. In an instant the candle flickered out, and the sacrificial blood of the lamb was sucked into the ground. A roaring fire appeared over the table, in which a text began to appear amidst he flames.
The General and his soldiers blocked their eyes from the bright light and the heat. As they adjusted, they looked into the flames of Cthulhu at their last chance to save earth from the invaders.
"I'm sorry to have missed your message. I'll be out of the office until the next purported end of the world, September 23, 2017. I won't have cell reception nor access to email, so if you need me in the meantime, you can leave a message with my secretary at..."
The soldiers, dumbfounded, looked up to the General. In the distance the alien ship touched down, bringing with it a fierce wave of destruction leveling all in its path.
"Well, fuck."
|
The Monks at the Temple of Forever felt The Shock in the Ether as the Rune was Cast, they were to call forth Cthulu. Each Monk pulled forth a ceremonial dagger, laid on their assigned symbols and slit their throats. Cthulu Awakened. Above, the Earth was being laid to waste by the Alien invaders, smaller craft embedded themselves into the Earth and stalked about burning and ripping the world apart, whilst massive machines of death roved the skies and the stars. The Alien Mother ship sat silent, unmoving, observing the destruction wrought by its creations. Then it sensed it, a pulsating mass moving from the oceans, heaving, writhing, coming. Cthulu had arrived. The Motherships focus turned, and it let out a defending blast, an immortal challenge. Cthulu responded. The Motherships spoke, "Arrogant, infantile creatures you struggle against forces beyond your comprehension. What you have summoned is but the last gasp of your dying breath." "But we will fight," came a lone voice, "We will fight till we win, if we run out of ships, we will use guns, when we run out of guns we will use use our hands and when our hands fail us, we use our final strength to summon our worst nightmare, Cthulu." "Foolish beings, you exist because we allow it, and you will die because we demand it." Cthulus mass broke the surface of the Pacific Ocean and raced into the heavens. The immortal horror of the underworld radiated with an immortal howl as it smashed headlong into the Massive Frame of the Reaper known as Harbinger. Instantly, the reaper fleet turned toward the collosall mass and brought to bear there powerful beams of death. Reaper weaponry from the Earth, Skies and the Heavens lit up and bore into the immortal Cthulu..... It had begun, the battle for Earth.
| 2017-09-26T11:47:23 | 2017-09-26T11:37:47 | 168 | 27 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu."
|
*translated into English for your consideration*
The alien commander sat in the control room of his flagship, eaglerly awaiting humanities surrender to his mighty alien fleet. The humans had been easily conquered, hardly putting up a fight. A glorious victory this would be, another planet conquered, its resident species soon to be exterminated, its minerals to be harvested. There would be parades and awards given out-
"Commander? We have a problem."
The commander broke out of his day dream. "Yeah? What is it? Just land the damn ship and we can begin invading."
"Well, sir, the humans have begun doing something... odd."
"Well what is it?"
"Outside every city, every capital, hundreds of humans are drawing this red circle onto the ground, and praying inside of it."
"Well? They're panicking. Let them. It'll all be over for them soon."
"Affirmative sir."
As the alien mothership touched down, the commander was giving out a order to release troop-
*and an siren wail screamed inside the control room, as the commander froze, and saw on all cameras a massive fog surrounding the ship, and all landmarks nearby disappeared into the mist, as something appeared to the cameras, and faintly the captain could hear the sound of laughter, whether or not it was the sound of insane colleagues or humans who just released their final card, that the captain would never know, for within the fog he saw something towering, mystical, and above all- ancient.*
|
My eyes became the size of the moon and I froze in my tracks. Did he just say what I think he did? I turned and headed for The Artifact. This was my only real job, ever since I accidentally discovered The Artifact on a deserted planet and became bonded with it.
We had been at war with the aliens over distant planets ever since I could remember. The real issue between our two species is language. Neither of us can truly understand the other and we absolutely refuse to. However, two weeks ago, we interpreted a message that stated the aliens were bringing the war to Earth.
That's when I was called in with The Artifact.
I sat on the front lines and when the drop-ship door opened, I opened the gold-plated vase that contained the worst evil mankind would ever know.
Immediately, darkness eclipsed the dark sun overheard and a surge of power surged forward. An immensely huge being spring from a container in my hands to fill my entire view. He was the size of the alien craft. Cthulhu roared and quickly seized the alien craft, destroying it with six of his fists.
We had no way of knowing the aliens had sent their best English-Speakers to interpret a peace treaty for us. We had no way of knowing that Cthulhu could not be placed back in the vase and needed to devour hundred of souls a day to keep the peace. We had no way of knowing he couldn't be controlled, except by one person.
I had no way of knowing that, on this day, I would become a god to the humans and aliens.
| 2017-09-26T11:16:52 | 2017-09-26T11:02:24 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] Everyone gets a superpower from the superpower lottery when they come of age. Usually, it's a very minor power - but you found a way to rig the game. Now you've come to regret it.
|
Once a year, our nation holds the Super Power Lottery. It's a simple affair. Each new candidate, any child who turned 16 since the last lottery, goes to a prepared deck of cards and draws. Based on the unique card drawn, a power is distributed. The card is then reshuffled into the deck, so that multiple people may draw the same power. Every year, the deck is destroyed, and a new deck is used.
Apparently, for $50, you can bribe a guard to get you the card you want from the previous year's deck. Assuming you are skilled at slight-of-hand, you can easily appear to draw the card from the deck. That's what I did. I drew the King of Hearts. Often called the "Suicide King," the King of Hearts gives the drawer functional immortality and invulnerability. Essentially, you can't die.
I drew that card over three thousand years ago. In all that time, no one has ever drawn that card again, until the lottery was disbanded about twenty-five hundred years ago. Apparently, as time went on, the committee started weeding cards from the deck to ensure certain powers were no longer distributed. My year was the last year with a King of Hearts in the deck.
What they don't tell you is that, while you can't die, you can age. In three thousand years, I have become nothing more than a shriveled mummy of a man. I can't move, I can't eat, I can't drink. I have all the knowledge of three millennia, but I can't share it with anyone.
|
It was awesome for about a month. Everytime someone's 18th birthday came along and they spun the wheel to claim their power they had no idea that I would also be getting it. Since most people get minor powers, including me, I went from always being tired to never needing to sleep, never being on time to always being early, and so on. The powers just built up. Every once in a while though, someone will get lucky and get a real power. Someone like Charlie, who until that point had been relatively normal. He landed on flight. Flying around has to be the most fun way to kill a Sunday.
Then she came along, the bitch. Shauna. I'll never forget the day she walked up to the wheel and landed on "always exactly on time". That was the beginning of the end for me. Sometimes I'd be early, and sometimes I'd be on time. Even I didn't know which. I'd be heading to a meeting early only to get sidetracked and end up on time. Or I'd be planning to get there just in time and there would be no traffic. It was minor, but I knew what it meant: I didn't have the power to choose which powers were in control. And as time went on, I'd only get more conflicts.
One by one the conflicts came in. Extreme stealth along with never being ignored in a room. Sniper vision and heat vision with no way to choose which was going to activate. The worst was when flight was taken from me with elastic skin, the second I'd try to fly my skin would parachute around me and prevent me from picking up speed. Eventually, I stopped using my powers as much as I could. I became powerless in a world filled with superheroes, and I hated it.
| 2017-12-15T09:49:56 | 2017-12-15T09:05:11 | 56 | 28 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
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The whole neighbourhood was out in the streets staring skyward; dressed in robes and wrapped in blankets. The bright white light made them appear as stone sentinels against the snow.
“Mummy, the moon is so big!”
My phone buzzed urgently in my hand. I set it on the nightstand facedown
“Grab your jacket lily,” I wrapped my housecoat tight against me and zipped Lily into her parka.
The light was brilliant; almost fluorescent. It radiated off the snow like an aura.
Lilly stood breathless on the driveway, her face wide with wonder. I wished i could always see her like this; so wonderful.
“It’s a beautiful night,” my neighbour commented with her children cradled to her breast.
I nodded and looked skyward at the fantastic beacon against the night. It was moving, falling from the sky.
“ Mom, why are you crying?”
I wiped my eyes and held Lily’s shoulders tightly.
“It’s just so beautiful baby. I love you”.
All was calm as the bomb cracked on the horizon and spilled over; swallowing everything.
|
I wake up. It's still dark.
Some dogs howl while others bark.
I get up, go to pee.
Get back to bed, ready to be-
-sleeping for the next few hours.
For I can't stay awake, I have no power.
But then my phone rings, Ah a notification.
I try to cover my ears, alas, my realization.
A ping. Another ping. And a hundred ping more.
So many pings, I can no longer ignore.
I get up, hold my phone, ready to kill the messenger.
But up comes a warning of the impending danger.
"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON" a text, I have receieved.
Just to find the others say that I have been decieved.
"It's a beautiful night, look outside", or so they plead.
In all this infusion of danger and confusion, I decide to concead-
To my lady known as slumber for your nonsense can wait.
It's 3 A.M you know, who messages so late?
I hear your stories conspiring
thinking dread yet admiring.
And while I still find some funny.
I for one switch off my phone,
again just me, I am alone,
my bed,my only company.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
| 2022-11-14T21:59:08 | 2018-04-06T20:24:10 | 45 | 11 |
[WP] Your job as a researcher in the facility isn't too bad. The hours are shit and the coffee maker is broken, but at least the people are nice. And the job is easy: talk to the telepathic spider, run some tests on the witch, give the eldrich god his daily newspaper, basic stuff. Describe your day
Inspired by the SCP foundation
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*I see you are still terrified of me, Brian.*
The words did feel warm in my mind, I admit, but I still felt no place for them.
*Yes,* I thought, as Bul'grum lowered herself down in front of me. With a body the size of a catcher's mitt, it was hard to imagine the thin thread shot from her spinneret was keeping her up, but there she was, all 8 eyes transfixed on me.
*But soon you will understand how special you are to me.*
*Mm-hmm.* I thought politely.
*You resist, but I know you feel my warmth. I love you, Brian. Please do not leave.*
I placed the neatly wrapped food parcel at my feet, never taking my eyes off her. I nodded slightly and walked out, still not fully turning around.
*See you tomorrow Brian.*
I half-shuddered. I mean she wouldn't be so bad if she weren't an unholy arachnid. Her voice is sexy as hell.
The witch was 5th-dimensional today and I was having none of it. When she did appear, it was only in a distant part of my memory, and only then for a second- no sooner had I retrieved the thought than she would be gone again. I sprayed neutrino nutrition liberally and threw the can on the ground, and I took great satisfaction in the harsh, echoing clatter. Fuck this.
It was much warmer and calmer in the hallway than in the witch's room, and I relaxed. Hopefully Shogg-Lu'um was in a good mood.
Opening the door to his room felt like opening the door to an airplane at 10,000 feet. It was an insultingly large room, made possible by taking spacetime and bending it over a barrel, and inhabited by what I imagined was a pretty cool dude, actually.
Just a distant rumble, somewhere beyond the great stacks of clouds produced by this room's weather system. The wall behind me stretched up and in both directions in a way I found pretty nauseating, so I mostly just kept my eyes on the delicate cherry wood kitchen table and chair set about 40 yards away. It had appeared one day, much to my delight, along with a game set up on it. It was usually Sorry! Today it was Parcheesi.
The rumble now again, much closer. The air changed and I felt a charge in it, the way you feel before lightning strikes except it never stops. It always makes my heart beat a little funny and sometimes i think I can feel myself being taken apart and put back together but not always right. Important part here is not to look up not in his general direction. That's what the nice little table and chairs and game are for, something to focus on.
When Shogg finally arrived, I instantly urinated myself as usual and he was gracious enough to remove the mess, and then took the liberty of removing all of the stuff getting ready for load-out, straight out of my guts, because he thinks humans hate feces but doesn't get that the act itself can be very relieving. I sincerely hate it when he does that.
I put his newspaper in the empty chair across from me. I put a red piece (don't choose blue, that's his favorite) in the starting location and rolled no fives in any combination. It was his turn to roll the dice, and he did this time-dilation thing that he knows fucks with me. The two dice lifted into the air, briefly stretched to infinity, then landed, each one showing '2.5'. Gingerly, a blue piece lifted and made its move, and it landed at such an angle that it spun round and round, faster and faster until it achieved an almost piercing tone. It stopped.
I pulled out a chair and sat down, sighing. It was going to be one of *those* days.
|
"Any headaches today Henry?"
Eight black eyes stared back at me. *Just the usual dull pain. Nothing worth noting*
"Not true. Everything about you is worth noting. I'll see if we can get you some help for that headache. Anything in particular you'd like for breakfast?"
*A caterpillar sounds appetizing.* The beautiful green and black telepathic spider that was the infamous Henry smiled at me. Well if a spider could smile. He was easily the size of my head making him extremely intimidating, especially with his fang infested grin. He, like all of our guests as we call them is special.
"Caterpillar it is buddy", I put my fist up to the glass that separated us and he pounded with his own leg.
I moved onto what we termed the witch. At least that's the best way to describe her.
"Heya Debbie", I waved.
"Oh hi Sam", she replied in a sultry voice batting her eyes at me. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The woman was a chronic flirt.
"Do anything interesting while I was gone?"
"You mean like levitate or transform myself?"
I sighed. She knew exactly what I meant. "Yes, like that Debbie."
"Why not look for yourself, notice anything different about me?" She bit her lip and leaned forward. Her breast spilled out of her gown and bounced with the youthfulness of a well endowed 20 year old.
"Debbie!", I exasperated as my cheeks turned red and I squeezed my eyes shut. A tinkling cackle erupted from behind the armored glass as a quickly walked away. Unfortunately I'd have to mark the experience down. I would end of getting shit for that.
The last on my list for now was the first proof of the divine. Oddly enough the divine liked the sports page and a quality cup of joe.
"Good morning Marty", I said quietly to the deity. His true name was Martholinous but who wants to say that every time, fortunately he quite enjoys the nickname I coined for him.
"And to you Samual", he bowed his head. "Any news on the nectar producer?" I chuckled. He called coffee nectar and the coffee maker its producer. Listening to his designated names for everyday human objects never got old.
"No unfortunately, I could use some too. Maintenance refuses to fix it citing other more important repairs being need. Anyway you could imbue them with your essence and force them to comply?"
He chuckled along with me, "You know I have given up a life of enslaving universal beings. With that comes the understanding that those with free will may not and most likely will not do my bidding. It is why I allow you and your people to cage and study me. I am as helpless as a human. No offence."
"None taken Marty. Here's your paper. Philly's beat the Yankees 5-3, you own me a memory", I handed his gaseous hand the newspaper still not completely understanding how it doesn't just fall through.
"Let me catch up on my news then come back and I'll share a piece of my experience with you."
"See you later", I waved and he nodded back to me like a grandfather dismissing a child. We traded information with each other. I taught him the ways of humans and he shared his life experiences with me by entering my mind and allowing me to see them has he did. It like intense virtual reality. I've seen other deities like himself and alien lifeforms. I watched the creation of a star and the progression of a planet. Things you couldn't even imagine. I always looked forward to working with Marty.
I stepped back into the control room and looked at the monitors. The mermaid and sentient blob were still sleeping. I'd get morning status from them later. I finished my notes then leaned back in my chair for a quick rest. I'd only been at it for about an hour but waking up at the ass crack of dawn took its toll. You got sleep whenever you could in this line of work.
| 2018-04-23T11:08:29 | 2018-04-23T10:37:59 | 62 | 34 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
"Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse," she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?"
"I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot," I said.
"Could you roll back your sleeve for me?" Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm," she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list.
"Hmm?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure."
As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way," I said. She took a sharp deep breath.
"Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing," she said, and sat back on her rolling stool.
"So," I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?"
"The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans," she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections."
"Did you find anything?" I asked.
From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch." And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered.
"Mr. Moore," it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion."
I stared at it, it's face passive.
"Um," I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?"
"Certainly," it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore."
|
This is the third time this week. After all the unanswered letters, the messages, the unanswered phone calls. They've actually come knocking on my door.
I refuse to answer. If I just wait they'll leave. If I...
"Mr. Wyatt, we know you're in there. Please open the door. We just want to talk to you."
The hell you do, I thought bitterly. They're just baiting me to call back, they don't really know I'm in. The lights are all off for a reason!
"Mr. Wyatt. Please be reasonable. You're only delaying the inevitable."
I'd call the cops but after that stupid supernatural integration program they'll just call me a specist and put the call on youtube or something.
God! If it wasn't so dangerous outside after curfew I'd make a run for it. But it is, I just have to wait it out here. They can't break in, even for them it's a felony.
"Mr. Wyatt this is your last warning. You have until the count of three to open this door. ONE!"
I feel my heart pounding and attempting to leap out of my chest. No way, they wouldn't...
"TWO!"
Fuck! Monsters! They totally would! My gun, I need my gun!
"TREE!"
The door flew open, the solid wood dresser I broke my back pushing to block it was tossed to the side like a flimsy IKEA piece.
I closed my eyes and shot blindly. The noise was deafening and I think I broke something on the recoil.
"Mr. Wyatt. Please, shooting in residential areas are discouraged. Please come, we are all waiting for you outside in the van."
I opened my eyes, I can clearly see the light from the hallway through the hole in his shoulder yet his face just looks annoyed.
"Monster! Stay away from me! You can't do this to me. FREAK! GET AWAY!" My voice gets shriller and I raise my gun again.
I didn't even see him move. He was besides me and with one swift movement my gun clattered to the floor. The metallic sound ringing the end.
"Mr. Wyatt do refine from ruining my suit any further. Really now, must we go through this every single time? It's just the mandory blood tax. It's not like we'll suck you dry."
He smiled baring his fangs. That joke wasn't funny the first time, it's not going to be now. I scream and they drag me to the blood tax collection van kicking all the way... same as the previous time, and the time before that, and the time before that.
God damn the IRS!!!
| 2018-08-27T16:02:28 | 2018-08-27T14:46:19 | 2,554 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
The Boogeymen came for my sister when I was ten.
Not a real one, I should say. There isn't anything called a boogeyman in the world, or at least nothing that calls itself one. There's a lot of dark, scary things that love to eat little children, but nothing called itself a boogeyman, or a sack-man, or any of the hundreds of things humans have called what they don't understand. Or there were, I should say. There aren't as many around anymore, and there's not much point in eating children when chicken is two dollars a pound.
What came for her were the little looks she got, when she snarled at the kindergarten teacher, or the way she'd shoved Tommy Mason into the wall for stealing her bracelet so hard that he'd cracked his skull and needed four stitches, or the whispers about her needing to shave. Little things. Nothing that a hundred thousand rebellious little girls hadn't done or had done to them, in decades past. And yet the Boogeymen came.
The Hendersons next door had come over, the day before, in a talk that started badly and ended with screaming because they'd found their cat disemboweled in the back yard. They'd use those polite phrases, that it was for her own good, or that she'd fit better elsewhere, and my sister had listened at the top of the stairs with her hands knuckled tight until they turned white.
"They can't do that, can they?" I whispered to her. "Just take you? Mom and dad haven't done anything wrong. You haven't done anything wrong."
She shrugged. "They can try." My sister was fifteen, and tall. Her hair was black and draped everywhere, since she didn't make any attempt to keep it styled. She had a piercing in her nose, and a tattoo somewhere I'd seen when I'd walked in on her changing one day that she made me swear not to tell mom and dad about on pain of pain. Little brothers are supposed to hate their big sisters, but to me, she could do anything.
"...kind of child you're raising... shut up!" Voices drifted up from downstairs. Emily leaned on the banister upstairs with one arm, patted me on the shoulder with another. "Don't worry, dummy. Government does blood tests first, and I'm clean. I'm not gonna get sent to a lab because some idiots didn't keep their cat indoors and a dog snuffed it."
"...Okay." I wasn't convinced, because I'd just seen Men In Black the day before, on an old DVD Emily smuggled upstairs to me, and I thought the government did a lot of things they didn't tell people about. And what everyone knew was that government took people who were... special. That was what they'd said. Most people had known, at the back of their heads, that those people existed, although usually not exactly the way they thought. Vampires didn't burn into ash in the sunlight, and mostly they just got watery eyes when they got near garlic. Werewolves didn't make other werewolves by biting, which made sense if you thought about it. If they did, pretty much everyone in the world would have been a werewolf by now. Mostly they kept to themselves, and took quiet jobs at blood banks or national parks because people tended not to stab nurses with wooden stakes or shoot park rangers with silver bullets. (Although the recent uptick in forest fires was a bit of a problem. Fire kills everything.)
Until the day on national TV, when a man had taken five sniper shots to the head and turned into a cloud of mist to kill the President.
Now there were tests, in school, every year until you were twenty one. And if you failed, or if you were violent, or just a bit weirder than people could stand... the Boogeymen came. And they took you away. Not forever, mostly. But for a long time. And you didn't come back the same.
So I couldn't help but ask the question that had always been on my mind. "...you're not are you?"
Emily's eyes narrowed. "I'm not what?"
I swallowed. "You're not... special?"
She snorted. "As if I were that lucky. Supernatural healing? Immortality? Staying in shape without going to the gym? I wish." A slight smile touched her lips. "Although..."
A door slammed below. Footsteps hurried away, and I could hear mom and dad's voices, low and intense.
Emily shook her head. "Go to bed, dummy. I'll be fine."
(Post was too long- part II below)
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In the beginning finding them jobs other than "executioner" or "bounty hunter" was difficult. Many of em complained that these jobs we're demoralizing and that they "reinforced negative stereotypes" whatever that meant. Eventually the guys at the workforce commission bent and found them new jobs. Now you could have a silk tongued vampire as your lawyer, or a fearsome warewolf on your security detail.
I can't imagine entrusting my life to such an abomination. Monsters like this should've stay in their own realm. Many have not even taken the time to learn our language, and I'll be damned if im expected to learn theirs. The thought of these...things being around my family, around my children, it makes me sick.
A pale, sharp faced man stood at the counter, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence. The words from the sign reading "Career Placement" reflected off of the man's black eyes. His garb devoid of any imperfection. I'm sure he thought himself to good for us mortals.
"Excuse me good sir. I was under the impression that this is where I should go for career placement. Would you be so kind as to assist me?" The vampires words flowed through the air crisply, like an autumn breeze.
My response was simply pointing to the sign posted on the glass.
*Please wait to be assisted, Thank you*
The vampire read it carefully before replying. "Terribly sorry, take your time"
Damn right I would. My eyes shifted back down to the article in my favorite newpaper *Faux News*
*Are warewolves commiting tax fraud with the help of dwarf financial advisors?* The article read.
The vampire stood, waiting patiently until I had finished skimming the text. The atmosphere in the room had grown unpleasant. I didn't want to speak with him; however, the sooner I did the sooner he'd leave.
I glanced up from the paper to the thing on the other side of the counter. "Ok. How can I help you?"
"Yes, well I was looking into career placement opportunities. I would like to go into paralegal work with the disclaimer that I dont possess much willing experience in the mortals realm"
"So. You want a job in law, but you don't have any experience with mortal law?" I cracked a smile at the Vampire.
"Indeed, but I'd like to make myself transparent by stating my class of supernatural being. I am in fact a-"
"Yes a vampire I know. I can tell"
The Vampires deep black eyes stared into mine for a moment. Gears turned in his head as he formulated a response. " You're not a fan of supernaturals, are you?"
"Me? Look I'm not here to judge, I'm here to do a job, but in my free time I can be prejudice towards who I please. None of *your* business"
The man stared for a moment before pulling back his long, dark hair to reveal a pair of pointed ears.
"Not a vampire. Not even the same genus." The atmosphere grew tense
"All the same to me. Now I can offer you a job as a teacher for the supernatural, or population control."
Popluatiom control was the shittiest job we had to offer, and I was sure to pitch it to anyone who came through the doors.
The elf stared in disbelief for a moment before silently turning around and exiting the glass doors. I loved my job. Seeing the misery on their faces when they couldn't steal another job from a hard working human.
I sat reading my paper until my boss entered the building, a burly, stern faced man in tow.
"Hey Jerr, whose this? New guy?"
"Yeah...you could say that. He's here to fill your position" Jerry glanced around the room awkwardly.
"My position? But I already work full shift? Where are ya trying to squeeze him in?"
"You don't understand. This is your replacement Donny, we just received another complaint and this can't continue"
"What?! I've been here 3 years and you're gunna just flat out replace me with an outworlder? Im the best damn worker you've got!"
"All you do is complain and read the paper. Your station generates the least traffic because you have yet to help a single person."
The warewolf by Jerr stared at me, hatred in his eyes.
"It's time to go Donny."
I angrily packed my few possessions and stormed out of the office. This wasn't over. I had a plan. Soon they'd all see that humans could not be pushed around by outworlders.
| 2018-08-27T15:23:49 | 2018-08-27T15:01:41 | 76 | 24 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/)
|
"Hey!!!" You scream as you kick and bang the glass thinking you will spend the next 90 years bored out of your mind.
"What? Stop your going to damage the pod." The technician says
"Oh hey, something is wrong I haven't fallen asleep yet" you say. "I don't want to spend the next 90 years awake in this thing"
"Sir calm down, just think for a minute. There are teams of technicians making sure everyone falls asleep and we have the technology to put you in a habitual state for 100 years, don't you think we have a way to monitor if you are awake or asleep? Plus we are right here you saw us put you in the thing".
"Well yeah but what if that machine is broken?" You say.
"You mean the giant machine with all the beeping and readings right next to your pod that makes a giant emergency sound when something stops working?" The technician says.
"Well ok but what if it is actually broken but it seems like it works" you say.
"Well if the technicians that do rounds 3 times a day never notice you are not asleep through this see through glass over a 100 year period, we will be sure to give you a refund" says the technician.
"You know you are kind of an ass" you say.
"Sorry sir but we have to put to sleep millions of people today and to many people like you have seen those old and stupid hollywood movies with major plot holes in them" says the technician.
Before you can respond gas fills your pod and your eyes begin to close, thinking what a dick. Then you hear a feint voice say "you know I'm right" as you pass out.
|
What? What's going on? Why aren't I sleeping? The chamber should've immediately altered balance for sleep. I need to get attention.
I pound on the glass. "Hey! This chamber is defective!" Nothing. I do it again, louder. "Hey!! It's not working!" No one notices. The chamber lowers. I don't have much time. I use all my power to bust the glass. Nothing. Panic. What should I do? What *can* I do?
Breathe. No, wait- meant for sleeping, not hyperventilating. Limited supply. Can't do that. Stay calm. Adrenaline rushes won't help. Count to five, lower breathing manually. Just gotta stay calm.
Dark. The chamber's been lowered into the floor. Why aren't I sleeping? I need to be sleeping. Injury? Knock myself out? That could work. Three, two... wait, no. Blood loss. I'll be in here a while. Head injuries will kill me. Stay calm. Count to five, lower breath.
Wait. Wasn't there an emergency button? Can you tell me? That's right, you never answer me. Let me look around. It's too dark. I don't want to hit the wrong switch or button. Wasn't there a code for lights I could say? I think I remember that. I can't recall. "Emergency lights!" Nothing. "Lights on!" Still nothing. Can't you speak? Can you help? "No sleep!"
...Lights. A buzzer. That's my button. I press it. Is this it? What's going on? I feel myself raising. Finally, the surface. I can breathe calmly again, now that I'm back. Time to find a new pod.
| 2018-12-29T04:08:01 | 2018-12-29T01:26:24 | 47 | 35 |
[WP] After you grow old and die, you wake up 25 million years ago as a Hominid Primate, asleep on a tree. Your whole life was a vivid hallucination you had after ingesting a funny looking mushroom. After this experience, you have great knowledge, and you're the smartest living being on the planet.
|
The sun seems brighter than usual. My skin a little rougher. I don't have my macbook anymore, the macbook was just a dream.
My partner Chinu lies next to me. I remember everything. I storm out of our hut and begin rallying the group "WAKAWAKAWAKAWAKA!" I bang on the hollow antelope head.
"Why you wake us up Chinto?!!!"
The men rush out from their tents. "WAKAWAKAWAKA! WAKAWAKAWAKA!" The entire tribe erupts in confusion. "Silence!!!! I had a vision of another life, it was terrible! We must change our ways! Live better lives!."
The tribe stared at me skeptically, elder Piput stepped forward. "Hut not good?! Boar meet not good!?" He banged on his chest.
"Yes boar meat and huts are good elder Piput!"
"WAKAWAKAWAKA!" The tribe continued to bang on the hollow boar husks.
"Listen to me please!" Bending toward the ash I removed a carbon block. I began to draw a long line along the cave wall. The line soon became a giant box, then a large grid. I drew each of our symbols into each box including the females.
"Piput! Tell the women to come out and see. All of my tribe stared in confusion. My partner Chinu demanded to know what this was.
"I Chinto of the lower salt flats, the third and only living son of my father Shakaso! This square here is my square! I like boar leg, stars and the skull of the antelope as my drum! I drew a small line under my square, this is my relationship status! It's complicated!"
"WAKAWAKAWAKAWAKAWAKA!" The entire tribe erupted in confusion.
"Wachana, this is your box!" I exclaimed. "I am poking it to show that I have interest!"
"WAKAKAWAKAWAKAWAKA!" The entire tribe drew charcoal bricks and began making their cavebook profiles as I took Wachana into my hut and showed her the 69.
I single handedly set back human civilization by 6000 years. And in this land of innocence, I am the corrupt king.
|
Hi, me
Hello, me
What language am I speaking?
Your speaking English mate, it’s a future language and it’s being used so people on writing prompts can visualise your perspective.
Oh I see. What’s writing prompts?
Well it’s a part of this website called reddit, which is part of the Internet which is. Anyways I am you and I’ve come to tell you that you are everything and nothing.
How can this be this case?
The bits and pieces that make up you, your atoms, are just in quantum superposition. Everywhere and no were at once, all of spacetime simultaneously. It’s shrodingers cat but you.
So what am I? What perspective am I seeing from?
A high frequency vibration of nothing, me. You never existed, just as this conversation doesn’t actually exist or the person writing it. Your seeing from the perspective of him right now.
I see. So what am I experiencing right now, me?
Ego death, you are in the middle of it and are seeing from all perspectives right now. This is a normal mushroom trip that many of your friends have already seen, they just can’t remeber. This is just one specific part of ego death, that we all experience.
Fuck I shouldn’t have eaten these, too meta
It’s okay, me. Time doesn’t exist, me. Life and death are an illusion. Conciousness is a never beggining nor ending cycle in which you will rebirth into everything else including yourself, all possible realities and everyone else’s, all at once forever. This makes us all one organism. All the same. You’ve already been doing this forever. We have already had this conversation and infinite amount of times, as has everyone.
Oh I understand.
You’re also just an experession of conciousness in another reality on a piece of text. All realities are true.
So this writing prompt says I’m the smartest being ever right?
Well you are, it’s just that we are all one being so you don’t have any competition lmao.
Am I going to remeber any of this?
Fuck no, me it’s in English you silly silly me. You speak ooga booga.
I need a fucking nap after all of this.
You’ll get your nap me, just ride out the wave.
| 2019-03-19T07:13:09 | 2019-03-19T06:45:29 | 74 | 55 |
[WP] You're a Satanist, recently deceased. You love all things dark and spooky, so imagine your surprise when you come across the pearly gates, with the sign "hell" clumsily hung over where Heaven was. Behind the gate are little cherubs in cheap devil costumes, trying their best for you.
|
WELCOME TO **^HELL**
Something wasn't quite right. Maybe it was the sunlight shining on fluffy clouds, maybe it was the tacky cardboard sign hung over the giant pearly gates, maybe it was the flock of cherubum still getting dressed in devil costumes. Whatever it was, I was pretty sure of one thing.
This probably wasn't Hell.
"Excuse me," I walked over to St. Peter. He was sporting a low cut devil's costume that may have been intended for a woman. It looked good on him.
"How can I help you?" He asked.
"Yes I think there's been a mix up. I should be in Hell."
"This is Hell."
I stared at two cherub-devils frolicking through the clouds. "This is Hell."
"We're making an effort to diversify."
"Yes I see that. Are you sure this is Hell?"
"100%. How may we torture you today?"
"Don't you decide that?" I asked. He shrugged.
"We're trying to embrace a more open minded culture and allow our clients to give input on their desired torture. Here in Eternity, we're all about the user experience."
"Eternity? I thought this was Hell?" I couldn't find any exit.
"Hell® is just one of the many experiences Eternity has to offer," Peter explained. "Our data mining algorithms indicted its one of your best matches. Would you like me to suggest other afterlives we think you'd enjoy?"
I thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, sure."
Peter brought out a menu. "Based on your history, we recommend these afterlives."
I knew immediately. "This one. I want this one."
"Excellent choice," Peter said with a smile. "Go ahead in."
I tentatively walked through the gates as two cherubum changed the sign to reflect my new Eternity.
WELCOME TO **^DOG ^HELL**
|
**Hello, Mr Smith! Welcome to Hell!**
Yeah, listen, guy. I'm a Satanist, I know what hell is supposed to look like. This fluffy white bullshit aint it.
**Do you believe everything you... believe?**
I did when I was alive, but I'm dead now.
**That's right! Everything you thought you knew was backwards. It's also great to see people see the pearly gates and have their last happy feeling ever. We don't fuck around up here in Hell, you know.**
If this is Hell, how come I don't see Weird Al Yankovic's parents here?
**OK, you got me. I lied. This is Heaven.**
Yeah, you left the pricetag on your plastic pitchfork.
**Goddammit... (talking to himself) come on, Gabriel, get your shit together.**
So what's the deal? How come I'm not I'm not partying with Attila The Hun and Mother Theresa now?
**OK, not gonna lie. The truth is Hell is full. They've been gaining folks at an unbelievable rate, and quite frankly we've got plenty of room to roam up here. So you're stuck here for another 2300 years or so, give or take.We're trying to help with the overcrowding, but we're just not any gosh darn good at it.**
So you're saying this is just temporary.
**I mean, the first 1500 years are gonna be slow but it's all downhill from there. And I know up here we don't have the "cool" folks like Hitler or the Green River Killer or the dad from Frasier, but we've got (checks clipboard) Mister Rogers, every non-sex offending kindergarten teacher, and all the people who killed themselves because of that comet in the 90's. Turns out they had it all figured out.**
I knew it!
**You wanna meet them? They wear black shoes and killed themselves because of a flaming space rock.**
You know, I think I'm gonna like this place just fine....
| 2019-07-18T19:35:35 | 2019-07-18T19:02:49 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] You have a unique ability to cause background music that everyone can hear, but no one can figure out where it's coming from. And the situation always follows the music's cue, for better or worse.
|
My abilities first manifested while I was at summer camp in middle school. We were out by the water, and the counselor told us he had a surprise for us. A voice from above started humming the melody to “Row, row, row your boat.” At first I was impressed at how clever my counselor was, to set up such an exciting introduction to rowing. Turns out, he was just as surprised as us.
It took years for me to accept that it had anything to do with me. It wasn’t until I was out on a date as a teenager, when that song [Crazy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qe500eIK1oA) started playing right before things went south, that I really accepted it.
Turns out I have a superpower. Whole lot of good that’s done me over the years. Sometimes it’s just a melody, hummed softly. Other times, it’s fully orchestrated, with a screaming horn section. It can be pretty annoying, but I manage to make the best of it. It’s just a decent way to occupy my time. Figure out what the song means, try to predict the future a few seconds in advance, and be done with the whole mess, but last week, things went a little differently.
While in line at the bank, we all heard it. A soft humming at first, some well known song from the 80’s. I hummed a long a bit, then started trying to remember they lyrics. Might as well have some fun and make some predictions. A few distinctive looking guys walked in, and the music got a little louder. Some instrumentals joined in, and it began to sound like some kind of rock tune. I caught a few words. “The indecision’s bugging me, if you don’t want me set me free.” My gut dropped.
Something was wrong. Really wrong. I couldn’t remember the name of the song yet, but I knew it was nothing good. I needed to get out of there, but couldn’t make my legs move. I was being paralyzed by my fear, even though I didn’t know why I wanted out.
A man pulled a gun on the teller, two other men started screaming instructions at us, everyone started screaming, and the music hit full blast. [“If I go there will be trouble, and if I stay it will be double”](https://youtu.be/BN1WwnEDWAM?t=75). I booked it out of there as quick as I could. Sure, I took a couple bullets, but I made it out alive.
 
Edit: Thanks for reading! To follow any updates/see all of my stories (including the Diaries of Gunsam from earlier this week) please visit /r/Floonatic
|
Night covers the sea. Twenty men stand around a child on a metal helipad. Wielding rifles, they are looking in all directions. The insidious violin music plays, from no discernible source. Panic visibly spreads among the men. Their leader shouts into the night: **"SHOW YOURSELF!"** There is silence, save for the insidious violins playing.
The helipad the twenty men and one child are on, sits atop a sea oil rig platform. The violins grow louder, more shrill in their tone. Wisps of darkness begin to form around the men. One of the men fires his rifle at a shadowy wisp sliding towards him. The bullets ricochet off the helipad. The men's leader shouts: **"HOLD YOUR FIRE COWARD. THESE ARE NOT REAL!"**
The little child, a girl no more than eight, covers her ears. Her head lowered. She's whispering something. The leader, a man with many years of fighting behind him, evident from the scars, looks at the child. He kneels and grabs one of her hands. **"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?"**
The little girl, her eyes full of fear, stutters as she speaks. "the…scc-cary man. He-e sai-id to-oo si-inn-ng hi--s so-ong whe-en I get-t sca-aarred."
The men's leader, his red beret barely distinguishable from the helipad platform's lights, flies off his head. The wind picked up. His face goes white as a sheet. **"Not him, oh no, please not him."** Fear grafts his voice. The shadowy wisps begin assuming more, sinister, shapes. They are swarming around the edge of the helipad.
The men begin to panic and start firing wildly at the shadowy shapes. Even the leader lets go of the girl and empties his magazine at these shapes. Their gunfire can barely be heard over the violins' music. Ejected shells from the rifles cover the helipad.
The shadowy shapes once enumerable, are so great in number now they cannot be counted. Their movements are like a silent tornado around the helipad. Then in unison, without any commotion, they close in.
....the little girl looks up. The violins stopped playing. She's alone on the helipad. She hears the ocean waves crash against the platform's foundations. She sees a tall figure walk up the stairs to the helipad. His cloak, seemingly transparent, yet opaque, obscure his form. She runs over to him and grabs his leg, pushing her face into his leg. This figure, whose eyes are hidden by opaque black glasses, pats her on the head with his hand.
---
Subscribe to r/ProfessorCynical for more stories by me every day!
| 2019-09-06T17:31:46 | 2019-09-06T16:58:33 | 1,158 | 241 |
[WP] A massive underground cathedral-like temple is discovered. You are one of the people sent to study it. As soon as you enter, the sheer size of everything inside tells you it was never ment for human worshipers.
*meant
|
When we opened the second set of doors was when we figured that whatever was behind the third, it wasn't built for creatures our size.
The first doors were massive: 22,540 kilograms each and they rolled on a breath of pressure. Less exertion was required to open them than was necessary to put on particularly troublesome gloves. Our resident engineer started having fits, stating repeatedly that the mechanism wasn't possible.
Yet, at the bottom of the coal field's stalled dig, those gigantic doors lay flat on the ground, opened and closed with gentle nudges. No design motifs presented, no bad relief carving, just a huge system for opening and closing.
Sixty meters beneath it we found the first curled metal pipe stuck deep inside of the granite wall, followed by the next two hundred and nine pipes, separated from each other by a gap of exactly fifty meters. And down, down we went, into the basement of the world.
When we reached what we thought was the bottom, that's when we found the second door. It was circular, cast from the same alien material as the first, and bore a single curled ring of metal on the surface.
It took the richest man in the world to fund the creation of the crane needed to pull up the ring and apply the necessary pressure on the cable to see the ring drawn upwards, and the second door was opened.
We expected to see another string of pipes descending into the darkness. What we saw instead was far, far and away worse.
We found a gigantic pit of what tested to be crude oil. More than the entire supply that the planet had consumed. Enough to draw us into five man-made planetary emergencies, to allow us to fuel rockets and missiles and fleets of fleets of fleets of cars and trucks and submarines and aircraft carriers for the duration of the species.
It was a golden day for the talking heads of every news channel, newspaper and news blog, igniting debate and currying vast favors with the powerful folk.
It was a biologist studying the first chamber's unique and glowing flora who noticed something. Something about the oil. About how it was staged in the procession of gigantic rooms.
Then she found the first egg casing drifting in the oil.
After that, everyone noticed when the eggs beneath the oil started to hatch.
We had opened not Pandora's box but her creche, releasing the next champion species into the world. Monsters from before we had legends. Creatures akin to nothing alive.
The new world is dark now. We dare not light fires; the smoke offends them too much. No firearms are allowed anymore; they detest the noise, and none of even the weakest of their ilk can be mildly harmed by bullets in the first place.
We know new gods and live in the shadows of them, scrambling from place to place, hiding in the ruins of our old, diseased spaces.
We have no idea what is going on behind the third door.
We want to open it, just to get it out of the way. To know that we finished the job. Besides, the first thing that the monsters did was immediately leave the area where the doors were found.
What scares the devils so much?
Nobody thinks it's God.
|
"Hey Jason, I think I have something for you."
Jason looked up from the consoles on his desk. He'd just spent hours pouring over detailed footage of a dig in Egypt. What Jason kept to himself of course, is that what he was actually doing is reading news-feeds and social updates while no-one is looking.
Jason was bored. This was not what he imagined when he studied all those years to become an archaeologist. The problem is he came into the job too late. These days drones do a better job of exploring, and modern software does a better job of identifying the results. The best "adventure" he can hope for is distorted scanner footage that actually needs some skill to interpret.
Maybe that's what Isaac has for him?
"What do you have for me Isa? As thrilling as it is to see my machines doing my work for me, I do hope it's something I can actually *work* on."
Isaac entered into Jason's wardrobe sized office and closed the door. Jason quickly scanned his screens to be sure his distractions were suitably hidden, and leaned back to listen.
"When this landed on my desk, the first person I thought about is you. You might actually be crazy enough to be interested."
He was waving a data card. Without prompting Jason he took the current card out the closest console and pushed this one in. The screen garbled and error messages showed, but that's simply because you're not supposed just pull the cards out. It didn't matter, the data is fine.
Jason looked at the screen with interest. It's not like Isa to just yank out cards like that. He's always been one to look after the equipment.
The screen was black. Isa let Jason try to figure it out for a few moments before explaining.
"I know. It looks like nothing right? But if you look closely you can see markings on what looks like a wall."
"Yes...I can see something. So what does this mean? Drone problems? And what does this have to do with me?"
"When the drone returned and a few of the tech guys looked at the footage, they assumed it was a problem with the drone. They checked it and it was fine. So it must be the ruin itself. The scope is too big for the scanners to handle."
Jason's heart started to beat faster.
"So...we need to send someone to look at it. We can't use drones, and we've invested too much in the excavation operation to just stop. It's an important find.
...why am I telling you all this?"
Jason smiled.
"I'm not sure either. I presume you've gone ahead with the travel arrangements? Where do I need to be and when?"
Isaac took out his pad and tapped a few times, then a beep sounded from Jason's back pocket.
"It's all there. The only thing is you'll have to go alone. I need the rest of the team here for that Egypt dig. It seems we're a bit behind schedule..."
Jason showed a sheepish grin as he watched Isaac walk out. On his console the latest headline notifications flashed brightly.
Jason scolded himself, but not matter. Finally! He can work as a real archaeologist and see a dig for himself. Tonight we will read his old notes for field study to brush up. He will be ready.
| 2019-11-16T10:09:09 | 2019-11-16T09:43:06 | 1,546 | 55 |
[WP] What started as a jovial food fight has escalated into an all out food war, you haven't left the trenches for weeks, morale is getting low, the suffocating scent of mustard is everywhere and ketchup flows almost as freely as the blood of your men.
|
It started so innocuously. Who would have thought a spoon full of mashed potatoes catapulted across the room would come to this? But those potatoes are no longer mashed, and that catapult of a spoon is now a cannon made of PVC. Carrots were sharpened. Candy was super-heated. And the milk... I don't even want to think of what we did with the milk.
I've lost friends to bombardments of bannanas. Seen countless platoons wiped out in seconds from artichoke artillery. And the horrors wrought by the Durian Detachment still haunt me whenever I close my eyes.
But all of that is childs' play to what is coming. For we have woken an angry god, a vengeful god.
We run, for we know what we have done. We run, for there is nothing else left to do. We run, hoping to avoid this atonement for our sins.
We run. For he is coming.
The Janitor.
|
02 Feb 2020
When does this madness end?
I write this down not because I'm afraid to die. It's because I know that I am.
This has gone far out of my realm of expertise. All I did when I was a youngin', all my experience with cold mashed potatoes and spaghetti... it doesn't hold a candle to the war that's raging now.
I can't see how it will end. I don't even remember how it started. But the weapons of mass destruction have been rolled out, and I pray only for a swift end for the few of my remaining comrades and me. It seems tough to even wish for a painless end.
Durians. The enemies have procured durians.
For those who ever read this, take this as a warning: war didn't happen because the soldiers wanted to fight, but because some smart-ass decided that wasting food was the best use of their sustenances. Don't do it. Treat yourself, and your food right.
As God is my witness, I hope I don't go to heaven, where food is plentiful. Send me anywhere else, even hell.
Amen.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2020-02-02T07:45:21 | 2020-02-02T07:45:10 | 35 | 18 |
[WP] On your deathbed, the Grim Reaper himself comes to pay you a visit. You expect him to collect your soul, until he asks where and how you have hidden it.
|
Where did i put it? Where did I put it?
I searched in my drawers, and upended all my clothes onto the floor. My spirit ... my being. My essence.
I had painted a picture a few days ago. It wasn't finished yet. There it was in the art room ... half-coloured in. It was meant to be a grand painting, but I had lost interest in it. Of two lovers, in deep embrace. I had only painted one lover, and the other, the female, was still in pencil. I had tried to put my soul into it ... but it turned out looking very technical. Bland. Dead. Certainly my soul was not in it.
I had written a poem a few weeks ago. Where was it? Somewhere in the depths of my folders. Something about ... God? Ascension? I can't remember anymore. I had stopped half-way ... I had gotten bored. Perhaps my soul wasn't in there, either.
But where could it be?
I sat down on the floor, in exasperation, and tried to remember back. To retrace my steps.
Last Friday. Last week. Last month. No, last year.
I had broken up with a girl ... she had called me dead. Soulless. That I had no feelings. That wasn't true. At least ... I don't think it is. I think I liked her. I did feel pleasure when I was with her. Was that love? I'm not sure. Love is just the effect of endorphins on your body. It's when your brain floods with oxytocin, and produces pleasurable feelings. Do I believe in 'love'? I'm not sure.
5 years back. My boss had asked me where I see myself in five years time. I told him, I had no goals in particular. That did not sit well with him. He told me I needed to have vision, ambition.
My only ambition was to earn enough to have a comfortable retirement.
Ah ... 12 years back. I was still in school. I had just come back from school, and gone straight to my bedroom. It was my sibling's birthday. But I didn't care. I was tired. No one cared about birthdays in my family, anyway. Just another year closer to death.
Death ... DEATH. He was standing right here, expecting an answer, before me.
He looked at me in the eye ... through that eyeless hood ... and yet, I could feel him staring at me. Straight into my 'soul'?
'Your soul,' he said. 'Where is it?'
'I'm afraid I don't know,' I replied. 'Is it not there?'
He rummaged about in the drawers, and then in the cupboard. I had looked there already. And then at a photo on the wall.
It was of me, and my mother. It was my mother's birthday. I was ten. I had baked her a cake. It wasn't a very good one. All I could see was the look of disappointment on my mother's face ... immortalized forever in that photo.
I remember now! I had put all my heart and soul into that cake! And it was thrown out. 'Disgusting,' she had said. She was right. What was I thinking? I felt disgusting, just like the cake. So I threw my soul out into the bin, with the cake.
I had been dead for a very long time, and I never noticed.
Death took the photo down from the wall.
'I will take my leave now,' he said.
|
“What?” I say.
I’m probably 12 different types of confused right now. Death is standing next to my hospital bed with his eyes focused on me, wanting to reap another soul.
“Your Soul! Where did you hide it, how did you hide it? If you don’t tell me, I’ll give you hell before I put you there!” He practically yells.
I look to him with blatant confusion, “I didn’t hide anything grim. I have no clue about anything your talking about.”
He huffs. He has hellfire burning his eyes.
“Then where. The fuck. Is it?”
“I don’t know, in my body somewhere!”
“If that was true, how could I do this?”
He brings his scythe down into my head, and I expect to be impaled, but it passes through me, removing all my former fear.
“If you still had your soul, that would’ve taken your life away. Now stop fucking lying. Where is it?!” He says clearly losing patience.
“I have no clue. I did not do anything with it.” I say as sincerely as I can.
He facepalms. Then yells in anger.
“The only three ways a soul can be taken out of a person is they take it and hide it, I reap the soul out of them...” he pauses, “... or if something hit you hard enough to knock your soul out of you. In which case your soul is wandering the streets.”
It all came back to me.
17 years ago I was hit by a speeding truck, I was barely alive when I was rushed to the hospital and miraculously made a recovery, but My head was split open, and the surgeons put a metal plate in my head.
I relay all this info to grim.
“Yeah, that is probably what happened, your soul lies in your mind. If your head was split open then the force of the impact should have knocked the shit out of your soul. I don’t know how your still alive.” He says with astonishment, “we’re gonna have to take you to the big boss. Satan.”
We arrive at the devils doorstep, which is a run down casino. Tortured souls are wandering around, having terrible luck and getting drunk. A creature approaches us, Satan I assume.
He’s got black fur covering his entire body. Four eyes with the glow of souls he has trapped over the thousands of years.
“Who’s the little prick you’ve brought into hell today grim? Doesn’t look fully dead.” He’s says with a deep booming voice.
“This little shit here is-“
“H-Hi, I’m Jack. Jack James Griffith.” I say with fear.
“Yeah. Anyways we got a run away soul. We need to track it down cause this guy decided to get hit by a god damn truck.”
“Run away soul?” He laughs, “Who told you that, grim?”
“Uh, he didn’t have a soul when I came to kill him off.”
“That’s cause I have it!” He opens his palm and we see a holographic image of me. “I just told you to bring the body down.”
“Oh. Well task failed successfully I guess.” I said to grim.
“Shut up! Alright I’m leaving.” He says and vanishes.
“Ok Jack. Ready to have a shit time down here in hell?”
I gulp. I thought the afterlife was going to be nice to me.
|END|
Quick note; Jack is not my real name, I made up a fake one for the story. I hope you liked it!
| 2020-04-22T23:18:44 | 2020-04-22T21:21:30 | 78 | 44 |
[WP] After you die you are presented with a decision tree which showcases every possible trajectory your life could have taken depending on which decisions you made at each fork. You spend eternity analysing this tree until one day you find a path that does not end in death.
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And finally when you are sure of the correct path to immortality, you are reborn into a new body with the “golden” decision tree embedded into your brain.
You’ve actually seen these types of people in your first life. These are the people who seem to walk early, talk early, and everything in life comes to them as if it’s the second time they’re doing it.
They are the “geniuses” of society who rise above whatever class, race or creed that they’re born into and shine like a million suns to the rest of humanity.
But even with this knowledge they very rarely make it thru the to the golden path of immortality.
Because they know all and have seen all. They can’t let their human brothers and sisters suffer through their naive decision making.
So slowly they deviate from their golden paths to help a family member, then it’s a neighbor, now it’s a fellow towns person, then a countrymen, then the greatest sacrifice is when they decide to help the whole of humanity rise.
And by this point there is no clear way back to the path of immortality, so they work and work and sacrifice more and more to uplift the species and until the one day that they die.
These beings never seem to last very long on the planet. They are like a fiery comet, lighting up the dark night sky one moment and gone the next.
Their deaths are felt around the world, a great wailing of grief and tears gratitude resounds around the planet for they have truly left the world a better place.
Bodhisattva; is what you call them. They never make it to nirvana because they can never reach pure joy, when another soul is suffering even for one moment.
So knowing this; your guardian spirit pauses, turns to you and then asks; do you still wish to be reborn to walk the path of nirvana?
~fin
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You smile up at your husband feeling his warm tears drop onto your face along with the cold rain. You can see the red and blue lights flashing and he's yelling something at you, clutching desperately at your side, trying to staunch the flow of blood from two bullet holes. Your hearing went what feels like a couple of minutes ago, now your feeling is barely there, and as your vision begins to fade too, you whisper to him.
You never planned on getting shot this morning when you woke up. It was a shiny Seattle day and you got yourself ready for work at the coffee shop. you grabbed your keys, you got your coffee cup, you got your phone and stuffed it in your bag, what could you have possibly missed?
You look at the tree map infront of you. It was the pepper spray. You had missed the pepper spray. If you had remembered to shove it in your pocket like you do every morning you would have been able to get away from the muggers that evening. According to the tree map of your entire life, you could have also taken the morning shift or further back by a few months, you could have taken the job for retail at that one clothes store. Unlucky for you, you chose none of those options. Lucky for you, the other mugger was a bad shot and you got a couple extra minutes with your husband.
Thinking about this you notice something strange about one particular path on the tree. It holds all of the good choices you could have made and eventually ends with "Become a God" after that the line has blank spaces to be filled in and goes on forever up off of the actual map and into the sky. You study the map a little while longer memorizing it and capturing it in your picture perfect memory. You smile and think to yourself about those last few words you whispered to your husband. Turning around, you walk to the light and take a step in.
"See you on the flip side" you whisper to him in your last moments.
| 2020-07-03T11:57:10 | 2020-07-03T11:06:20 | 40 | 21 |
[WP] Years ago, you were a feared warrior, until a witch cast a spell on you. "May you never hurt or kill anyone by blade, word or through any other means." Now, you are the world's greatest healer. You just open your clients and do random stuff. After all, you cannot possibly hurt them!
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"Rod, dear, do you want some more porridge?"
What Rod wanted to say was : 'Fuck this! I am sick of eating this porridge everyday day! '
What came out of his mouth was: " No, thank you, miss."
Rod took another sip of ale, which was the only thing that gave him pleasure anymore. For the thousandth time, he cursed the witch that had made him like this.
It was such a beautiful sight, that day. He and his hoard had wiped another village off the map. The very ground ran red with blood. That was when that thrice damned witch came along and said the words that made him powerless.
'May you never hurt or kill anyone by blade, word or any other means.'
He first laughed and then kicked the old woman. To his surprise, she thanked him for healing her blind eye. She left with a shit eating grin on her face.
He wanted to yell " Kill her!" But what came out was "Escort her to her home safely!"
He went to a neighboring town with his hoard and tried to vent his frustration. He yelled "Kill them all!"
His hoard gave him a confusing look. "Why do you want us to heal the wounded in the hospital, chief? Aren't we here for pillaging and loot?"
Then he realized the magnitude of this curse. He left his Hoard in the middle of the night. Several long days he wept, for he would never be himself again.
He moved to another country, and one day, when he successfully slapped an old man for standing in his way, he got very, very happy. The old man looked at him and said "That was not very kind, youn... wait a minute!" He started snapping by his left year " It is amazing! I haven't heard in this year for 6 winters, almost. Thank you, son!"
"He must be a healer from a far away realm!" Can you heal my son? We don't have much money, but we can offer you bread and ale! Please, sir!" "My sister is ill, please come with me, I can pay you 15 silver peices!"
The entire town buzzed with the arrival of this new medic. He did his work not because he enjoyed it. He hated it, actually. He did it to survive. One day , he decided that he had had enough. He couldn't curse people as that would hurt them, he could not hurt people physically either. He had become everything he hated. A soft spoken, kind healer. He grabbed a knife and thrust in into his belly. Only, it wouldn't go in. He could not hurt himself either.
That night, a vision came to him. "You have taken many lives, and now you will atone. This is your personal hell on earth, and this will be your eternal punishment!"
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"Aren't you gonna ask me for my name?" asked the young boy.
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't, may I ask?" the healer asked the boy as he smiled.
"Yeah, I'm uh, Roderick." the boy replied.
"Pleased to meet you Roderick, although the circumstance is horrible. You'll be up and about before the sun goes down."
Roderick smirked.
Roderick got injured in the field. It is 1970, he is in Vietnam, the war rages on for years. Marcus tended to his wounds, surprisingly it healed him pretty quick. Marcus had to adapt and improvise to this world's conditions for he didn't belong here. He wasn't always a healer either. He was once a feared warrior, just not in this world, his realm Yerindral cast him out.
"May you never hurt or kill anyone by blade, word or through any other means." The witch had cast a spell on him before he was transported here. He was notorious for waging war just to prove himself, his actions killed thousands of innocents in Yerindral.
Now, he's a greatest healer the world had never known before.
The next day the boy asked Marcus to visit a deserted place where his help is needed. He went there to look for the injured, Roderick took him near the forest.
"How far is it Roderick?"
"Just past that big oak tree."
Suddenly Roderick stabbed Marcus from his back with his pocket knife repeatedly. Utterly powerless and frail, Marcus fell down. He began to lose a lot of blood.
"W-Why?" asked Marcus gathering his strength.
"I know who you are. You're not of this world, you're a demon in man's disguise. My father sent letters home, he mentioned a healer, he believed you had unnatural healing powers. His last letter came with fear for his own life, he wasn't that kind of a man my father yearned to serve for his country." Roderick's eyes cried as he spoke, "I lost my father because of you," he yelled. "There won't be war here anymore, I succeeded in killing the demon," he said with his fists clenched.
The boy ran away leaving him there to die.
Marcus crawled on the ground, he reached a fallen tree he hugged the bark then he began to shed tears. "I've learned from my mistakes, I have seen war for what it is. I-I deserve this," Marcus gasped for breath, "—but please, at least let me die in Yerindral, I beg you." he pleaded to the witch.
His words weren't heard, he stared at the light go away as the sun set. Then a white light appeared in front of him. Marcus finally closed his eyes.
Note: I didn't fulfill the last detail of your prompt. Thought I'll do something different with it.
r/FleetingScripts
| 2020-11-06T08:55:16 | 2020-11-06T08:18:33 | 178 | 85 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead.
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"Hey, Freckleface!" The way that the little snob said it made it sound like he was calling her something unprintable. Giada ignored him.
"I meant you, in the robes! What kind of familiar do you deplorables from the sticks favor?"
There was no question what his was; he wore a gold and scarlet wyrm on his shoulder.
"Oh, we are but a humble people," she replied, placing her hand over her robe's pocket. "I would not waste your time; my familiar truly is an unremarkable thing."
The mock subservience was lost on him.
"No, show me," he demanded, grabbing her wrist and pulling it away fron her pocket. "Show us how pathetic you Calbrean upstarts really are."
There was a whistle. A thud.
A plop, as the boy and his little wyrm collapsed on the floor in a heap.
And dangling from her other hand was a long, striped sock with some kind of a weight in it.
Giada's eyes widened in pretend shock. "Calzaferro! Bad rock! I swear, I can't take you anywhere."
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The local mad magician was once the great sorcerer of the 95 realms with kings, war lords and gods seeking counsel, but say what you may about respect for arts, patronage is not enough to put food on the table for 19 kids. Capitalism was.
​
Pet RockTM was his latest invention and it enabled for once the entire town to go to the academy ethos. With its deep arches and looming marble pillars holding up aristocracy for decades, it now saw a rag tag bunch of rapscallions and hooligans in its pristine halls.
The academy was every once in a while attacked by rogue realms trying to disrupt the education of new age wizards thus disrupting their control across the universe. But this time would be different.
the gnarly gripes on tip toed and surrounded the academy shrouded in the darkness. They had managed to sneak in sleeping pills in the feed and the fierce dragons and gryphons slept soundly.
Breaching the magical reinforcements of the gate, they reached their most unexpected hurdle.
Standing 6 feet and 5 inches of pure sinew stood Dwayne Johnson. Rightly intimidated they escaped to plot another day,,
little did they know, next release was Emma Stone
| 2021-01-06T10:58:57 | 2021-01-06T10:19:23 | 40 | 21 |
[WP] The kingdom fell, the champions defeated, but an Angel appears before a Hero and says to him: "Fear not, for your progeny shall inherit the gifts of heavens and defeat the Dark Lord." Ever since then, hundreds of fatherless, divine-empowered bastards sprung up all across the lands.
Edit:
Well I'll be diddly damned, so many amazing stories came from my dumb idea.
So for everyone that posted their piece, and in advance for everyone that will do so: AMAZING WORK !
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King:Ok, tell me the situation again.
Theologist:Well sire, in recent months, the amount of demigods has increased twentyfold, their numbers almost in thousands... This drastic change begun after an angel decended from on high and spoke of this coming a day before the first of these pregnancies.
K:What kind of angel?
Th:Humanoid, sire. Described as an attractive woman in her late 20s. Said to have worn jewelry and plain white clothes. Blonde hair.
K:Is the pantheon or god served known?
Th:Not currently my leige.Due to a thunder sigil on a necklace, that gives us a shortlist.
K:Good. Tell me when you have new information.
(A day later)
K:You have news on the identity of the deity defiling my land?
Th:I would not be here if I did not sire.
K:Good. Who is it?
Th:Well.. we cannot know for certain... But it... Could be...
K:Out with it. Now.
Th:Zeus.
K:Godsdamfucking shit.
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The Angel of Knowledge has brought me to the Book of Knowledge. My palm feels the heat of the pulsating heart, waving over its front cover, a heart of fire. I can feel its fire cleanse my being, a scorching, exacting heat. I open my eyes and the mere proximity to the Book is enough for me to realize its essence. I have been immersed in the Divine Light and now have an obligation to go back to the material world, and develop a better humanity.
Upon my descension to this physical realm via waking up in bed, I am bombarded with the information that Divine Marauders are cleansing what they percieve to be the Unworthy. Entire villages are set ablaze, women are raped and children thrown into the fire. The men are shackled to their aggressors powers. In chains, the Unworthy attend the cleansing as well, by securing water and food supplies from whole regions.
I reach into my left side, my fingers excavating my connective tissue and I feel something cold. I grab it and rip it from my ribs. It is a long straight rib made of iron, and on it, an engravened heart, a heart surrounded in flames, to cure the world.
| 2021-02-13T08:50:47 | 2021-02-13T08:21:10 | 122 | 26 |
[WP] You were an "evil" king who has been dethroned by conquering heroes for your "horrible tyranny". It takes less than 2 years for the people of the kingdom to be begging for you to be reinstated as king.
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As the evil necromancer king was slain the heroes stood triumphant at last. The kingdom was saved. Or so they though. Running a kingdom cost money, effort, time and cunning. Thing neither of those wannabes had.
I withdrew my thoughts from my pawn just as the blow was dealt to it. I retreated to my cabin in the dark woods. I always dreamed of going back home to “simpler” times. It took just a few years or there miss handling the realm for everything to go to shits. Normally I would have cared but by now I was really comfortable in my cabin filled with my servants I have excavated. A skeleton is a great field worker yes it takes a bit of managing them like telling them to stop at end of field etc. But compared to digging out the field alone I’m doing 20 lanes a day with no breaks it’s extremely efficient.
My livestock’s is thriving. My workforce is free of cost and totally loyal. I’m living the good life. Well I was until some shithead (sorry you should perhaps not call the commoner that) put two and two together. And realised I was the previous lord. Well it wouldn’t have been so bad if he had kept his mouth shut but no he spoke of it in the tavern and guess what they came knocking on my door.
Now your thinking pitchforks and torches. Unfortunately no. I would love to kill some stupid ppl and get more skeletons for my farm.
But no they started bothering me about reclaiming my land. How much they was suffering.
How high the taxes was and how the church had been allowed not a 1/8 but a 1/4 of everyone’s assets. Because the church has to build new churches. Because the commoners was hedens.
How the nobles was claiming prima noctra because the commoners was almost heretics.
I smiled and said perhaps a deal could be made. I only wanted full access to the dead once they where dead. Do you really need your Corps after death. Let me keep it and I shall soon reclaim the land burn the churches and swarm the heroes in waves after wave of skeletons.
Do you want it faster well then help me dig up the graves and get me the corpses......
They talked for awhile then agreed. So started the second rebellion to usurp the usurper.
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I sat in my chair out in the woods enjoying my morning Elvish tea when the first group popped up. They looked ragged and starving, their clothes in tatters that barely managed to cover their bodies. It looked shameful
"My lord!" The one who I assume led them to me said in a raspy voice with what looked like a renewed vigor in his eyes. "We've been looking for you, we need you back." He said before I could even put my tea down, rude and shocking. I was the Cleaver of Floria, the slaughterer of Tazan, and the worst tyrant in history, or so the history would say. "Why you need me?" I said as I carefully put my tea to the side and leaned back in my chair. "The land and its people are struggling." The man said as he got closer, another look and I was able to he was more than starving, his ribs went past his abdomen. "I take it that your new rulers don't understand the hardships of running a country?" I said with a smirk, I knew this would come.
Everyone thinks they can just run a country with the support of the people, they don't know about all the backroom politics, the backstabbing, broken promises. They can't comprehend the false allies, the reason for atrocities to keep others from swarming us and ruining our lives. The naive don't understand that hard decisions need to be made for the greater good of the country, if a few small towns have to starve so the rest can be well fed, then so be it. I rather some starve and die off quickly, then the entire country die of starvation slowly.
​
I bet they can't even handle the rebellious, they don't know how to knock down those who challenge their status quo. They have believe that they're just like them but misguided instead. They love their people, but not enough to recognize that sometimes you have to chop off the finger to save the hand.
​
Oh, I dazed off for a second and didn't hear what the man had to say, I just saw a sad but hopeful look in his eyes, like a puppy left on the side of the road with no food. "I guess it's about time to teach these green horns a lesson about running a country, and about how defeat can humble you." After all, I know how to lose on purpose, but I also know how to win tenfold.
| 2021-03-30T14:44:09 | 2021-03-30T12:27:14 | 153 | 65 |
[WP]Humans are reverse Kryptonians. They are weak on their home planet but strong everywhere else. No one knew this until Earth was attacked and humanity was taken off of earth to be enslaved.
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Hollywood, I think, is the closest thing to real magic one can find on planet earth. The ability to take what lives in one's mind and broadcast it to thousands of screens across the world. The ability to invite others into your mind is a modern one. It can also be dangerous though, to consolidate a novel perception into a common perception. We all thought the same thing of an alien invasion, collectively. Flying disks, little green or grey men with big heads and laser guns conquering earth with their sheer numbers and advanced tech.
It wasn't like that at all.
The news never even had a chance to report it. If they did, none of us could remember. It was like having a dream that's so long that you forget you're you until you wake up and realize the life you were living was all in your head. Except we didn't wake up. We rested our heads against our pillows one night and before we even realized we were slaves, we were turning cranks in a dimly lit metallic room in a spaceship several light-years away from earth.
I was sitting in my pen thinking about the weekend plans when something inside of my head just kind of snapped- like a rubber band that had held a large number of papers together for years finally gave in. The papers fell to the floor and upon them was written a story. One that I had read before and suddenly remembered in its entirety. I slowly stood up and looked around- truly looked around for the first time since I'd been here.
". . . Hello?" I called out. My throat was dry and dusty and my voice sounded hoarse and foreign to me. I slowly made my way to the bars of my pen and wrapped my fingers around them. I swallowed painfully and rested my head in the space between the bars as I peered through the darkness.
I was Trey.
My name was *Trey.*
I didn't belong here. Panic slowly began to set in as I came to grips with my situation.
"Let me out!" I said as loud as my voice would allow.
"LET ME OUT!!" I screamed louder now, as though learning to scream for the first time, and as I did I yanked furiously on the bars...
And they relented.
As though they were made of paper, they tore from the pen. I looked down at one of the bars in my hands and opened my fingers. There were imprints of my fingers left in the bars where I'd held them. I held onto one of them like a makeshift weapon and cautiously left my pen. It was quiet, save for the constant hum of the craft that permeated the walls of the facility. I looked down at the others in their pens- they had pressed against the bars to look at me. I slowly walked across their pens, looking at their dirty malnourished faces as I did. I stopped where all of them could see me and held the bar over my head.
"The bars are weak," I said quietly at first before clearing my throat. "These bars! Pull em' off!"
They stared blankly ahead as though in a comatose state. I started breathing heavily as I looked around at them.
"H-hey! Are you listening?? Pull the bars off, they're like paper!"
Suddenly there was a noise toward the front of the room. I turned around to see a door sliding open- they were clear and there were two sets of them like one would see in a disease control center. A couple of aliens walked through the first set of doors and stared menacingly through the glass at me as the doors closed behind them. They were holding the stun batons they frequently used to speed us up when we were slowing down. I watched as the second set of doors opened and prepared for a fight. Even if there was nowhere for me to run, I would at least make them regret what they'd done to me; to us; to earth.
They strode through the door, activating their batons. The crackle of electricity filled the room and it was bright against the darkness I'd become used to. I held the bar of my cell like a bat and slowly backpedaled as they approached. The one on the right broke off and began to circle around me. I instinctively moved myself to maintain the cone.
That's right.
I was a boxer before all of this happened.
I still knew to maintain the cone- to keep both of your opponents in front of you at all times. The moment one of them has your back, it's all over. The aliens chirped at me in whatever language they spoke as they drew closer and closer. With a lethal amount of adrenaline in my veins, I decided to charge at one of them. If I could knock one of them out, I had a fair fight on my hands. What I didn't expect was the speed at which I attacked. I was so fast, I didn't even swing my weapon- I kind of just exploded right through him. In the blink of an eye, I was standing in front of the containment doors covered in a thick viscous fluid.
I turned around at the same time the other alien did, both of us with about equal shock plastered all over our faces.
Except my face was also plastered with alien guts.
Maybe it was a different gravity or something? A setting on the ship? I didn't know, and I didn't really care. All that mattered was that I was strong and I was fast. The creature started chirping madly as he held his little baton in front of him. I looked down at myself and squeegeed some of the goo off of my face before glancing at the pens. The other humans were smiling in disbelief, and I had to admit, it was a contagious feeling. I held the bar out in front of me vertically and tugged on it.
The woman on the far right looked down at her bars, adjusted her grip, and yanked them clean off. The alien watched in terror as the other humans began to pull their bars apart and stride out of their cells- and then quickly broke left toward the wall. By the time I saw the alarm he was attempting to pull, a woman crashed into the wall near the switch, causing the alien to skid to a stop. While she was clearly not used to her speed yet, she had succeeded in stopping him from throwing the switch. She didn't waste time- she strode up and ripped the baton out of his hands before lifting him by his neck high into the air. His scream was cut short when she crushed his windpipe.
"Chtob tebe deti v'sup srali," she said as she dropped the creature to the floor.
I suddenly felt dumb for not realizing it before. They weren't deaf or braindead- I might just be the only English speaker in the room.
*This is what people are always saying about Americans,* I thought to myself as I cringed. The humans all turned and stared at me. An Asian man began speaking in a South-Pacific dialect I didn't understand, and another woman said something in Spanish, which I actually did know a little bit of. Had they specifically placed us in rooms where we couldn't communicate with one another? I didn't have a lot of answers- but I knew one thing as the seven of us exchanged glances.
We would be slaves no more.
- - -
I used to get a 15-minute break at work and write as much as I could during that break. I'm self-employed now, so it's kind of a self-challenge at this point. I broke my timer by a few minutes on this one so I could research Russian for a moment. I felt it was important to get it right =P
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos
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The labor camp was surrounded by fetid, snake infested water on three sides and fronted by a sort of organic, vine based barbed wire that twitched and spat whenever the humans got near it. On each of the camp’s four corners the vines twisted around the large bole of a tree, twining about itself and retracting its thorns to form the rough shape of a ladder which the nimble little aliens scurried up. The strange bipedal rat-men kept watch from those heights with death-wands and stun sticks, and the humans were long past testing the perimeter.
They’d realized they didn’t have to.
On a dimly lit by the faint conjunction of the world’s two moons, Eliza worked the night shift in the trenches and waited nervously for God’s Eye to rise. As she worked she hummed, both inside and out, and the others in her trench picked up the tune as they tossed crystals into the collections buckets rimming either side. Each of them waited for the appointed moment. The moment Eliza would hear and transmit to them with a rising, striving climax in her song.
She could feel the other leaders doing the same in their own trenches, and above them all she feel Merrick’s consciousness soaring through the night sky from the cover of his sleeping pallet. He too was waiting for the Eye to rise, though alone them, his gift was strong enough not to require it.
“Psst, ‘Liza,” Aisha called from a few paces down the trench. Liza caught the younger girl’s eye and gestured for the other workers to continue the song. They knew it as well as she did, and her part only really mattered at the end. Aisha scuttled over, glancing out at the sentry towers. “You really think this can work?”
“Yeah, if you don’t spook anyone. Cut it out!” Eliza hissed.
“Sorry, sorry! It’s just…I’m scared.”
“We’re all scared. Scared is human, focus on that. For the first time since They came, that’s something to be proud of.”
Aisha took a deep breath, nodded once and began to swing her pick. She had every right to be scared. Aisha was the newest person in the whole camp, picked off the Earth Preserve weeks ago and dumped onto a labor world like the rest for reasons beyond anyone’s understanding. She was only sixteen.
Not that Eliza was much older, but three years of hard labor did something to a person.
On the horizon, the first, faint notes of purple hued light crept in.
Eliza leaned over, pulling Aisha into a quick one armed embrace and kissing her filthy forehead. “When the time comes, stay behind me,” she said. Aisha nodded gratefully.
For the next several minutes life was measure by swings of a pickaxes and the dull reverberation of alien steel as it sunk into alien crystal. Once, Eliza’s pick went too deep, puncturing one of the crystals and causing a small gas hemorrhage that brought an overseer running and screeching. For a moment, she thought doomed them before anything had happened. The rat stabilized it though and only eyed her angrily, marking her name down on the small ledger he carried, most likely for a beating later. One way or another, there would be no later.
Merrick’s consciousness rose again, pulling at Eliza’s mind. Through him she could feel the other team leaders, could sense Otto and Amit and Mei’s thoughts. They passed little encouragements back and forth, snippets of the songs each of them hummed in their trenches. Then Merrick’s internal voice overrode all of them.
“It is time.”
Eliza’s song changed. Her phrases crept upwards, repeating and transposing as she built towards a quietly hummed climax. The others all caught it, Aisha stiffened but said nothing, and when she reached it, singing the last note in a high, soft soprano, the younger girl released her tension. She shed a single tear, squared her shoulders, and swung her pick again. “Good girl,” Eliza thought.
A beat passed. Then four. Then Eight. And then God’s Eye rose.
The world’s third moon defied classification. It was massive, though that was its most distinctive feature. It was pockmarked and battle scarred like moons the galaxy over. It was, for whatever, the bearer of an ethereal purple light that swept over the planet in a wave, and the wave passed, they changed.
High on Eliza’s forehead an intense, spiritual heat burned. She looked Aisha and saw it was the same for her, the same for everyone in their trench as it had been every time God’s Eye rose. The aliens couldn’t seem to see it. They’d feel it though.
An explosion roared out from the camp’s center as Merrick detonated the crystal encased gasses in Warehouse 4. More aliens screeched, scurrying up from their little holes in the ground, pointing and screeching and pointing again from the towers and the barbed wire vines writhed in sympathy with their masters’ fury.
And then Merrick rose, really rose, flying high above the camp.
Eliza’s team boiled up, out the trench. They grabbed crystals with minds and hurled them against the nearest tower and guard burrows, igniting the gas within with the sparks of their souls. They swung pickaxes with calloused hands long used to their weight, and as they upon the rats, gliding through the air with preternatural speed, their strikes found their marks.
Some of the rats had time to fire back. One such shot, the red glow of a death-wand, struck Aisha. Eliza pushed it out of her mind and continued on.
Sirens blared now. At the landing pad on the camp’s edge the two patrol skimmers soared into the air, circling back towards the human revolt. Eliza wondered what they made of it from the supposed safety of their cockpits as explosions and chaos racked the camp. God’s Eye was high in the sky now, and Eliza’s third eye burned fiercely. She and other team leaders leapt, soaring up after Merrick as he went to meet the skimmers.
Afterward in the wreckage of the camp, they counted their dead. 112, Aisha among them, of the 672 enslaved humans at Labor Camp 1. Alien casualties were complete. God’s Eye was sinking beneath horizon by that point, not to rise again for three nights. It would be a dangerous time.
“Merrick,” Eliza called when he chanced to walk by. “Did the other camps rise? Can you hear their leaders?”
“All rose,” Merrick said, “though I cannot hear some. Several camps have lost their leaders.”
“What now?” Eliza asked.
“We head for the hills,” Merrick said.
He turned from her, projecting his voice to the camp as a whole. Even without the purple moon, his third eye smiled glowed on his forehead. “Grab as many death-wands as can and all the provisions! We reach the hills by nightfall!”
Eliza shivered despite the fierce heat of their prison world. “Can we do this?” she asked.
Merrick shrugged. “We couldn’t do anything else.”
He was right.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-05-18T06:30:08 | 2021-05-18T05:25:46 | 2,212 | 179 |
[WP] Magic has always been banned inside the walls of your home city. You never knew why until you looked down upon the city from afar and noticed that, framed by the circular outer-wall, all the zig-zagging streets and alleyways actually construct a giant magic seal- one for imprisoning great evil.
|
I was absolutely stunned that no-one has noticed this before.
People climbed the surrounding mountains every day. It wasn't forbidden, or even particularly difficult. When someone needed privacy, or fresh air, or silence, they climbed the mountains. That was why I came up to begin with.
To be fair, the symbol was highly asymmetric, so it wasn't easy to recognise, even viewing at so shallow an angle as I was; the mountains were relatively low to the ground anyways. Even then, its shape was distinct enough that *some* people should have realised. Well, I wasn't about to cry over that.
The city's winding streets laid out the most powerful seal of ancient spirits right before me. Some featrues were obscured by towers or taller rooves, and the castle, but there was no mistaking it. Thoughts coursed my head at this discovery. It explained so much. Like the ban on practicing spellcasting in town, or why the walls themselves oozed some rather slight, but perceptible magic, or why it was impossible to fly too high too near. If it was meant to protect the secret, it had failed. I had been looking for Rygva'ath for the longest, but I could never get closer than 'in the city'. That had changed now.
A most insidious idea popped into my head. Seals are broken when they are split in two - when a branch doesn't connect to the rest. How could I break the streams? By building across streets, turning them into dead ends. But who would let me do that?
Shop owners, market stall vendors, who would *love* potential customers to have no way of walking around them, that's who. More sales means more taxes, so the noble of the city would for sure let it happen. But this wouldn't get me all the way there. Still, it was a starting point. After making a quick, but critically, somewhat inaccurate sketch of the streets' layout, I returned home to contemplate my next move.
It struck me then: more gates mean more seclusion from the plebeians, and more tolls. Are gates walls? I was going to see it through. Chuckling to myself, just imagining that after so much research, such a long journey, all the actual work was going to be done by someone *else*, and I wouldn't even be around when the destruction started. This was the most fun in being the villain - causing people to willingly, better, *wantintgly* walk into their own deaths, and getting to spectate from too far to be concerned about law, or retribution.
That afternoon, the city council recieved a lengthy letter, signed by multiple respected traders and merchants. Sometime in the evening, a watchful eye might have noticed a lone wanderer going through the mountains with a well-packed mule.
Before you judge - I left a message also for the priests of the local temple. "Pray."
|
They said he was a crazy sorcerer like his mother. Adrian supposed that he couldn't very well say they were wrong. He could practice magic after all and just like his mother, he also heard a voice calling to him from the shadows of The City. Many would see it as nothing more than a sign of madness. And yet, Adrian doubted that for the voice was far too helpful for it to simply be a figment of his imagination. It was the voice that had helped him escape from the laboratory where the king had sent him after his mother was executed, it was the voice that had helped him evade the city guards and forage for food and money in the slums, and it was the voice that promised sweet vengeance for the death of his mother. For better or worse, the voice was the closest thing he had left to a parent. In his dreams, he even thought sometimes that he could see where the voice was coming from, something massive that was red and black, covered in scarred flesh and boils, constantly drowning in a pit of darkness far beneath The City. It was in his dreams that the voice had told him how to gain his revenge as well. He had seen through the eyes of a raven flying through the sky and for the first time in his life, he saw The City from far above. He had always been confused by the bizarre labyrinth of streets and alleyways that formed the heart of The City, but in that moment, he understood why the founders of The City had built it like that. It was all part of the shape of a massive colossal seal, designed to keep something extremely powerful trapped beneath for all eternity.
Adrian's mother had tried to break the seal by detonating a wagon full of fire crystals in a deserted alleyway in the middle of the night. But it had failed. Whatever lost magic had created the architecture of The City had made it extremely resilient against damage. Adrian knew he would need something far stronger. Which was how at the age of 21, he now found himself behind the controls of one of the recently invented cloud ships. Behind him, the body parts of the crew and passengers were scattered in a bloody mess around the deck. It hadn't been easy managing to obtain a spot on the vessel; it would have been near impossible if he had been doing it by himself. But the voice had told him what to say, led him to those who could forge a new believable identity for him, and had even taught him to operate this strange machine. Adrian looked down out the window as the ship drew closer to the place where they had burned his mother at the stake for her crimes. It was midday and there were crowds of people bustling around, unaware of the specter of death that hung over them. A grim smile appeared on his face. Finally, after all these years, she would be avenged. And with that, he gave the controls one final push and the cloud ship began its final descent towards the street below.
| 2021-10-17T02:32:38 | 2021-07-12T07:38:54 | 319 | 22 |
[WP] There you stand, the Dark Lord carrying the swaddled newborn destined to save the land from evil. Now you’ve got to keep them alive long enough that the day actually comes, and perhaps they can save you too.
|
Dad used to be a dark lord. That’s what I’m told. His old friends come over sometimes and tell me about how he used to be something. Enslaved realms, wrestled ogres, beheaded heroes, wielded powerful magic. He was one of the best at what he did.
But that’s not the dad I know.
He‘s depressed. And he blames me for it, although he won’t say it directly. He’s so depressed that he drinks all the time. Black liquor as thick as syrup.
He’s sleeping on the sofa snoring at the moment. He’s put on a lot of weight recently and his snoring’s become loud enough to wake the dead. Seriously, we’ve had ghosts rise through the floorboards just to complain. Dad’s not lost all the magic he used to have, I suppose.
He barely ever moves but he drinks and eats all the time. I’m terrified a heart attack is going to get him way before his time. We don’t get on well but I love him.
Sometimes with his snoring he wakes himself up. He won’t breathe for a few seconds then he’ll jerk awake.
Today I gather the dishes and bottles from around his sofa and take them to the kitchen. He used to have minions do this and he’s not really adjusted to life outside it all. I turn the radio up real loud to block his snoring as I clean the kitchen.
Dad says he saved me because the prophecy said he had to. He had no choice, he said. And he had to keep me safe. Dad never says he didn’t want to; it’s always that he had no choice. Still makes me feel like crap.
When I’m done, I go back in the living room. Dad’s awake now but he’s sobbing into his palms. Next to him is a broad sword with a sharp black blade. It was for his birthday next week. I’d hidden it in the garage.
”You’ve spoiled the surprise,” I say.
”I don’t deserve it.”
He’s right, he doesn’t. But I figured it might inject a bit of life back into him. Might remind him he’s more than the slob he’s turned into. That he’s my father and all that I’ve got.
”I wanted to be a good father,” he says. ”But I’ve failed you. Haven’t I?”
”You pay for my schooling,“ I say. “That’s something.”
“I had to look after you,” he says, wiping his eyes. “That was the prophecy. It said if I did, you’d save me.”
He’s never told me that part before. ”I‘m trying to, Dad.”
”I know.”
I sit next to him and put my arm around him. “Maybe you read it wrong,” I suggest. “Maybe it was that we save each other.” I take an AA card from out of my pocket and place it in his hand. “Maybe I save you now, then you save me later, then I save you, and it keeps going like one of those infinity snakes.”
He sobs into my shoulder. When he’s done he says, ”Okay. I’ll go. I promise.”
”Yeah?”
”Yeah.“
”If you can conquer a world you can conquer this.”
We hug for a while.
”I’ll try to be better,” he says as we pull away.
“Trying is all I ask, Dad. Say, did you like your gift by the way?”
He nods and smiles. First time I’ve seen him smile in years. “I love it.”
|
"Zerid, are we in a bard's tale?"
I asked my second in command.
"No, my Lord, we are not"
He answered immediately.
"Then how was this prophecy child survive?"
I thought to myself, while holding an orphaned child, we have rescued from a burning rubble, after my good friend Atron told me my fate will be cleansed by a child of fire and ashes...
But, he's also the child that will save the land from evil...and that evil is me.
​
"Stop, Lixt, if you dare to..."
I shouted, before the kid jumped from a hundred meters high, forcing me to save him with Gravity Magic.
"Listen kid, never do it..."
I wanted to say again, but he jumped once more.
"Sigh, this is getting ridiculous"
The promised hero was just 4 years old at this time.
​
"Little Lixt, don't poke the Abyssal Bears, they are easy to anger"
Zerid said to Lixt, while I was busy correcting the formations around the castle, after they've been damaged by Lixt.
Not even ten seconds later, an enraged roar could be heard, and Zerid's shouts have intensified...he started to battle with the Abyssal Bears.
When I walked to the little meadow they were in, not far from the castle, Lixt was having a blast watching Zerid being pummeled by six adult Abyssal Bears.
A look from me scattered the bears, but Zerid was quite traumatised, while Lixt was laughing mischievously.
The promised hero was just 5 and half years old at this time.
​
"Lixt don't..."
I said right before Lixt jumped inside a Red Dragons gold mountain.
The Red Dragon just laughed.
"My Lord, your offspring is hilarious"
The dragon said.
"Your gold is cursed, he will die in 10 seconds"
I said, sighing, before pulling out Lixt with pure mana manipulation.
At this time, Lixt was 6 years old.
​
"Lixt why did you do it?"
I asked Lixt, massaging my temples, a huge headache burdening me.
"Because it was fun!"
Lixt answered.
"It was fun to challenge the Mad Swordsman to a death duel?"
I asked, tiredly.
"Yes, I won!"
He said.
"You won just because that idiot is my half-brother and listens to every single word of mine.
Thankfully, he is immortal, so dying to a 10 year old is nothing hard to be done"
I thought this to myself.
By this time, Lixt was 10 years old, and almost died at least seventy times in this short 10 years.
I looked at the kid, who now was rummaging in our storehouse, sure that he will find something deadly soon enough.
I sighed.
"How will I keep him alive, long enough for him to be able to save the world, and me while doing that?"
I thought.
​
What the Dark Lord didn't know was that while babysitting the Hero, his armies were on stand-by, only rogue monsters, and demons harassing the humans.
This way, the humans didn't amass armies against the Dark Lord, while the humans also enjoyed peace.
In a way, or another, the world was saved from war, and the Dark Lord was saved from certain doom.
| 2021-07-27T12:18:42 | 2021-07-27T09:57:34 | 117 | 55 |
[WP] A film noir-like piece about a white cell detective investigating the mysterious death of a neuron, ignorant of it being the beginnings of Alzheimer's disease.
*white blood cell detective
This prompt came to me after I heard of the fan theory that each crackle and pop in the album *Everywhere at the End of Time* by The Caretaker (a music project that represents the decline during dementia) represents a brain cell death. It's a horrifying deep album and should be checked out; It made me at an unease (as it was supposed to) and has caused me to spiral into an existential crisis because my family has a history of the disease.
|
Today had been a long day. I put my feet up on the desk and took a long drag from my cigarette. What was I supposed to think?
Earlier that day, a desperate man had come into my office. Not the usual type to seek my services, no; this was one of the higher-ups. Small and greasy though he was, I could tell he was a cell used to dealing with complex equations and the burdens of being in charge. So what was so important that he himself had come all the way down from the brain?
“Mr. White Blood Cell, sir! I need your help!”
“White Blood Cell was my father’s name, call me Alex—“
“No time! You’re the best of the best, right? Follow me!”
He was outta the door faster than a city dame after a one-night stand. I had no choice but to see what the matter was.
“Well? You’ve lead me on a wild goose chase up to the brain; what of it?”
“Wild goose cha– this is exactly where I wanted to bring you! It’s not a 'wild goose chase' if–“
“Thought you said we were in a hurry?”
“Right, it’s… well… come see for yourself.”
The man started walking away again, hadn’t even bothered to tell me his name. \*sigh\* But that’s what they always say, isn’t it? “Come see for yourself”, like that never gets old. Everyone’s a dramatic when there’s been a murder. But I digress.
I followed him deeper into the brain, and I’ll admit even I was surprised by what I found.
“My god… what happened?”
“You tell me. Aren’t you the detective?”
“So there was… no warning.”
“Yep.”
“Just an entire group of neurons…”
“Dead.”
“And there’s no explanation, no possible–“
“We’re analyzing it as we speak, but we haven’t found a thing. That’s why we called you.”
“…You sure calm down fast.”
“Huh?”
“Weren’t you panicked and disheveled when you ran personally to my office?”
“Oh, well, yes. This is a serious situation. But I’ve received word since I’ve returned that it won’t significantly affect brain activity in any way, so…”
“Not an immediate cause for concern?”
“No, but something has to have caused it. Now you prevent it from happening again. Find the culprit, Alex.”
I tipped my fedora to him.
“It’s what I do.”
Hours later, though, I wasn’t as confident. Why did it seem so sinister? Mr. big brain didn’t seem too worried, but something about a dozen neurons going out like a light didn’t sit right with me. How would it? Maybe these streets were ridden with crime, but we had ourselves a serial killer on our hands. No clues, either. I’d interviewed plenty of the other neurons, everyone who’d been in the area all day. No one heard a thing. Tomorrow I’d investigate the red blood cells, but that’s always tricky. Sure, they’re essential for the body to function, but trying to do a proper investigation on an always moving network of cells that are allowed everywhere without question is murder.
Ha. Murder.
As I was saying, murder is no laughing matter. Something tells me I’d better keep my eyes peeled for the next killing.
Private investigation is a dog-eat-dog world, and I gotta feeling this is the case that’ll make or break me.
|
The doctor tapped his foot in rhythm with the ticking of his watch, piercing his patient with his gaze. As an old man, Doctor Anderson felt overwhelmed with the case at hand.
His patient slouched in his chair, a bald man of forty-three with oval shaped glasses resting too far forward on his nose.
Anderson poured over the brain scans, uneasiness growing as the minutes passed. He felt tired and sick, the long hours too much for him at his age.
When he was a strapping young lad, Anderson held great pride in his position, helping droves of grateful men and women, and occasionally delivering heart wrenching news to families. But, Anderson took the good with the bad, understanding that it is the circle of life, and that someday he himself would be speaking with a Doctor forced to give him the same sad news.
None of that comforted him today, as he held his gaze on his computer. How do you tell a man you don't know what was wrong?
"How are you feeling, Chuck?" Anderson began.
"Fine. Little tired, really irritable, but fine." Chuck replied, his hand resting on his wife's knee. Her face was stuck in a pinched, fearful look, unable to make eye contact with Chuck, sure he would see the tears in her eyes.
"Good. Any other symptoms? Anything out of the ordinary?"
"No. I've been feeling pretty good actually, reconnected with old friends recently. Feeling really great other than the recent episode." Chuck replied, massaging his lady's knee as he spoke.
"Well, so far, your scans are regular, though it could be too soon to show from this test, I'd like to refer you to a colleague with more accurate technology."
"Is that good?" Chuck's wife spoke quickly.
"It could be." Anderson spoke, instantly feeling a flush of shame. Providing hope was not part of his job, it had greatly damaged people before. "But it could not. It may not have shown on the test, or it could be too early to see."
Chuck's wife had gone pale, Chuck was intensely gazing at a spot on the wall.
"Too early to see what?" Chuck's wife broke the silence.
"I'm sorry. I don't know."
"You don't know." Chuck's wife practically spat. "I'm sorry. I- I'm sorry, I know you're not at fault. You were just our last hope, our last chance."
"I will refer you to a colleague, he is an excellent neurologist."
"That's what we thought you were." Chuck's wife stared daggers. "That's what we were told you were, after the slew of other doctors, after draining our bank accounts. There is nothing we can give to another doctor."
Chuck fidgeted, his eyes still stuck at the same spot, though his face changed, getting a funny look that rapidly disintegrated into shame.
"He can work that out with you, he's a very caring man." Anderson spoke to Chuck, hoping to bring him from his stupor.
"Oh, great." Chuck's wife continued. "Another opportunity to be a charity case, to be seen as worthless. To just throw any respect we have for ourselves in the trash. To be useless, pointless anchors of this world, pulling everyone else down."
Anderson knew not how to respond, desperately hoping Chuck would say something.
His wish came true. "Am I going to be okay?" Chuck whispered, finally meeting Anderson's eyes, tears silently beginning to fall. Chuck's wife gripped his hand to her breast, her anger replaced with rapid sorrow.
"I'm sorry chuck, I don't know."
"Well, only a matter of time then. Only a matter of time." Chuck resigned himself, leaning forward and slowly standing. "I'll take no more of your time, God knows I don't have it to waste. I'll see your receptionist on the way out and settle our bill."
"Chuck, truly it could be nothing." Anderson said in a high pitched, queer voice, bile building in his throat. He didn't believe himself, and could see Chuck and his woman didn't either.
"Yeah, probably nothing." Chuck replied flatly. "Goodbye, Doc."
| 2021-08-12T21:10:53 | 2021-08-12T17:05:50 | 62 | 15 |
[WP] You've just defeated the dark lord, as you were prophesized to. But as you walk back into camp, everyone looks at you, shocked. "There was no prophecy," they explain. "We just told you that to give you confidence. How on earth did you kill an unkillable sorcerer?"
|
*“Well, as it turns out,”* i spoke jovially, masking the rage building in me as i stepped out through the stone portal to the lord’s throne room, with my sword in one hand and his crown in the other *“I wasn’t the only one you fooled! The lord believed it, too. Turns out magic is only as powerful as you believe it is!”*
The king chuckled nervously, his guards slowly putting down the chests they were carrying. No doubt tribute to appease the lord after my ‘inevitable’ failure...
Before he could spew whatever new lie he would no doubt be brewing for me, I held the crown up for all to see.
*“This was his armor. When he died, it... Retracted, forming this little trinket. Can you believe it? This is what made him invincible. Until he stopped believing he was.”*
I put the crown on my head, and it quickly expanded, enveloping my body from head to toe in the thin, soot black coat of plates it contained.
*“I know better.”* I hissed bitterly as i raised my blade one more time.
|
"Well nobody told me he was unkillable", I said. "How was I supposed to know just sneaking up and stabbing him wasn't supposed to work?"
I stopped and thought for a moment. "It *did* work, though. I stabbed him and he's dead now. I don't think he was telling the truth."
"You don't think, huh? But you're so *smart*, Jerry. You can always tell when you're being lied to." The others laughed. I smiled and chuckled, but didn't understand the joke. "Did you grab his briefcase like I told you?" I held up the leather case. It smelled nice. I wondered what's inside?
"Good, good" my friend said. "Listen. There's a new wizard looking to take Lord Frank's place. We know because he recently stole some of that white powder we sell to make people feel magical. He's going to be even harder to kill..."
I nodded along eagerly, waiting for my next magical quest. There were so many sorcerers trying to hurt my new friends. It felt so good to finally be treated like a normal, smart person and be given such important tasks. To have friends. I don't think I need the group home anymore.
| 2021-08-20T12:25:05 | 2021-08-20T12:01:22 | 40 | 23 |
[WP] You are an ancient and powerful dragon who lives in a mountain nearby the capital of a kingdom that's been trying to slay you for centuries. That is, until one day when you were just resting atop your hoard, a heavily injured knight comes into your den, carrying the kingdom's baby princess.
|
Slay the dragon! Marry the princess! Great riches!
Of course no one told the many adventurers that they would somehow have to carry Morling's hoard down the mountain themselves, that is, before the whole city would come to help, each filling their own pockets. Nor that the princess' nickname for Morling was 'mom'. They also didn't realize that King Rudolpho had plans to throw the successful Dragonslayer in the dungeon. And marry the princess off to his infant son. Usurpers always wanted to legitimise their rule Morling sighed to herself.
The fortune-seekers also never realised that Morling would hear them trodging up the mountain at least a mile before they got to her cave. Another group of knights was currently clunking up heavily. They discussed taking advantage of the element of surprise. Morling sometimes wondered how none seemed to realise that the best element to surprise a dragon was Au. Well arranged carbon did quite nicely too.
Morling glanced over at the sleeping child laying next to her. She was glad the little princess seemed to have it's mother's intelligence. While she had never met the queen personally, this lady had been the first in centuries to realise how Morling got her hoard. Gifts.
The old kings had been warned by Morling that passing down a secret from father to son wasn't practical for such a fragile race. One untimely death had ended the bringing of riches in exchange for advise. After millennia she had gone from the kingdom's most trusted advisor to the 'scurge of the nation', she quietly chuckled to herself. Dragonslayers were quite tasty. Flash fired or roasted slowly in their metal armour, it all went down a treat.
The last time Morling had experienced some surprise was when, after centuries of brave and delicious adventurers, a severely wounded knight had dragged himself into her cave. She had been sleeping peacefully, not expecting visitors while the kingdom waged war against Rudolpho the Usurper. The man had been holding a heavily ornate golden necklace in one hand, and the tiny baby princess on his arm. He had barely managed to start begging for help when he dropped dead on Morling's clean cave floor. Little Gemma, as Morling had named the child, preferred that necklace over everything in Morling's hoard.
The clang of metal had reached the entrance of the cave. Morling gently nudged the sleeping princess awake.
'Breakfast will be served in a few minutes, sweetie'
|
"Aizerth, the Bright! Ancient Lord of the Five Realms! I beseech thee!"
His body shifted, his weight pushing away it's hoard, the coins and gems rippling down their scales A gentle ring filling the cave as they bounced landing near a broken knight's boots. Aizerth exhaled, his breath raising the heat in the room. His grand eye shining gold as he craned his long neck toward the knight.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT *HUMAN!*" Aizerth bellowed, the words laced with foul venom, his breathe washing over the knight as he clutched something in his arms. Aizerth inhaled, drawing the thick metallic smell of blood and from into his lungs. Snarling, hints of flame and ember splashing against the steel of the knight's chest.
"Please take custody of her Royal Highness Joane Brione of Heawick." The knight held out his arms, coughing as he strained himself to move forward, falling to his knees, holding up the dirty stained bundled cloth he clutched to his chest earlier. Aizerth searched the steel features of the knight, nodded as he lowered his to the cloth. The cloth was thick with smoke, discolored by mud and blood. With a claw Aizerth peeled away the cloth to revealed the quiet child, her eyes full of innocence and hope.
"What happened to the royal family?" Aizerth glance to the fallen man as he slowly lifted himself up.
"Dead. Burned. Lost." The knight stood, bowing as he turned to march towards the exit. "For the sake of the Winter Rose."
"I never said I would take charge of this child."
"You're the noble Aizerth, the Bright." The knight turned with a bow, his eyes not meeting the dragons already low gaze. "I beg of you... Protect her please."
"Hmm." Aizerth nodded his head, his form transforming as he lifted up Joane. "I accept, raise your head noble knight."
"Thank you," he lifted his head, groans from his body and armor. The golden filigree and blue gambeson on his body marred in scars and blood. The knight turned as he began marching back out of the cave, stopped by Aizerth touch.
"What is your name noble knight?" His eyes locking with the knight's helm unable to discern his motives. "Where do you intend to go."
"Death." Aizerth released his hand as he felt the cold tension from the knight. Death marches one, faint shadowy wings sprouting from his back.hid form disappearing into the darkness once again.
| 2021-09-14T02:31:26 | 2021-09-13T19:19:19 | 36 | 18 |
[WP] you never had any animosity toward the ant colony living in your back yard. They kept your garden free of pests, and the spiders out of your house. You even started feeding them occasionally. Today, you happen to notice they've carved your name into their hill, and seem to be patiently waiting
|
I related to ants a little, not in any weird way, but more in a sort of mutual respect kind of way. Ants are the working class of the bug world, a group that goes about their duties and performs repetitive tasks for the good of everyone around them. Able to perform heroic feats of strength and even ambush stronger foes.
I saw a lot of myself in them, or maybe I wanted to see a lot of myself in them. I wanted to be that working class man that could lift above the others, show them I wouldn’t go down easily. But, like the ants, I was pretty easy to tread on and my extravagant strength was more used for picking myself off the floor than anything productive.
So, my brief glance of curiosity as I passed the small anthill in my yard soon became an ant watching session. It started off small, maybe a few seconds before I headed inside, then a few minutes. After a month or two, I became fascinated by the creatures, spending ten or more minutes just watching them go about their activities. Whispering small words of encouragement as they followed each other back into the hill.
By the third month, I was leaving small crumbs by the anthill, making their journey a little easier. I considered it a work bonus, my way of rewarding their efforts. It seemed only fair. Unlike the fat cat bosses I worked for, I could spare a few of my crumbs for the workers.
It was strange, they almost seemed to show appreciation for my efforts. A few of the ants leaving their circle to walk around me. At first, I thought it was because I dropped some crumbs by my feet, but with each additional day, the circle of ants grew larger until I had nearly an entire colony of ants circling my feet in unison. It was a beautiful feeling, but one that couldn’t be explained. No internet search or book spoke of the phenomenon.
Things only escalated when I stopped to greet them today. On their anthill was the name ‘Paul’ carved into it. At first, I didn’t even make the connection that it was my name, far too in awe of the strangeness of it all before it clicked. “You know my name?” Perhaps they heard it from a passerby or the mailman?
They didn’t respond, of course, but they stopped their usual pacing around me. This time they stood ready, like little soldiers prepared for a war that they couldn’t comprehend. At that moment, a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. I could terrorize people, use them to steal money, or even have them sneak into places for me. Yet, all those outlandish thoughts scattered from my mind as soon as they came.
Maybe I could do all those things. But that would be at the cost of losing the person I wanted to become. The ants trust me, and I should repay that trust. “Keep doing your best. Thank you for the company today.” I tossed a few crumbs their way, careful not to hit any of them before I headed inside, leaving the ants to return to their normal duties. While the temptation was there, I would rather not lose the peace they provided.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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I heard once that your nostrils run on 1-hour cycles, air flowing more easily through one then the next, so precisely that Gurkha super soldiers exploited this rhythm to keep time during dangerous missions. Right now my left one is filled with Hermès, *Un Jardin Sur Le Nil*. Mango and grapefruit and carrot. It's like being right next to Veronica.
The ants are walking in cursive, spelling out my name. I imagine someone playing a prank on me. Writing my name with honey and waiting in the bushes to catch my utter astonishment. But there is no one in the bushes. And there is no honey.
EDGAR.
Ants descended from wasps. Black-and-yellow terror with wings. And they traded that for an existence as drones. The workers don't even get to pass on their genetic material. They die in service to the colony, and that's that.
We might not be so different. The other apes have muscles powerful enough to tear off our arms like they're ripping wet paper. And ourselves? We cooperate. Like ants.
EDGAR.
Even in Ancient Greece olfactory hallucinations were known to be bad omens. They are rare. Why? Because smell is the original sense. Before any other way of sensing our surroundings had evolved, we could detect scents. Strange sea creatures opening and shutting pores based on what chemicals they detected. And now this sense is buried deep inside our brains, even processed in a different way than all our other senses. That's why smell can evoke long lost memories. It's the original sense. And that's why hallucinating smells is bad: it means some real old components have failed.
Perhaps that's why these ants are working so hard on writing out my name: it's all in my mind. A blood vessel bursts somewhere and as my consciousness fades I get to experience some strange qualia. Veronica's scent. And ants.
REMEMBER.
A new word. My right nostril wakes up and I smell dust and copper. Remember? What am I supposed to remember?
I remember Veronica dragging me along to the market. Her floral dress. Something happened that day. What happened?
PLEASE.
A lone ant is not an individual. A colony, however, is. Ant colonies have personalities, distinct from other ones. Which means that ants are a bit like brain cells. I am Edgar. That's not the opinion of a lone brain cell. That's the opinion of the brain cell colony. Together, my brain cells become one unified being. They become I. And the same is true of ants, I suppose.
A colony. The hivemind.
Oh. That's right. That was what happened. There were two lone ants. These ants found each other. And they swore they would never leave the side of the other. So when one of them died, the other decided to follow.
I can remember my brain being scanned, each brain cell translated to a string of ones and zeros. And as a colony, they were transported to the bit ocean where Veronica had already been swimming for a while.
But something must have gone wrong. This colony of ants is Veronica. And as for me? I can feel my bits dissolving, merging with everything around me. I am sorry, Veronica. I know we promised we would never leave each other.
EDGAR.
Once dissolved, there are no names. Your brain cells have no names. Their atoms have no names. I have no name.
I try to breathe, but there is no air.
I am sorry, Veronica.
| 2021-09-20T07:35:10 | 2021-09-20T07:09:49 | 299 | 69 |
[WP] It's the first week of Magic theory class. You've finally gotten to the basics of the subject. As your professor talks you notice something bothering you. You raise your hand and ask the proffesor about it. They blink and look at the board, then back at you. They ask you to stay after class.
|
The Chimera’s roar reverberated throughout the entire school. Its quakes displaced many stray objects and even sent some unbraced students careening towards the floor. At ‘Chimera’s Rest’ school for sorcery and sagecraft, this was nothing more than the usual signal for classes to begin.
“Ahem.” The professor cleared her throat before continuing. “Resonation –that is the key to all known forms of magic.”
Hah, there she goes again; lecturing without skipping a beat. How many years of teaching here had it taken to grow accustomed to that monstrous roar, I wonder?
While lost in thought I noticed her glance at me, it was less than an instant, but within that fraction of a second she had accurately identified my wandering mind and made a mental note of it. The sharpness with which she observed her students was not to be underestimated.
Quickly, I yank out my book and begin to follow along with her lecture.
“Shit, shit, shit! This isn’t my magic theory book!”
In my haste, I had accidentally grabbed the wrong book from my storage chest.
Desperate to not draw the professor’s ire, I laid my geometry book flat and flipped it open to a random chapter while the professor continued her lecture.
“You’re all still sproutlings, but if you wish to be relevant, you must pick a specialty as soon as possible.”
“Specialty, like fire or water magic?” A student voiced in a serious manner.
“No, no. Elements, and the like, are affinities. You won’t have to worry about those for a while.” She said with a raised finger.
“There’s two types of specialists.” She continued. “Wielders of sagecraft utilize the ambient mana all around them. While wielders of sorcery utilize the mana built up inside themselves.”
“Which one’s better, professor?” A bubbly student asked earnestly.
“Why can’t we use both?” A gruff student huffed.
“Ahaha-- That’s a difficult question to answer but, I think some of your concerns will be addressed by the lecture I have planned for today.”
The professor was strict as they come and sometimes downright sadistic, but never once had she admonished someone for asking a genuine question.
“There’s mana everywhere! In the air, water, grass, animals, and even your food. Eating, breathing, and drinking slowly builds up your internal mana. Just like how ‘The Source’ slowly refills the world with ambient mana.”
“What is ‘The Source’, professor?”
“Nobody knows for certain. It’s really more of a theory than anything else. We don’t know where mana comes from or even why it exists at all in the first place, to be frank.”
“Ack-CHOO!” With a violent motion I sneezed, launching my textbook off the table and into the middle of the aisle.
“Enjoying a bit of geometry are we, Flip?” Her voice sounded almost playful, but I could tell by the glint in her eyes she was furious.
“Ah-uh. NO! I just thought-“
Looking panicked and disheveled I grabbed my book and hopped back into my seat. My forehead dampened with sweat.
“Go on. Explain yourself.” The professor said calmly as the slightest of smiles crawled onto her lips.
With a gulp, I composed myself. Faltering here is the same as painting a target on my back for the next four years.
“I just thought-“ My mind raced. I had to come up with an excuse immediately. Opening my book to a random page, I spouted utter bullshit. “Tri- triangulation.” I stammered.
“Hmm?” She raised an eyebrow
“Triangulation. By simplifying a 3D space into a subdivision of triangles you can extrapolate an unknown point by using three unique reference points.” I read word-for-word from the book, like an ass.
A contagious bout of stifled snickering spread throughout the classroom.
I had failed. I cringed prematurely, fully expecting to face the brunt of her sadism. But to my surprise-
“Are you..are you talking about locating The Source?” Her eyes rounded, captivated by my words.
“Yes..?”
Lost in thought, she twirled her curly hair around a finger over and over until-
“Meet me after class. I’d like to hear more of what you have to say.”
Crisis averted, for now, but I’ll have to come up with something more convincing before class is over.
|
"Good morning students. I am professor Dolores, I am here to teach basic magic 101. we will learn about the fundamental understanding of magic.
This will be your first step at becoming a magico. Do not underestimate this first step, because if you mess up this first step, you might die"
Students shouted "Yes Professor Dolores"
"Alright, now I will explain a bit about magic. Anyone here ever seen monster?"
A student put his hands up, "I' had seen my father fighting fire fox"
"Excellent, what is your name and what did you see?" professor Dolores asked
"My name is Harry, and I could see flame shoot out from the mouth of the fox."
"Great answer to start. Monster such as fire fox, they can generate their own magic in their body. While us human, we can't. We used to be the weakest creature in this world, but not anymore, we have contracts.
Fundamental of our magic is to create contract with beings from another plane. For example, we can create flame if we made contract with fire elemental spirit."
Dolores chanted gibberish words and suddenly flame as big as his palm appear
"Whoaaa" the students were in awe, this was the first time majority of the students seen magic, real magic.
"Power of this magic depends on who you contracted with, smaller spirit can only summon small magic"
Then Dolores chanted an even longer gibberish words and summon flame as big as a bed
"WAHHH!!!" some students fell from their chair, some fainted from the heat
"Opps, this might be too intense for students." Dolores put out the fire immediately
"Professor" a boy put his hand up
"Yes? What is your name and your question"
"My name is Jonah.. and I want to know why there was fire with eyes when you summon that flame? And.. why after the flame gone there was darkness surrounding around the area of the flame?"
Dolores stopped for a moment, and told Jonah "alright Jonah, I might be able to give you an answer after this lesson, so please wait for me when the lesson ended"
And Dolores did his job introducing how to feel spirits and how to befriend them
After lesson, Dolores picked up Jonah and brought him into a room.
"Sir, this is the student I talked to you about through our communication stone"
"Ho ho ho, good morning child, I am your headmaster here, my name is Professor Yehval Dumbledore, tell me more what you see when you see this magic"
Professor Yehval then chanted magic in one second and summoned water snake and let it slithered around for few seconds and made it vanish
Jonah said "I saw a big water fish behind you, and darkness around the water snake when you make it vanish"
"Are you sure you said darkness, child?" Yehval asked
"Yes I am sure about it, I won't lie to you professor" jonah said
"Alright Jonah, it seems you are gifted, I will talk to you later about your gift" Yehval said while letting the boy out from the room.
Professor Yehval went silent for a moment and said "I might need to report this to the king"
"Darkness right? Or should I call it, void?" Dolores said with serious face
"Yes, this is the first time someone can see the void, it used to be a theory, but this child might confirm it. Plus he can see our elemental spirits." Yehval said
Dolores added "for he can see elementals alone means he is blessed by the nature, but seeing the void... Do you think it is a curse?"
"Maybe yes.. maybe not. Academics always have this theory that the void is the beginning and the end of everything. Ash to ashes, dust to dust. Everything starts from nothing and ends with nothing.
Maybe.. maybe he can achieve something great.. such as contract with void being or even.. legendary contract with lord of the void? But we are dealing with the unknown here" Yehval said while pondering the possibility
"Sigh, this might be too early to tell. This is seal of the kingdom. I am Yehval Dumbledore will give you royal decree. I assign you to be his personal tutor. Teach him about the void, report to me about his progress. If something went out of control.. kill him" Yehval said in cold tone
"Yes headmaster"
| 2022-04-13T19:57:03 | 2022-04-13T19:38:19 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] It's the first week of Magic theory class. You've finally gotten to the basics of the subject. As your professor talks you notice something bothering you. You raise your hand and ask the proffesor about it. They blink and look at the board, then back at you. They ask you to stay after class.
|
The room was tense with excitement and curiosity, a chilly morning air leaking through the window. Each seat was filled; nobody wanted to miss magic theory. Not now, not when they’d finally qualify to learn of the inner workings of magic. Students were even fidgeting, nervous about whether they could keep up or not. Rogier himself was bouncing his leg, keeping a steady allegro beat.
The professor walked in; surprisingly young, he was clean shaven, with hair cut rather short. At least in his mid thirties, he breathed a sigh as he set his books down on frontmost desk. Tapping on the board, he faced the students, each of them meeting his eye.
“Magic Theory.” He tapped the board again, now drawing the words, the large white letters standing out obnoxiously.
“Can anybody tell me what they might know about it?”
Already, a voice popped up from the back of the classroom; their head obscured by even more heads and faces.
“Magic is provided by a source, sir. For humans, it is projected down onto the earth, where it disperses as breathable particles, which we process through respiration.”
The professor nodded; apparently, he approved of this idea. “Anything else?” The room remained quiet, until Rogier raised his hand, his mouth slowly moving, lips and tongue and teeth shaping each word carefully.
“Sir, is there not magic derived from other beings? Such as, say, the dark?”
The professor blinked, twice, before looking at their notes and then the board, as if he was suspicious of it having revealed something. His hands fidgeted nervously, as did the students now.
“I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
“Rogier, sir.”
“Well then, Rogier. See me after class.”
The room remained silent, eyes suddenly on him. After the tension had settled, the class continued as normal; they discussed the foundations of magic. Mana was stored within a tertiary chamber of the human heart; piercing this would cause some level of combustion, and results in death. Mana is converted into various forms of magic at meridians, and would reach there through the bloodstream. The class slowly became more relaxed as students realised the scale of the course was lower than their expectations.
Class finally ended when the bell had rung; chairs screeched against the floor as teenagers rushed out for lunch. Rogier approached the Professor; his brow was furrowed, his knuckles white as he turned to face him.
“Where did you hear that…?”, the Professor asked.
“Here wh-“ Rogier began, but was cut off.
“Don’t try to play it off, kid. You’ve been killing people, haven’t you?” The professors eyes had turned red. Not bloodshot; the iris itself was a dark crimson. He looked tense, stressed; his every muscle rigid, every movement restrained. Rogier had not, however, killed a man. He had simply seen it demonstrated by travellers as a kid.
“What do you me-“ Yet again, Rogier was cut off; shadowy tendrils bound him to the spot. The windows to the hallway were closed; nobody would know they were here. But through the confusion, Rogier could stil think; this man is a murderer, if what he says is true.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you live if you’re even close to this.”, the Professor grinned, gesturing at the living shadows that writhed from his palm. “Its too much of a risk. For both of us.”
The shadows tightened; slowly beginning to crush Rogier’s airway. He writhed; there was nothing he could do to escape this. Or so he thought, until he felt something, something sparking inside of him. He reached within; something metallic, almost sharp, had embedded itself within his soul. He fell to his knees, his airway getting tighter. As if by instinct, Rogier fed it; his head going dizzy, as what felt like a drum slowly began to beat within him. He struggled in his restraints, the beating getting louder and louder as his consciousness faded. Rogier fell to the floor. A piercing pain began in his chest as the end drew nearer and nearer-
And then, it manifested. A razor-sharp silver needle, that felt like a simple second arm to him. It rose from his shoulder, slicing through the restraints, and what seemed to be electricity gathered, coursing through it.
The professor’s eyes widened; quite literally, as the needle pierced through one socket, penetrating his skull and nailing it to the board. Of course, Rogier wasn’t even awake to see this; by the time he had been let free, he had fell unconscious, left in a room with a corpse and a thunder-charged needle.
|
“I couldn’t help but simplify the equation. Idk if I did something wrong or what, but I ended up with 2=1”
(Later)
“What do you mean you simplified it and got 2=1? This is the theoretical formula for magical calculation of the cosmic source of all magic. This is a plug and chug equation, it’s all theoretical.”
I stare at the equation and back at my professor.
“Well by Doing simple algebra you can eliminate like terms, and on the side that calculates the force of your magic it’ll end up being 2 however on the other side that calculates how many Magicules in the area you can get it down to 1.”
“But that’d mean Magicules are twice as powerful as we think they are. But if that were the case a spell that uses 1500 Magicules would have a cosmic alteration rate of 3000 per usage measurement. If this were true then the spell {Summon flame} it would create a small inferno. this can’t be possible. But your math checks out. But no other equation accurately displays this, we’ve even used magic to generate entire scientific scripts and tried to apply them but they never worked. But if this was the case then incantation as we know it is actually one of the worst ways to cast a spell.”
“Well, you know there are case studies of people who can skip parts of certain incantations or even the whole thing and cast spells without issue, and if anything they end io some of the most powerful mages. Maybe it has something to do with that maybe when they were young they created a connection in their subconscious that allowed them to take full advantage of every magicule. Something they themselves don’t understand entirely.”
“Well then what do you prepose we do?”
“I say we get together a bunch of children and I mean real youngsters that have little to no experience in actually casting magic or at the very least able to accept new chants as a way to “make magic happen fast””.
“How would that even work? It’s not like we can just create new chants every change in a word could change its effect. Everyone knows this”
“Then why dose a chant still have the same effect regardless of the language even if a direct translation from language A to Language B make completely different sentences? I bet it has to do with our minds forming them.”
(Months later)
“Okay kids I am professor Miagientic. you may call me Mr.M for short, here is my assistant Mr. Grabinski. He is why you are here today. We think we can teach how to “make magic happen even faster.”
“Okay everyone put your hand out and think of the fastest thing you have ever seen in real life.”
“Can I fink about vewy fast fings I have only seen on TV?”
“You know what sure, maybe this way we can test even more things. Anyway everyone repeat after me: “HEED MY COMAND, SHOCK!”
And like that a small purple circle w in front of everyone in the rooms hand, it took a second for mine to appear but once I saw that it worked my magic incantation took affect. However nothing was happening usually the incantation commands a usage but we only readied the spell we would have to power it ourselves.
“Why is nothing happening?” Said one of the kids.
“I know, everyone take a deep breath. And breath out, but keep your mouth closed and not through your nose instead breath through your arms, your hand, and fingers breath into your spell circle but only a little bit. If I am right they sho-“
Then the room lit up with both the glow of small shock bolts flying forward out no more than a few centimeters. But also with the glow of a you g child who learned a really cool trick that they will boast about forever. But most importantly I was right. The incantation isn’t what did the magic it was the thoughts behind it. Most ranged magic always did have the line “strike my enemy” which would imply a force to move the spell and a force to deal damage. So it’s possible that this method simply created that same movement force.
“Okay everyone I want you to go home and practice, keep practicing until you figure it out perfectly. Then maybe change the chant see what other changes you can make to this brand new spell. In one week I want you all to show me your special shock.”
(One week later)
“Okay let’s see them”
One by one each kid showed there special shock a few notable ones where the [Burst shock] which created upwards of 20-30 different bolts that scattered in many directions each with a short range. There was also the ultra precise [Laser] which had the unique ability to be whatever length the caster wanted it to be. And lastly [Lightning dancers] which was more of a parlor trick than anything but it allowed the casters to create many small bolts and co troll each one to make little scenes or even spell out words.
| 2022-04-13T21:26:12 | 2022-04-13T21:21:57 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] It's the first week of Magic theory class. You've finally gotten to the basics of the subject. As your professor talks you notice something bothering you. You raise your hand and ask the proffesor about it. They blink and look at the board, then back at you. They ask you to stay after class.
|
When the room had cleared, Professor Phillian returned to his desk and pulled a sheet of paper from a stack to begin writing. I leaned forward expectantly, but he ignored the motion. I raised my hand, but still received no response. Maybe he changed his mind? Maybe he didn't actually want me to stay, so I could just go!
Warily, I stood from my desk and pulled my backpack onto my shoulders. I made it about three steps to the door when Phillian spoke.
"Miss Sharyan, please wait a moment. I have signaled the Headmaster to stop by, and I want you to be present when he arrives. You don't have to stay at your desk, but don't leave the room, yet."
I slumped my shoulders. Of course he had been writing on a Sending Page. The words would have immediately shown up on a corresponding page in the Headmaster's office. I stayed at my desk but didn't sit down. I wanted to be able to leave as soon as possible.
Headmaster Kyne arrived within a handful of minutes. She was a slim, middle-aged woman who possessed all the haughty grandeur of a royal dignitary. I had only seen her two or three times since school started and never up close.
"Phillian." She said. Kyne looked me up and down before continuing to say, "Is this the Sharyan girl?"
Professor Phillian nodded as he rose from his desk. "Yes, Headmaster. Miss Sharyan, would you please approach the blackboard?"
I looked at the equations that shimmered from the mnemonic chalk that Phillian had spoken earlier in class. They outlined the various methods, efficiencies, and foci involved in the harnessing of magical ether. I sighed and strode to stand beside the professor.
"Would you mind telling the headmaster what we were discussing in class today? I would like to hear it in your own words.”
“Y-you told us,” I began, my mouth feeling dry. I cleared my throat and started again. “You began our introduction to ley lines. You described them as focal points for magic, where near limitless supplies of etheric energy could be drawn upon and directed. Its why most of the Arcanus schools are located on and powered by them. Ley lines are different from ambient ether and kinetic ether in that they are constantly active and consistent in temperament.”
“Very good,” Phillian commended. He then turned to Kyne. “Elizabeth Sharyan received high marks from the mundane academies before her talents manifested, and she seems to have an acute ability to understand new concepts. Now, Miss Sharyan, could you please repeat the question you asked just after I explained ley lines?”
I hesitated, and could feel my shoulders rising to my ears. “I’m sorry I interrupted class, sir. I promise to be more respectf – “
“Now, now,” Phillian cut me off. “Just ask the question again, and try to use the exact words.” I felt humiliated. Why hadn’t I just kept quiet? Why did I feel like I knew anything after only a week?
“It was- I mean I think- What I said was-“ I stuttered. “I just asked if that was why it was illegal to take magic from other times?”
Headmaster Kyne stared intently at me, and Phillian had the weirdest smile. I immediately added, “I know it was a stupid question. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll pay better attention, I promise…”
I moved to shuffle out the door, but the headmaster held out an arm to stop me.
“Ferris, I believe she thinks she is in trouble. Elizabeth – do you mind if I call you that?” I nodded but furrowed my brows. “Elizabeth, why would you ask a question about the Laws of Magic during a discussion on ley lines? You are not in trouble, nor am I seeking to mock you. I want to know how you made the connection.”
I took in a deep breath and tried to figure out what was going on. The headmaster was called in just so I could explain my thoughts on week one material? Was this a test? What did they want from me?
I tried to explain carefully, but eventually I got carried away, “Um. Well, magic is just the ether, right? The energy that mages can control with spells? But it isn’t energy in the mundane sense. It bypasses most physical and chemical laws, so it probably doesn’t obey time, right? The Third Law of Magic states that a mage cannot alter time, but if someone did, they could harness the ether from the present, the past and the future. Even if it was the barest trickle, they would have infinite power at their disposal.”
I noticed that the two adults were just staring at me and not responding, so I turned my gaze to the floor and felt my cheeks turn red.
“Obviously I don’t understand the details, but I made the connection that ley lines have so much power because they are like time vacuums that were created by mages to draw upon the ether of eternity. I thought time magic was illegal because you wouldn’t want people to randomly start making ley lines, but obviously I’m making some incorrect assumptions.”
“Actually,” Kyne replied. “You are exactly correct.”
I looked back up to see if she was joking, but the look on her face suggested that she’d never made a joke in her life.
“I have never heard the term ‘time vacuum’ before,” the headmaster continued. “It is usually referred to as a Temporal Sink, but the effect remains the same. You are correct in that the Third Law was written to mitigate the uncontrolled creation of ley lines, but where there are laws, there are lawbreakers. That is why the Law reads as, ‘Mages shall not tamper will elements from either the past or future’ so that people will think it refers to the creation of paradoxes or instabilities in reality.”
“Wait a second,” I interrupted. “Are you saying I’m right? That I could just make a ley line at will?”
“Yes, Elizabeth. You stumbled on a secret that is kept from the majority of the magical community on your first week of theory. Congratulations.”
I could tell from her dry tone that she wasn’t exactly ecstatic. Meanwhile, I was panicking! I was fourteen years old, for crying out loud, and I just learned that limitless power was within reach! I felt like someone who had just stumbled on a map to a horde of cursed treasure. There was so much great potential, but so much danger.
“I am in trouble,” I mumbled.
“Of course not!” Professor Phillian disagreed. Then he pressed a finger to his mouth and pursed his lips. “Well, maybe a little. You can’t go to your classes anymore, certainly.”
My mouth dropped open. “I’m kicked out of school for this?”
“No. But your education will need a different focus. Come this way, Elizabeth.” She walked towards the blackboard, made a gesture while reciting a few syllables, and an ornate, wooden door appeared in front of her. She grabbed the handle and swung it wide; revealing utter blackness beyond.
“Where does that lead?” I asked.
“To the heart of Arcanus Kyne,” she said. “After you.”
I stepped forward hesitantly, but I soon found myself walking confidently. The blackness had a beckoning effect and it called to my very soul.
As soon as I passed the threshold, I was bathed in light. The darkness receded to expose a room the size of an amphitheater. As far as I could see were magical artifacts; tomes floating on pedestals, glowing crystals on shelves, living herbs that watered and cultivated themselves, stained glass portraits that shattered and rearranged every few seconds, and countless wonders that I could never have dreamed of. The center of the room took all of my attention, however. A pillar of brilliant, living, violet energy flowed from beneath the floor to beyond the ceiling. It showered everything in its constant yet faceted light, and the power of it could be felt like the winds of a storm.
It was a ley line.
“Welcome to your home, Elizabeth,” Kyne said as she followed me in. “Welcome to Chronomancy.”
|
Alexander had only just sat down in one of the mismatched array of overstuffed chairs, wooden stools, cushions, logs, blanket-lined baskets, and oversized birds' nests, that surrounded the professor's stage in a chaotic half-circle, and already, his head was spinning.
It might have been more accurate to say that it had never actually stopped spinning, from the day before, truth be told. This class, *Introduction to Magical Theory*, had it's first four sessions taught by four different professors, each setting a different tone, and approaching the subject from a wildly different angle. He hadn't cast a single spell yet, but he was well on his way to transmuting his brain into scrambled eggs.
Well, if he had wanted a straightforward magical education, he would have gone to an arcane academy that taught magic from the intellectual perspective of wizards, and seated its students at *desks.* But instead, he had enrolled at Royal Arcane Collegium of Creative Practitioners, more commonly known as *The Bard's College.*
Yesterday, Alexander had asked Maestra Elinya, who taught magic from the perspective of music, how to compose the right rhythmic patterns for invoking the element of water in a song-spell. *She* had told him to submerge his head in the enormous decorative fountain out on the quadrangle, and listen to the burblings of the koi fish, until he understood them well enough to cheer for their triumphs, and weep at their tragedies. He'd decided to save that particular homework for the weekend.
Today, however, was a day he'd been eagerly looking forward to, for today's teacher, the last of the first week, was none other than Maestro Robineaux, who taught magic in the medium at which Alexander most excelled: the visual arts.
The Maestro was not only a brilliant *Bard of the Brush,* as they were called, but was renowned as a brilliant instructor, whose methods were creative, yet refreshingly straightforward. Robineaux, it was said, had once taught an elephant to paint. Circus trainers and zookeepers had accomplished this feat before him, of course, but unlike Maestro Robineaux, none of *their* elephants had subsequently been commissioned by the King to paint his official portrait, including a variation rendered as a miniature woodcut, so it could be reproduced on postage stamps.
As Maestro Robineaux approached the huge floating chalkboard that dominated the professor's stage, he beamed cheerfully at the class still taking their seats. He was tall, slender, with a graying brown beard and a perfectly round halo of curly brown and gray hair around his head that stopped *just* short of looking silly.
This week's prior professors, who had been musicians and writers of one sort or another, had dressed in an array of flamboyant finery, but Robineaux wore a simple set of work clothes with a paint-stained artist's smock over it.
He withdrew a long brush from one of his smock's many pockets, and tapped the board, which shed its identity as a chalkboard in a gentle shower of sparkling motes, and transmuted into a large canvas. Robineaux extended his right hand, and a palette laden with a spectrum of colored globs of paint appeared in it. He turned to the class.
"Good morning, everybody." Robineaux said, warmly, in a voice surprisingly soothing and gentle. "Well, I know my good friends in the faculty have already gotten you started with some wonderful ideas, and lit the fires of your imagination. So, what I'm gonna do, is just chop some wood, and add some new boughs to fire"
With a flick of his wrist, his brush became a palette knife, and he began mixing paint. "Now, when you're in my class, you'll all have your own canvas to follow along, but this is just a little introduction for you, so today you can sit back, relax, and watch, while I show you just a few things about painting, and about magic."
The moment he tapped the canvas with the knife, it began to shimmer, as though overlaid with a faint ghostly image of rippling water. "I'm gonna start with a little *leviathan blue.* Glglrblublfx, the leviathan who gave me the shed scales to grind up this pigment, he's a good friend of mine, too, and he's kind of a jolly old fella. So let's make a jolly blue sky, I think he'd like that."
The class, watched, entranced, as several seemingly simple swipes of the palette knife became a clear blue sky, with depth and distance, as though they were looking at it through a window. "Now, ol' Glglr, he's attuned to the element of water, so if we take some of this *air elemental gray* and tap it on with a nice soft fan brush, get that nice and mixed in, air and water come together, and cook them up a nice fluffy cloud. And that cloud looks kinda lonely. Let's give him a friend next to him over here. They can talk to each other, about cloud things, and wile away the time, in our jolly blue sky...."
No one spoke, as the Maestro did his work, adding mountains, trees, bushes, and a even a few slender towers in the distance, until he had created a painting looking out into a magnificent elven glade, where you could actually see the trees swaying lightly in the breeze, and the non-lonely clouds drifting across the sky.
The class applauded, but the Maestro merely smiled modestly, and held up a hand for silence. "Alright, friends, I see we're just about out of time for today. Before I let you go, are there any questions?"
Alexander's hand shot up, and Robineaux pointed to him with his brush. "What can I do for you, young man?"
"Maestro, you talked a lot about the different elements invoked by the various magical pigments, and I could see all of those come into play as you painted. But what was that strange shimmer that appeared on the canvas as soon as you touched it? I didn't recognize that one."
Alexander frowned, glancing around as a confused murmur ran through his classmates, but Robineaux, though he looked slightly surprised, smiled broadly and said. "That's a good question. Why don't you hang around just a few minutes after class, and we'll talk about it."
Alexander's heart swelled. To talk with the Maestro one-on-one, on only his fifth day of classes? It was amazing!
"So," Robineaux asked, his arms folded, a smile on his face. "You saw the shimmer, did you? Well I'll be."
"Yes," Alexander said. "Like rippling water, over the canvas, before you even started adding the magical paint. I was wondering what it was?"
Robineaux nodded. "Son, have you ever heard of *the luminiferous aether?"*
Alexander shook his head.
"That's alright. It's an advanced part of magical theory -- wouldn't expect you to know it your first week. There are different ways to explain, but I like to think of like this: Imagine the magical elements as bubbles rising up from the water, and popping up into our world."
Alexander nodded, slowly.
"Well, the *aether,* that's not any of the bubbles, like fire, or air, or water. The aether, is the ocean that they rise up from."
"Oh," Alexander said, brightening. "So, it's the fundamental source of magic? I think I have heard something about that subject. I'd kind of dreaded having to study it, it seemed so...esoteric, and complicated."
"Well, for most folks it is, son. But that's because they can only come at it from the standpoint of theory, and infer its existence by its effects on the visible elements." Robineaux placed a hand on his shoulder. "There are some folks, like me...and like you, who are just little bit different. We can *see* the luminiferous aether, and interact with it directly because of that."
Alexander's eyes widened. "I'm...like you?"
The Maestro chuckled. "Naw, son, you're like *you.* And that's a good thing to be like, don't you think? But it does mean that you've got a special gift, one that, if you work with it, can help you bring a lot of joy into the world. You've got the gift, of *True Seeing."*
| 2022-04-14T08:36:45 | 2022-04-14T05:30:47 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] While doing your daily business, you're suddenly teleported to a new world to see someone in unusual attire crying, "I can't believe I got another common!" You look to the right to see twenty copies of yourself
|
All of a sudden I got vacuumed up, and shot out of what I would call a gumball machine, but no gumballs. Instead they had capsules with names in them.
A goddess looking person, wearing silk robes, groaned, then unsheathed her sword pointing towards the machine. She shot a lightning bolt at it in anger.
"I spent 500 diamonds just to pull 21 copies of a common weakling for my in-game harem," and they're not even HOT!!!!" she exclaimed.
Before I could even, get my bearings from being shot out of a gumball machine she pointed to me with the tip of her sword
"You, the newest draw!". I looked around but it was obviously talking about me.
I gulped some air, then stuttered "ye-yes?"
"Don't act stupid with me, you have the best stats, so now consume your copies if you want to live. And do it pronto, I'm using a double xp berry on you.". I caught a golden colored berry that she tossed to me
After I ate the berry I became super hungry, without thinking I consumed the other copies. I don't know what will happen to me next. I too might be consumed. However if I listen to her I might be safe......
|
The first came the music, not the light. It was a familiar kind of music, but it didn't click for you by the time light came and went.
Light rain was falling and a girls tearful face filled you vision before you realised you are a different place.
"Another common" she cursed, disappointed
The music stopped, but voices filled the background now. There were donzeish more people around you. Normal people. Ordinary.
Not like the girl. Who somehow filled your mind and thought. Not like the girl who was everything for you?
But, who was this girl?
"One more chance, one more try. One more."
And the music and the light come again spreading from the girl.
Then suddenly a baby's wail spread's out.
The girl, now with the baby in hand, jumps up.
" A joker, a wild card." With a crazied smile she looks down on the baby. "Oh, little one. You will fight and die for me."
Somehow you know that baby died. That it was dead, before it came here. That it was a brightest flower picked first by a god.
A god? Is that was this girl is?
Does that mean you also died? Does it even matter when a god stands before you, smiling down at you?
Does it matter that you were picked? Rolled? Opened in a box of chance?
Does god even care?
| 2022-07-28T00:27:09 | 2022-07-27T22:00:28 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose civilian identity is a teacher. One student asked if you could tutor them after school, and you agreed. After it was over, you escorted them to the front of the school for their parent to pick them up... and you see your nemesis waiting by the car.
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I walked little Suzy out to her parents car. I've been her teacher all year and haven't met her mom yet. She has missed every parent teacher conference. Only responds by email, usually late at night. So there's always a delay in communication. Which is ok. I'm up late. Being one of the big 3 heroes means a lot of late nights, being a teacher means a lot of late nights. I basically don't sleep much.
"Moooom!" Yells Suzy as she goes running across the parking lot. At this point all I knew about Suzy home life was that she had a single mom that works a lot. Suzy, unlike most of my kids, doesn't talk about home much. Usually that's a sign of trouble at home but I don't get that feeling from Suzy.
"Hi Ms. Patterson, I'm Ms. Jones" I say while walking up to the car. I gotta keep it brief, Mrs Fantastic is needed in the city tonight. There are rumors that the Dark Queen is planning a bank robbery.
Suzy's mom looks up and I see her, for the first time I'm meeting her mom and I immediately recognize her. Her mom is the Dark Queen. "Oh shit" I whisper.
"Hi Ms Jones, so nice to meet you. Suzy, you didn't tell me how pretty Ms Jones is "
Is she really flirting with me right now? OMG
"Thank you." I don't know what else to say. Yes she's attractive, I've always thought that of the Dark Queen but she's literally the leader of the Knights of Chaos. The reason we're always so busy at night.
"Suzy honey go ahead and get in the car. I want a quick minute with Ms Jones"
Suzy jumped in the car without a word.
"How about coffee tonight Ms Jones or should I say Fantastic?"
"Coffee? Really? You're asking me on a date? You of all people know I have work tonight. "
"True but if I'm having coffee with you, then there's no reason for you to work tonight. You know exactly where I am at"
It made sense. So I agreed.
------------
That was five years ago. Now I'm the Light Queen. The heroes all answer to me. The criminals all answer to my wife. Murders are down 90%, the city is safer than ever, and only one news anchor ever questions why I can't seem to stop the Dark Queen. Of course we laugh about it after our battles, when we're home with our little Suzy.
|
Nox was an English teacher at Inanoi Middle School and was currently tutoring one of their favorite kids. She was always well-behaved in class, always getting student of the month. Her name is Nay. Pointing out something was wrong with her essay, "You forgot your period again." It was a simple mistake, but she quickly corrected it. Nay subconsciously picked up her phone. Nox went to ask to put it down. Then she quickly started packing up her stuff.
"Thank you, Mx. Nox! My mom is here!" The girl cheered as she packed up all her papers.
"I'll walk you to the door to see you off." They cooed and playfully ruffled the kid's hair.
Amber whined about her hair being messed up but skipped towards the door and opened it, beckoning her teacher to follow. Nox followed, giggling softly as they made their way to the front of the school. Amber was rambling about her day but wasn't paying much attention. They were thinking about going on patrol soon and, hopefully; they don't run into their nemesis. It's so annoying to deal with their teasing and flirting, making them feel these stupid emotions. They shook their head trying to get rid of the thought of their nemesis. Amber rubbed against Nox's leg trying to grab their attention. "My mom is here!"
Paying attention, Nox looked down and then up to see someone that she was at least expecting. That damn Nemesis has a kid, and that kid is my student. Some petty revenge won't hurt anyone, right? "Hey Amber, is it okay I meet your mom?" Nox asked gently.
Amber looked up and tilted her head, raising one of her eyebrows curiously. Shrugging her shoulders, she kept skipping along until she arrived in front of her mom. "Hey, Mom! Meet Mx. Nox. This is my teacher." Her tone was cheerful.
Her mom looked at Nox, raising her hand to shake before examining their frame. "Oh!" A small grin appeared on her face, "Mx. Nox? I see, you didn't tell me you have such a beautiful teacher." Seductive tone almost immediate.
Nox didn't want to stand for this for once. "Amber, I didn't know you had such a pretty mom." Giggling a little.
The mom flushed wasn't expecting such a comment and shot Nox a soft glare before shoving her kid in the car. "Let's go, Amber! I have work to do." She cackled as she got in and rode off.
| 2022-11-29T12:38:54 | 2022-11-29T10:46:25 | 127 | 59 |
[WP] "It's human-made, you know!" Reverse the usual fantasy scene where somebody gushes over elf/dwarf/whatever craftsmanship.
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Urist gingerly squeezed the brass actuator, and the hammer snapped forward with a neat metallic clap.
His shop had seen all manner of wares pass through - the Pass of Arkhaz was home to merchants of every shape, and their weapons decorated the walls of his cramped shop. Thin, mirror-like Elven blades sat next to handsome Orcish ironwood axes; noble Dwarven hammers mingled with Underfolk's short-spears on worn racks; there was even a stand of slender Edithian blowguns, and from the tall rafters of the shop hung a Giant's bow, split from the trunk of a proud oak, arrows taller than the crafty shopkeep himself.
But he had never possessed a Human gun. He rarely saw anything from the realm of Men, being so far West, but he had heard the stories: distant empires, across the Green Sea, who fought with fire and smoke, who had abandoned the art of armor-smithing as useless against their own weapons.
And now, looking at the polished steel device in front of him, Urist almost believed it. The Dwarves built machines, of course, but they were massive and strong, as all Dwarven crafts. He had never seen a gear smaller than his thumb - by the Mountain, it was tiny - and the Human's trick of storing motion in a 'spring' seemed more like magic than metallurgy.
"And this," the unkempt man in front of him produced a thin copper cylinder, "is a long-sight, designed for the device."
"And it does what?"
"Well, it lets you see further, so you can hit distant targets."
Urist chuckled. *That,* he knew, was a joke.
|
"What is this sorcery!" Grendulf, leader of the dwarves and welder of the majestic beard, bellowed. He was a large dwarf. 4'8" in height and 278 lb in weight. His whole body was a mass of rippling muscles; so mighty was he that he could wield Hrunting, the mighty sword possessed by Beowulf, and crafted by the three mighty dwarves, the first three ever born, born out of the fires of diamonds and iron; they were called the Three. Grendulf was a mighty dwarf, the mightiest dwarf that the land of Hyatt had ever seen since the Three.
"WHAT IS THIS ALL POWERFUL WEAPON!" Grendulf yelled, his voice full of awe and excitement. "I have never held anything so awe inspiring in my life! Who made this magical... thing! It is beautiful!"
Grendulf's weaponry advisor, Surith, walked in at that point. He had been scouring over records for hours to find out what is was. "I think I have figured it out," Surith said, not entirely sure how Grendulf would react to his answer.
"It's human made of great sire. They call it a bazooka, and it uses controlled explosions to launch another explosive out of that hole that then, well, explodes." Surith spoke.
"Ba zoo kah," Grendulf tested out the word. "A BAZOOKA!"
"WE MUST GET 10,000 FOR ALL OF OUR WARRIORS AND TRAIN THEM HOW TO USE THEM IMMEDIATELY!"
"Oh boy, this is not going to turn out well." Surith mumbled to himself, knowing the amount of self destruction having these weapons would cause.
| 2014-09-11T10:47:47 | 2014-09-11T10:29:12 | 158 | 10 |
[WP] You are an NPC watching the hero/heroine do a speedrun.
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"Damn, Earl makes some good java." I said mindlessly as I peered over the landscape of Mushroom Kingdom. It was another beautiful day but then again every day here is bright and sunny. I'm not complaining but a little weather diversity could bring down the monotony of this area. Every day is the same here. Rick and the other Flowers cousins peaking out of their pipes once every 3.4 seconds and those little shithead Goombas mindlessly scurrying back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It's like the world's most boring life stuck on repeat.
"EVERYONE GET READY!" one of the Hammer brothers screamed from three quarters of a way down the path.
I could hear it. The crushing sound of brown cinder. That red hatted devil had returned to my part of town. Who the hell does he think he is anyway? In other parts of the world it's illegal to destroy property and assault individuals just minding their own business. Or so I assume as I've never left this cardboard paradise.
Something was different this time. Typically by now I would've heard a litany of coin blocks dinging as that bastard stole our wealth. Not this time. This time was different.
I headed down the road to get a better look but before I could he was already to me. How the hell did he get here this fast? Normally I have time to finish my cup of coffee before I see him. This mother fucker is running like his ass is on fire. For the first time in hundreds and hundreds of encounters with this vicious criminal he's actually avoiding everyone and everything. Could this be the dawn of a new age?
Then it hits me. With great haste I rise up above the clouds and take off to find a safer place. Without looking back and without stopping I flee for my life. Whatever horrible, terrifying beast is making the mustached one run that fast is not something I care to stick around and see.
|
The rebel watched watched the the orange man moved across the the maze of traincars towards the the rebels base. The Combine forces were responding as alarms sounded across the area.
At the sound, another revel came running up "What's happening?!"
The first rebel gesturing with his SMG towards the approaching figure.
"Freeman! Should we go out and help?"
The orange-armoured man was now well within visual range, and moving erratically. Very erratic in fact, the rebel knew that the infamous powersuit that the Dr. Freeman wore increased his agility, but what he was seeing was nearly unbelievable. Freeman was moving across the tops of the train cars in skips and jumps, not even a second spent touching the ground. The rebel was sure he even saw him run across the top of a chainlink fence, his feet practically standing on air.
"I ... don't think he needs it..." The first rebel said slowly.
But there was a obstacle that he didn't think even this nigh-superhuman could cross before the Combine caught up with him.
"How's he going to get over the barrier?!" The second rebel cried.
The brick wall surrounding the rebels base had held up suprisingly well post-Combine-Invasion. Metres tall and with barely any handholds, even Freemans jumping skills were no match for it, and the solid steel gate would take quite some time open.
The two soldiers could only look in worry as the Free-man approached, followed by a hail of bullets. He wasn't slowing down however and as he got closer, he picked up something from the ground. Upon his next leap into the air, he held the cardboard box he had grabbed from the ground below his feet and rose into the air. The soldiers could barely believe their eyes as Gordon rose high into the air stoically rising high above the wall and then dropping down to land in front of the stunned rebel soldiers.
The rebel was tongue tied, "Dr. Freeman" he said tonelessly as the man jumped through the door into the base itself"
The two rebel soldiers looked at each other, one of them took his beanie off, dropped on the ground and walked away.
| 2014-09-20T05:12:22 | 2014-09-20T04:36:27 | 133 | 76 |
[WP] In a parallel universe, Native Americans advanced more quickly than Europeans. Native American explorers have just now arrived at The New World: Great Britain.
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The shuttle glided down, its complex system of wings folding gradually as it landed. The wooden flying machine settled near the coast, attracting the attention of many civilians from the nearby Welsh village. They gathered around the device. After an hour of no movement from it, one of the civilians decided to walk up to it. Before they had walked more than a few feet, the cabin door burst open.
A crowd of men and women with dark skin poured out of the shuttle. Many of them wore odd looking clothes with complex helmets that these 17th Century Welsh villagers had never seen before. Standing before them were people who had advanced to a point in technology probably five hundred years ahead of them, if not more.
"Can ya talk?!" one of the observing children shouted.
One of the darker skinned individuals from the shuttle tapped a device in his helmet and began to speak.
"No need, we have a universal translator device. We normally use it for animals, but it works for speaking to you all as well."
A Welsh villager expressed his curiosity, "Animals? You mean you talk to your livestock?"
"Please do not use such derogatory language. Animals live among us, sometimes lead us. You are about to be exposed to this."
As if on cue, an American Buffalo made his way out of the shuttle and stood in front of the group of Native Americans. He too was wearing a complex helmet and suit. He began to speak to the Welsh in his deep and persuasive voice.
"Traveling here has been long overdue. We have been held back by a complicated political situation in our homeland. For awhile, our leaders did not see the value in traveling to other worlds. They didn't understand the value of science. We knew this world was out there - or at least we had a pretty good guess. And yet for so long we couldn't get the funding to make this expedition. Finally, we did. Science prevailed. And you can learn that lesson from us."
A Welsh woman asked nervously, "Who... who are you?"
He stomped his hoof several times into the ground. The villagers all waited with suspense.
"I... am Neil DeGrasse Bison."
|
Chief Seattle, second of his name, looked at the reason he had journeyed many miles and across many seas. His son, future chief, stood by his side, looking at the same land.
"It is their land." His son said.
"Yes, and look at how they defile it." Chief Seattle pointed to the steel tracks laid on the ground. It went further than his aged eyes could see, but he doubted even his son could see the end. He had ordered camp there so his tribe could look at them. So they could remember why they fight. "The Iron Horse kills all land in its wake. You know this."
His son was silent. He was always so quiet. Most children were considered slow when they didn't speak often, but the Chief knew his son wasn't slow. He simply considered every option. Every choice was treated with care to the boy, be it the method of gutting fish or the moment to engage a battle. Chief Seattle had warred with some smaller tribes specifically so his son could see the battlefield first hand. It would all pay off now.
"Go, tell Rabbitfoot to meet me out here." Chief Seattle nodded to his son, who quickly went to the tents.
The land was beautiful, but the Englishmen were destroying it. Just as they had tried to destroy the Homeland.
"You called for me, Chief?"
The Chief smiled. As always, Rabbitfoot made no sound. He could sneak up on an eagle if he wanted to.
"Go and see where their troops are, as well as their numbers. Come back and report to me in three days if you see no one by then." The Chief watched as Rabbitfoot entered the shadows. He wouldn't see the scout again until Rabbitfoot wanted to be seen. He was a creature of the Night.
Chief Seattle looked back to the land. He had only brought four hundred men, but the Englishmen fought with Honor. Stupidity, was more the word, but they could call it whatever they wanted as long as they kept doing it. Lining up together, not moving or hiding under return fire.
The Duwamish tribe would fight to win. They were one with the land and they would use it to their advantage.
The Chief looked away, towards the tents.
Three days.
| 2014-11-10T14:17:36 | 2014-11-10T13:56:09 | 824 | 13 |
[WP] Write a story that's been heavily censored. The censorship tells us more than the actual writing.
|
*Hey there.*
*Hope you're getting as much sleep as I am! We've been waking up at exactly eight in the morning, no earlier, no later, and we're healthier for it.*
*Well... How are things at home? Mom's doing okay, right? I know the surgery must've been hard on her. She's been getting enough to eat, right?*
*The food here is a little hard describe... It's definitely liquid, but when it goes down your throat, you can't help but think it had to have been something very different beforehand! Something solid, or maybe even like jelly? It's for all the budget cuts, I understand, but I really wish we could grow our own food, you know? It'd give me some more work to do, at least.*
*Any updates on the house? I can't wait to see it all fixed up! I know how hard it is to deal with all the rain, but you guys are real tough; when I get home, I hope you're all in just as good spirits as you were before.*
*I've been counting the days since I came here; who knew two years could pass by so quick? I've had my hands full, though, and I hope you've been working just as hard!*
*I really miss you. Write back soon, okay? I want to hear all about how you and the gang are getting along; if you don't feel comfortable with them, please write to me about it. Give mom extra hugs.*
*Love, 9076542.*
Her hands were dry and calloused, and she rubbed them together, watching the sentinel from the corner of her gaze, but her eyes were soon fixed on the tattered paper in his grip, which he had already scoured from front to back.
“Well, who's this for?” The sentinel's gaze drifted up to meet her own, and he slowly began to fold the paper in half. “Cat got your tongue?” His voice was deep, just as rough as the gravel beneath their boots. “Relatives only... So speak up.”
She narrowed her eyes, glancing away from the badge upon his chest. “It's for my sister.”
The sentinel stared at her for a good, long moment, before he set the letter down beside him. “I'll see it shipped off.” His gaze drifted back to the tall, towering wall beside his guard-post, and he quickly waved her away. “Back to schedule, then.”
She slowly grit her teeth, shifting them together in silence, but the blood was like thunder in her ears, and she nearly caught herself on a curse.
The sentinel leaned back in his chair. “Off you go.”
With only a shiver, she turned, facing the hollow, bleached expanse of the barren city.
|
Field Agent report.
On the night of REDACTED, myself and Special Agent (SA) REDACTED entered the premises at REDACTED to meet his Confidential Informant (name on file).
We arrived 30 minutes prior to the scheduled time of the meeting at REDACTED, to perform a security sweep. SA REDACTED 's CI's vehicle was present in the driveway, and lights in the entrance way and upstairs were on.
This was unusual, as the CI was notorious for being late. We discussed various options in our vehicle, including REDACTED, but decided to treat this as anomaly, and proceed with caution.
We waited until the meeting time, and then approached the house. After knocking and getting no response after several attempts, we entered, and did a room by room sweep.
In the upper room, we located several REDACTED and a large REDACTED.
We immediately contacted Special Agent in Charge (SAIC) REDACTED for further instruction, and transport of the REDACTED. His response was (verbatim) "What do you think I am, a fuckin' REDACTED!?!, Where do you expect me to get a REDACTED at REDACTED." After several seconds of uncomfortable silence on the phone, I was instructed to acquire the requested materials on my own, and informed that the REDACTED had no legal opinion on how I did so (previous paraphrased for brevity, profanity, and inability to remember the exact litany of metaphors used).
Approximately two hours later, my partner and myself had secured the REDACTED, and began transport to a secure facility. The closest usable safehouse, codename REDACTED was approximately three hours away.
When questioned about our choice by SAIC REDACTED, we informed him that a REDACTED would not fit through standard 2 meter doors, and required French Doors (aka Freedom Doors around the Agency) or large bay doors.
This presented the additional problem of keeping the REDACTED quiet during transport. As we do not have a REDACTED on staff, and neither myself nor SA REDACTED are trained in REDACTED, we couldn't just REDACTED the REDACTED.
Approximately ten (10) miles from the safehouse, we were confronted by the local police, who heard the REDACTED from the transportation we were using. We decided to let him see it.
We realize this was a breach of security, but the REDACTED "was pretty (expletive deleted) cool" and it was in our discretionary authority, so we said why not.
After resolving the issue with local constabulary, via REDACTED, we proceeded to safehouse, codename REDACTED. The REDACTED has been secured.
| 2015-01-18T11:24:38 | 2015-01-18T11:23:19 | 62 | 14 |
[WP] Write a story that's been heavily censored. The censorship tells us more than the actual writing.
|
**Harry Potter**
[**wizardpedia**]
Harry Potter was a *half-blood* wizard boy who *rebelled against His Highness The Dark Lord* in the First And Second Wizarding Wars. As a baby, he *thwarted His Lordship only once* and was *defeated in the second war*, during the *ultimatly climatic* Battle Of Hogwarts. His allies, such as Hermione Granger, *mudblood* and Ron Weasley, *blood traitor* were *destroyed in the Great Britain Cleansing, which took place shortly after the battle.*
|
Dear Diary
Today is June 21, 2006. [Heavy scribbling]! Her name is [Heavy scribbling]! I was eating at [Heavy scribbling] when I looked across the dining room and saw [heavy scribbling]. [More scribbling] the soup [Scribbling] I had [Scribbling] was everything I[Scribbling]t[Scribbling]. Could [scribble] be [Heavy scribbling].
I've been so lonely for so long. But today I [scribble] feel lonely [brief scribble]more.
| 2015-01-18T13:27:36 | 2015-01-18T11:29:40 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] You order a pizza.
Mods want more simple prompts?
|
Dr. Seuss style
---
A pizza please, with extra cheese.
With honey bees and anchovies.
Bring it from your place to mine.
Bring it quickly, right on time.
---
In a box?
Yes, in a box.
With a knock?
Use the bell.
The bell?
On the door.
What floor?
There's only one, no more.
---
Waiting, sitting, window looking.
Hungry, starving, pizza cooking.
A car?
Drove by.
A bus?
Wrong guy.
Airplane?
Well they fly.
---
Airplane!
On the road?
Yes, it is landing!
That's outstanding!
But what about the pizza man?
Indeed he'll need a parking plan.
The airplane took up all the spots.
He'll have to ride a pedal-flot.
What's that?
A flot? A flotaroo.
Like the flotskies at the zoo?
It is like that, a flotaroo, it carries things from me to you.
---
Oh I see! And look who's here!
The pizza man!
I'm afraid not.
The mail man?
No.
The milk man?
Nay.
Well who?
It's Jenny! I think she just wants some kisses!
|
*DING DONG*
He awoke from the faint odor of grease, and the obtrusive sound of the bell. He saw a pizza box holding the door ajar to his apartment, the faint smell of grease and pepperoni steaming from the box. He retrieived the box from its placement and peered out the door; to his dismay, nobody seemed to be there. With a shrug and pizza box in hand, he strode to the table in his apartment and gently placed the box of pizza onto the surface. He quickly jumped back into his computer chair, pulling his pants to his ankles and began to vehemently stroke his pulsating member, blood gushing to the tip of his erect penis. He finally found photographs of a perfectly good specimen on R/gonewild and wanted to satisfy his hunger not only for pizza, but his sexual desire. He opened the pizza box with his other hand, so that he could use the grease to properly lube his member. As he reached into the box, he felt a weird painful sensation on his fingers, almost like a bite. He turned around and his hand was covered in what he thought must have been pizza sauce- but this was a much richer and deeper color- it was red. And the pizza was no ordinary pizza, but a monster pizza and it had bitten his fingers off.
| 2015-02-05T04:26:59 | 2015-02-05T01:02:42 | 117 | 10 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult?
|
It was nearly twenty years ago now. I was sitting in the middle of an over crowded storage unit, while my father scoured it for anything of value. My tiny searching hands probed the depths of a large wooden box, and emerged with a beautiful and elegant lamp, inlaid with all manner of swirls, beautiful designs. It took barely a touch before the lamp began to emit a soft, warm glow. My father, being thoroughly engrossed in an album of collectible stamps, would hardly have noticed if I lit the entire unit on fire.
A cloud of wispy smoke began to shoot from the lamp billowing upwards in the most peculiar fashion It formed the shape of a man with a light brown skin, a purple turban, and an enormously large mustache. From his waist downwards was a simple trail of smoke leading to the spout of the lamp. He stared intently at me with his arms crossed in the most proper genie fashion. He stretched out one hand to display a single finger. One wish.
To a child of hardly seven, the fantastical was nearly commonplace. Every day was a new adventure, every story just as real as the one I now seemed to be living. Perhaps these selfsame stories misrepresented the maliciousness of genies. Or perhaps I had just found one in a particularly benevolent frame of mind. Either way, my small wish was not tainted or twisted or wrapped on its head in any way. It was simply granted, and the genie was allowed his rest.
"I want to make friends."
It was a simple wish. A child's wish. A child who was not overly liked by his peers. The wish was granted tenfold. Now, friends were something to be made in a second, a moment, and nearly none were spared from the genie's awesome might. By the end of the grade I was personally tutored by every teacher, I was the most popular, and was always given the best of everything, even when someone else had earned it. Having friends, it seemed, had its benefits.
This particular boon made the entirety of my life rather simple and easy. Extensions on projects were frequent, free food was a given, and I had my pick of any job available. Because of this, it may come as quite a shock to know that since the day I made that wish I have regretted it. Everything I have done, everything I have, is due to the genies powers. What of my success have I gained on my own? I am the worlds youngest CEO, and a billionaire, simply by merit of other people forfeiting their hard work in the sake of 'friendship'. Can I really be called a friend after I've stolen so much?
That question has plagued me for years. Are my friends true friends? Or mere machinations of some supernatural power? If I had wished for candy, or ice cream, or money, my life today would be drastically different. I would have less friends, that is for certain, but would those friendships be more valuable?
After nearly a decade of searching I found it. The small little unassuming lamp sat on my polished rosewood desk. It had seemed so large in my hands all those years ago. Not one person had touched it since its rediscovery. A personal favor to me from many 'friends'. Twenty years the book had said, twenty years before the genie would grant another wish. Tomorrow was twenty years to the day from that fateful encounter. Tomorrow is the day I discover who my true friends are.
|
“Alyssa, please, leave me alone. I’m sorry.” I plead. I’m massaging my temples, trying to force the pain out.
I’ve never been able to get over the death of my twin sister. Because she’s been with me, for sixteen years.
“Ava!” She whispers in her childish squeal. “Play with me, Ava!”
I’m sitting on my bed, which is stripped to the mattress; Mom threw the sheets in the wash after I woke up with another nosebleed last night.
“Ava, you’re going to die, you know.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Sooner than you think.”
“I know, okay! You’ve told me so many times before! Shut up, okay?!”
I wish I knew how to talk to her without moving my lips. Always afraid that Mom will hear me; I’m waiting for the day that they throw me in the ward for schizophrenia. But I’m not a schizo, and I’m perfectly normal, and I know that.
Except that, when Alyssa died, I wished for the power to speak to her again. I was five.
Why did she end up with leukemia and I didn’t? Why couldn’t we have ended this together?
Needless to say, my wish was granted.
“Ava,” She giggles. I can feel the heat rising in my chest; I wait for the pain to shoot down my legs. Panic attack approaching.
“Ava, dying’s not that bad, you know.”
I’m staring at the bookshelf across the room when it starts to spin.
“Mom!” I scream. Not remembering if she’s home or not; but I hear footsteps right away. “Mom, come here!” I say, fading already, choking on my own breath.
“Hey, Ava, it’s okay. I’m here.” Alyssa gibes in my head.
No one can hear her but me.
“I love you,” Alyssa whispers.
“I love you too,” I sigh.
If I froze time when she and I were four or so, I’d see hairless Alyssa chowing down on Maw Maw’s hershey’s kisses. Maw Maw called them “silver bells”, but we weren’t interested in the name, we just wanted as many as Maw Maw’s pantry could hold. And Maw Maw would call us her “two little beauties.” I’d blush and grin. Alyssa would run a hand through her imaginary hair and smile as wide as the sea.
“Ava, I’m all alone,” she says.
“Alyssa, please,” I sob. My face falls into my hands. I’m shaking. Panting. Barely hearing the pounding of feet up the stairs, the creaking of my door, the smell of whatever Mom is frying entering my room suddenly with her.
“I don’t feel good,” I gasp, my one plea I always return to when I can’t explain this, how I feel I’m going to collapse.
Mom, I don’t even see her face; my eyes are closed and I’m looking at Alyssa. I’m still sitting on the bed but I’m hanging on desperately. Mom’s next to me and rubbing my back the way she always does when I panic. And Alyssa, she’s speaking to me.
Her blonde curls, her rosy red cheeks that haunt me because the last time I saw them they were sheet-white in a coffin; she’s looking at me. Five-year-old Alyssa is saying something I’ve never heard her say before.
“You’re going to kill yourself, Ava.”
| 2015-03-07T02:49:26 | 2015-03-07T00:48:04 | 154 | 58 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult?
|
It was nearly twenty years ago now. I was sitting in the middle of an over crowded storage unit, while my father scoured it for anything of value. My tiny searching hands probed the depths of a large wooden box, and emerged with a beautiful and elegant lamp, inlaid with all manner of swirls, beautiful designs. It took barely a touch before the lamp began to emit a soft, warm glow. My father, being thoroughly engrossed in an album of collectible stamps, would hardly have noticed if I lit the entire unit on fire.
A cloud of wispy smoke began to shoot from the lamp billowing upwards in the most peculiar fashion It formed the shape of a man with a light brown skin, a purple turban, and an enormously large mustache. From his waist downwards was a simple trail of smoke leading to the spout of the lamp. He stared intently at me with his arms crossed in the most proper genie fashion. He stretched out one hand to display a single finger. One wish.
To a child of hardly seven, the fantastical was nearly commonplace. Every day was a new adventure, every story just as real as the one I now seemed to be living. Perhaps these selfsame stories misrepresented the maliciousness of genies. Or perhaps I had just found one in a particularly benevolent frame of mind. Either way, my small wish was not tainted or twisted or wrapped on its head in any way. It was simply granted, and the genie was allowed his rest.
"I want to make friends."
It was a simple wish. A child's wish. A child who was not overly liked by his peers. The wish was granted tenfold. Now, friends were something to be made in a second, a moment, and nearly none were spared from the genie's awesome might. By the end of the grade I was personally tutored by every teacher, I was the most popular, and was always given the best of everything, even when someone else had earned it. Having friends, it seemed, had its benefits.
This particular boon made the entirety of my life rather simple and easy. Extensions on projects were frequent, free food was a given, and I had my pick of any job available. Because of this, it may come as quite a shock to know that since the day I made that wish I have regretted it. Everything I have done, everything I have, is due to the genies powers. What of my success have I gained on my own? I am the worlds youngest CEO, and a billionaire, simply by merit of other people forfeiting their hard work in the sake of 'friendship'. Can I really be called a friend after I've stolen so much?
That question has plagued me for years. Are my friends true friends? Or mere machinations of some supernatural power? If I had wished for candy, or ice cream, or money, my life today would be drastically different. I would have less friends, that is for certain, but would those friendships be more valuable?
After nearly a decade of searching I found it. The small little unassuming lamp sat on my polished rosewood desk. It had seemed so large in my hands all those years ago. Not one person had touched it since its rediscovery. A personal favor to me from many 'friends'. Twenty years the book had said, twenty years before the genie would grant another wish. Tomorrow was twenty years to the day from that fateful encounter. Tomorrow is the day I discover who my true friends are.
|
*The sound of thunder rattled in my chest. The trees cast shadows across my bedroom floor, swaying in the wind and jumping at every flash of lightning. I could swear they were reaching hands, getting closer and closer to my bed. An explosion of lightning hit the transformer in front of my house and my Winnie the Pooh nightlight flickered off. I pulled the covers up over my head, tucked my feet up as close as I could, and held my favorite stuffed puppy tighter. Trembling, whimpering, I whisper to Mr. Cuddles, “I…I wish I wasn’t afraid anymore.”*
…
“You just need to loosen up,” I say as I sip my gin and tonic.
“Gee, thanks, I hadn’t thought about it like that. So, what you’re telling me is, *don’t* freak out? Wow, that’s downright enlightening. You should write a book.” Hand shaking, he picked up his bottle and took a long drink. “I just don’t know how you do it,” said Eric dejectedly.
“Just try not to worry so much and go for it. Girls love confidence.”
“Nope, I can’t do it.”
“Why not? What could you possibly be afraid of?”
“Oh, I don’t know, she could think I’m gross, turn me down, and humiliate me publicly. And then I’ll just go home, jack off, and cry myself to sleep. And then she’ll tell all her friends and no one will ever love me. I’ll grow old and alone while all of my friends start families, and they’ll stop hanging out with me, and I’ll just never leave my apartment again, and I’ll order cactuses online, care for them obsessively, and call them my babies. One day I’ll die and no one will notice and then all my cactuses will die too and there will be nothing left of me in the world.”
“Is that all?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
I laugh dismissively and scan the room, wondering how it’s possible to be so fatalistic. That’s when I see her. “Wow,” I mutter.
“What? Her?” Eric asks.
“Yeah, isn’t she beautiful?”
“I guess so. Jesus, wipe that look off your face. You’re drooling.”
“Sorry. I’ll be right back,” I say.
“Ok, fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be here. I can start browsing for cactuses,” he mumbles as he pulls out his phone.
I walk up to her and say, “Hey there, my name’s Mark. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Uhh… sorry, I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I mean, I’m just here with my girlfriend. I mean friend! I like men, usually. I’m just not interested… thanks though,” flustered, she turns back to her drink.
“No worries, have a nice evening.” I smile at her and return to my friend.
“Well that was fast. Went well, I take it?” Eric says sarcastically, without looking up from his phone.
“I don’t see you talking to anyone. Why don’t you give it a try?” I ask.
Ignoring my question, he finishes his drink, slams it on the table, and shows me a picture on his phone. “What do you think of this one? It’s called an echeveria lilacina. I think I’ll name it Kate…”
| 2015-03-07T02:49:26 | 2015-03-07T00:50:42 | 154 | 23 |
[WP] The world has ended...for about the twenty-fifth time. Humanity's seen it all, meteor, aliens, paradox and by now it's all getting pretty routine.
|
"Hey, guys? It's happened again." Harold looked out the window, staring at the mushroom cloud that had appeared in the distance. He scratched his scruffy brown hair.
"Really? Again?" Christopher, a boy with a mohawk, took notice. "Dangit, I put my bets on Central." he sadly muttered, as he pulled out a green $20 bill and handed it to a girl with pigtails.
The girl with pigtails, whose name was Sarah, glanced at her phone. "Like, OMG." she paused for a moment to adjust her glasses. "Nukes again? What's next, 682 breaches containment? And why are you happy, Walter?"
Walter, who was happily running around in circles, screeched to a halt. "Nukes mean Fritz is coming!" Fritz was a soldier who came to their class to gather them. He had grown rather attached to everyone, especially Walter, who was the smallest and weakest kid in the Grade 8 class.
As if on cue, Fritz burst through the door, clad in his military combat outfit, helmet and everything. "Everyone, you know the drill. Get to the bunker." He commanded in a heavily German-accented voice. Even if this was his 25th trip to the Grade 8 class, his low, thick and gravely voice still quieted the entire roster.
Everyone filed down the stairs. In the bunker, it was slightly dark. The same probably was for every bunker, for every class.
The moment the doors all closed, the lights were turned on. Several flinched, shielding their eyes. Eventually, they got back to work. Sometimes, an explosion would ring out. But they were underground, and they were safe. For now.
|
"Daaaaaad! The world's ending again!"
"Anything new?"
"...no. It's raining frogs again, and Lucifer's preparing his annual speech. The lands of imagination are leaking in, and the news says the Islamist Demon Nazis have conquered Greenland."
I sigh. *Such* an inconvenience. And the restoration work on the old Jag had been going so well. Still, what could you do? The first ten times we'd tried to avert the apocalypse. Till we figured out that trying that was just really exhausting.
Cracking open the deckchair, I sit outside. It was winter, but the hellfire starting to spurt from cracks in the ground gave the air a lovely warm ambiance. Opening a bottle of beer, I take a sip, and close my eyes. Free holiday, at least.
"Honey!" The wife calls from inside the house, "Would you pick up some chicken from the store? The kids have decided they don't like lamb."
"I don't think it matters darling!" She sticks her head out of the upstairs window,
"Oh dear, not again. And it's Chris' birthday today too!"
"At least he's got plenty of candles." My voice starts to slur, as I drift off to sleep. It really was warm, and I'd drank my delicious beverage quicker than usual.
The family went about their business. Kids were probably on the Xbox or something, I'm sure Sarah was trying to finish as much of *Catcher in the Rye* as she could. Jokes on her. The hellspawn would be on us way before she finished the next chapter. As it happens they were already running towards me, twisted axes in the air, screaming to the sky. Bloody hooligans.
"Ah, well. It was a good beer." I said, as the axe flew towards my face.
| 2015-05-20T18:20:45 | 2015-05-20T18:05:25 | 42 | 23 |
[WP] On your deathbed, you see the Grim Reaper come for you. Suddenly, something else appears, and it's coming for the Grim Reaper...
|
Darkness everywhere. Flashes of lights. Faint whirring of machines. And explosions? Voices, shouting in earnest. And the pain, so much pain.
I remember a blinding light, and a deafening bang. And the jeep, on fire. An i.e.d. That's it. We must have missed it.
The pain isn't so bad. I feel almost comfortable now. The voices have faded along with the rest of the world. A hooded figure appeared. One moment there was darkness, but now the darkness had been personified.
He or it, stood tall, yet stooped as if under a great weight. He leaned heavily on his scythe. Great wings of flame and shadow encircled me.
I closed my eyes. A faint light split the darkness, no more than a candle in a great cavern. It whispered to me.
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Rage. I'm a warrior. I will not go quietly.
Light poured in from that candle. A great fissure, but one of light, and life. Another figure appeared of it, glowing white, shimmering fury and will. The darkness recoiled, its wings folded against itself. Just as it had appeared it had left. The white figure faded into view.
Lance Corporal shoved my rifle into my arms, or arm at least. The other one was rent.
"Get the fuck up and shoot something you son of a bitch" he yelled at me.
That's no way to talk to an officer.
|
I had a fantastic life, I mused on my deathbed. Did everything I wanted, fell in love with the most wonderful woman in the world, and had the best children in the world, who had the best grandchildren in the world. Now, it was time for the loose ends to get tied up, and I had no complaints.
I look around me at the hospital. Nobody there, just the every-fainter sounds of the hospital machinery and the blinking lights slowly fading from view. For once in my life, I didn't really mind the sterile white of the hospital or the harsh light of the overhead lamps. Although, at the moment, there wasn't much of anything I really minded.
And just on cue, out of the corner of my eye, appeared the black-robed man himself, striding purposefully towards me. He drew his scythe from his back as he stalked towards me and lined up his swing. I watched him pull his scythe back, getting ready to sever my head from my body. I was ready to let go.
But clearly, there were others with differing opinions. Because as Death swung his scythe, something ***other*** tore the scythe from his hands. Death was shocked and tried to run, but the ***thing*** just out of sight tore him apart. All that was left was a black robe, and a jet black scythe lying propped against the wall. ***It** departed. I looked around me, not even noticing that I had suddenly ceased dying and had, in fact, become as strong as I was in my prime. I walked towards the scythe, not even noticing that the skin and flesh was vaporising off my bones. It wasn't until I put on the robe that I realised what had occured. My fate wasn't to die. It was to be Death.
| 2015-07-10T08:57:29 | 2015-07-10T07:31:09 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while.
|
Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Lawton, Oklahoma, 1913
---
Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Hiroshima, Japan, 1945
|
Ok this is my first "real" post on Reddit. Also on mobile so sorry for any formatting errors. I don't know how many people will see this but oh well
I stroked her head. Her ears perked up, young with life. Her eyes wandered freely, seeing everything for the first time. She quickly reached up and licked my cheek. I started giggling uncontrollably. I picked her up to take her to her new life.
I stroked her head. Her ears weakly rose. Her eyes wandered listlessly, seeing everything for the last time. She slowly reached up and licked my cheek. I started sobbing uncontrollably. The doctor came and picked her up to take her life.
| 2015-07-14T01:05:09 | 2015-07-14T00:29:54 | 70 | 28 |
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while.
|
Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Lawton, Oklahoma, 1913
---
Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Hiroshima, Japan, 1945
|
The day was still Young, I stood on the front lawn staring at little zoey running and playing in the field. I could see the sun glistening off her youthful face as she danced with the wind. As graceful as her mother who sat staring through the kitchen window. I smile at her and she waves back chuckling. I thought to myself, this is just the beginning.
______________
The day was almost over. I sat on the porch staring into the field ahead of me. I could see little zoey dancing with the wind next to her mother and I couldn't help the single tear that rolled down my cheek. I set their respective urns down and sobbed. I thought to myself, this is the end.
Edit: stupid autocorrect
| 2015-07-14T01:05:09 | 2015-07-13T21:19:07 | 70 | 27 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Hey, Dad.
It's been a long fucking time without being around you, and I have to say it's pretty sweet. I hope you're enjoying your new family with whatsherface, considering you didn't take part in mine. Your vicious words of hatred haven't left my mind, not as a scar, but as a motivator. I'm not some "lazy piece of shit", I just never had to apply myself in high school. "You'll be dead by the time you're 18", celebrated my 19th birthday two months ago. Your hate and anger are so much better off festering inside you than inside me, and unlike you I can deal with my emotions without harming those around me. I sincerely hope your girl kicks you to the curb for being such a shitty human being.
Fuck you.
|
Dear [name redacted],
Hey, do you remember when you stopped talking to mecwithout giving me an explanation? How you walked away from that without any pain, but I was sent into a depressive spiral for months? Of course you don't. You can put those thoughts behind you. I can't put mine behind me. You're lucky, and I kind of envy you.
What I want you to know is that I'm happy, with a sweet girl who actually cares about my feelings. Someone who actually deserves my time and effort. Someone who, if given a choice between killing her or killing my oldest friend and unable to kill the one holding a gun to my head, I would kill my oldest friend. Someone so much better than you in every concievable way. Someone who isn't a waste of oxygen.
I hope this opened your eyes on how much of a heartless shitstain you really are.
Sincerely,
Vivi
P.S.: Enjoy the glitter bomb, fuckhead.
| 2015-12-05T13:26:16 | 2015-12-05T13:04:29 | 386 | 36 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
|
Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic
| 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 356 | 158 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
|
To whom it may concern,
Helpless; this is the word that best defines my current state. Chained by aliments that only my debilitated will can cure. Confusion is the whip that heavily decorates my back with scars and sends blood wrenching echoes of ripping flesh to the depths of soul. My cuts burn and spew blood; the cost for the wisdom I am unwillingly gaining. Life; the tormentor that laughably wields the whip; forcing me to scream; forcing me to cry; forcing me to accept what I believe to be unacceptable. Patience whispers sweet words of hope claiming to be in the near future if I just wait. But time whispers in my other ear encouraging me to act; reminding me that I am not here forever. So here I am, broken; left with no plead unspoken; accepting the fact that I am not in control and that no savior or freedom will come. So I will wear the mask of happiness to hide the tears of despair; silently hoping, begging to survive.
-Mr_jisho
| 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:29:19 | 356 | 49 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
|
Dear [name redacted],
Hey, do you remember when you stopped talking to mecwithout giving me an explanation? How you walked away from that without any pain, but I was sent into a depressive spiral for months? Of course you don't. You can put those thoughts behind you. I can't put mine behind me. You're lucky, and I kind of envy you.
What I want you to know is that I'm happy, with a sweet girl who actually cares about my feelings. Someone who actually deserves my time and effort. Someone who, if given a choice between killing her or killing my oldest friend and unable to kill the one holding a gun to my head, I would kill my oldest friend. Someone so much better than you in every concievable way. Someone who isn't a waste of oxygen.
I hope this opened your eyes on how much of a heartless shitstain you really are.
Sincerely,
Vivi
P.S.: Enjoy the glitter bomb, fuckhead.
| 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:04:29 | 356 | 36 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Pops,
You were a real fucking piece of work you know that? I don't think I've hated anyone quite as much as I hated you. You called me lazy, good for nothing, useless. Made me spend my youth being the mule in your construction business instead of spending summers with my friends. You absolutely hated the fact that I loved everything you didn't. You thought computers were evil, Xbox was going to rot my brain, and if it didn't involve school or work it wasn't anything worthy of my time. I remember the day I came home on college break, the day you sat me down to let me know mom had left you. I fucking hated you for ruining my 3 week break on the very first day. In fact I thought you deserved it. Mom was being an absolute irrational cunt, but you deserved it. And it was the best thing that ever happened to you.
I remember you tripping over a chair on the way out the door at 3 am as you were reaching for your truck keys. I came into the kitchen and you said you were headed out for a ride, I decided to tag along. You bawled your fucking eyes out on that ride, it was the first time I'd ever seen you be human. The last two weeks of my break we spent a lot of time together, I was actually sad to leave. It was the first time in 18 years we'd had conversations that didn't end in Fuck off. I moved in with you after college was over, and decided not to go back. You let me work for you which was the best/worst time I've ever had. I watched you lose your truck, we sat on the couch watching TV for two weeks when there was no work. We had bill collectors call once and talk to both of us. We ate more peanut butter and ramen noodles then we'd ever care to admit. We became really really good friends.
In hind sight I'd like to apologize for the seething hatred I threw at you growing up. I know you meant well. I'm probably better for you not giving me everything I wanted and pushing me like you did. That's no justification for all the mean shit you said day in and day out but I can look past that. You had a different way of helping, you were a string puller, and I get that as I've become one myself. Remember when I crashed my car coming home from the store? The roads were pure ice, and you were pissed. Remember how mom said it was amazing that my insurance didn't go up? Yeah I heard that phone call. "Just slid off the road" did ya? And that time I applied to work at the general store in town? You talked to the owner on my behalf and said he didn't want me working there. I was pissed. Two months later he was charged with embezzlement and all the employees were implicated. I didn't miss that one either, or the other hundreds of times things mysteriously worked out for the better.
It was a good 4 years to live and work with you pops. I saw you genuinely happy, we both hit financial bottom and picked ourselves up again. You had a massive heart attack that that inspired me to go into the medical field, and you to kick those life long bad habits you'd been promising to kick. You met a new woman, fell in love and remarried. Which is for the better. Someone's gotta keep an eye on your crazy ass. But I knew you were bummed you had to quit construction. It's all you've ever done and you were fucking good at it. You certainly didn't have the money or the personality to retire and I doubt you ever will. Good thing that sales job opened up when it did huh pops? Good thing thing too, cause you're fucking great at it. I knew you would be. And it's the least I could do.
With your new found financial stability I've seen the dreams I never even knew you had come to fruition. You spent a whole week hunting this year. Those three hundred blueberry bushes you always wanted are planted and you even sold some. You got your tractor you always talked about buying but never did. And my fucking god. I don't know what you see in chickens but you have them and if it makes you happy, well fuck it, I guess I'm happy too. We had a rough start, but you've always had my back even if I didn't know it. And don't think for a fucking second I don't have yours.
Love,
Your Son.
|
To My Wife of 13 years; the letter I wish I could send you instead of continuing to live this lie.
I've no idea how to properly express the way I've been feeling lately, so I apologise now if this comes across as a ramble, with no real explanation for anything. Truth is, I don't know if I actually have any explanation.
First of all, let me say I love you. I love you to bits. I never want to see you hurt, and I never want to see you suffer. The thing is, I just don't know if I am actually in love anymore. The past few weeks have been great, don't get me wrong, but I still have this emptiness inside that I can't shake off.
When we're together, and I can see you're happy, it makes me happy. When I see you're sad, it makes me sad. You know I'm still attracted to you, but despite that... I don't know. There's just something that isn't there anymore. The only way I can describe it is I am numb to things. Suggestions are made for doing things, and they turn me cold. I find myself sitting there thinking to myself that I don't want to do this or that, I don't want to make those plans or go with those arrangements. Like I said above, I love you. I love you dearly and I truly am sorry for how things have gone, and for feeling the need to say what I've just said... I just have to be honest. Honest with you, and honest with myself.
For the past 2-3 years, maybe even longer, I've felt like I've been living someone else's life. I love the kids, and I wouldn't change having them for the world, but I feel like all I've become is just a provider, a facilitator even, that allows everyone else to have their own lives and never mind my own. I've gone with every suggestion, practically bankrupting myself at times. I've scraped my arse back from the abyss singlehandedly, because no matter what I said or did it was always inferior to what you or anyone else wanted. I am a positive, life-loving individual who can be a bit of an oddball and is a bundle of quirks, but for God knows how long I've not been that person. I've been dragged down.. Turned into a huge mess of negativity.. and been made to conform with everyone else's aspirations & expectations, forsaking my own free will. I've moved house at your request, and done everything I can for that when my head was telling me it was an unnecessary financial burden given that we were rent/mortgage free before. I didn't just change jobs, I changed careers to try to suit you and to work the hours you preferred.
I've been a square peg in a round hole for a long long time, and it is no coincidence that the changes I took it upon myself to make this year are the reason I even have my head straight enough to write this. I took it upon myself to apply for a scholarship to Uni, and I achieved it. 100% funded degree course. No support from you though. No help. I took it upon myself with no support to seek first informal help, & then to progress to full blown counselling for how I was feeling at my lowest, & after some very tough times I've begun to emerge again. Reconnecting with friends, & reigniting old interests is another step, & I've done that alone too.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm done. All the negativity, all the bullshit, all the pretence of being someone I'm not. I'm done. I have single handedly gotten myself facing the right way again after being upside down, inside out and back to front, and now I am ready to take strides to enjoy myself again. The kids will always be the most important thing to me, and I will always be there for them as best I can be. I will always love you, and I will always hold a place in my heart for you as the mother of my children, but I am now at a stage where I think we've just grown too far apart, have different goals, different ideals now. You still clamour for that "forces lifestyle", and talk about "standards", "routine", and "structure". That's not me. It never has been. I'm a free spirit, an adventurer, and a damn good actor for being able to surprises that. Don't get me wrong I can write a list or two, and I can create structure & stability to accomplish things, but I can't live my life that way.
I'm a square peg, and you're a round hole. It's time we both found a better fit.
Sincerely,
Your Husband
| 2015-12-05T17:35:16 | 2015-12-05T15:36:40 | 182 | 12 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
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Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic
|
To whom it may concern,
Helpless; this is the word that best defines my current state. Chained by aliments that only my debilitated will can cure. Confusion is the whip that heavily decorates my back with scars and sends blood wrenching echoes of ripping flesh to the depths of soul. My cuts burn and spew blood; the cost for the wisdom I am unwillingly gaining. Life; the tormentor that laughably wields the whip; forcing me to scream; forcing me to cry; forcing me to accept what I believe to be unacceptable. Patience whispers sweet words of hope claiming to be in the near future if I just wait. But time whispers in my other ear encouraging me to act; reminding me that I am not here forever. So here I am, broken; left with no plead unspoken; accepting the fact that I am not in control and that no savior or freedom will come. So I will wear the mask of happiness to hide the tears of despair; silently hoping, begging to survive.
-Mr_jisho
| 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T13:29:19 | 158 | 49 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic
|
Dear [name redacted],
Hey, do you remember when you stopped talking to mecwithout giving me an explanation? How you walked away from that without any pain, but I was sent into a depressive spiral for months? Of course you don't. You can put those thoughts behind you. I can't put mine behind me. You're lucky, and I kind of envy you.
What I want you to know is that I'm happy, with a sweet girl who actually cares about my feelings. Someone who actually deserves my time and effort. Someone who, if given a choice between killing her or killing my oldest friend and unable to kill the one holding a gun to my head, I would kill my oldest friend. Someone so much better than you in every concievable way. Someone who isn't a waste of oxygen.
I hope this opened your eyes on how much of a heartless shitstain you really are.
Sincerely,
Vivi
P.S.: Enjoy the glitter bomb, fuckhead.
| 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T13:04:29 | 158 | 36 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear E,
I love you. Not the cheesy love I felt in high school, and not the way I love the woman I think I'm going to marry, but you hold a place in my heart that no one else can.
We were destructive. We weren't good for each other. You were emotionally abusive, and I was amazed a pretty girl would give me the time of day. I was putty in your hands, and you took advantage of that to the fullest. I had my faults too, but you put the nail in the coffin.
Then you got kicked out of school. You moved in with another guy and confided in me about your relationship problems. I, a guy who cares too much and tries too hard, was more than willing to stay up until the wee hours listening to you and solving the problems of a relationship I had no part in. We might have been a thunderstorm, but he was a hurricane. You kept seeing him, and kept coming to me for advice. I conceded.
Then the accident happened.
You were going too fast. You hit a puddle. You couldn't keep from swerving into the other lane. You survived, but not without some brain damage.
I remember speeding to the hospital and seeing him. The man who was the vehicle to this lifestyle that put you here.
The man whose smile was as crooked as your front bumper when I saw your car in the junkyard. It was the first time I recall feeling genuine hate. The first time I wanted someone to die. To change places with you.
The next few months you'll never remember. You were in a coma. You were in rehab. You couldn't speak. You couldn't eat. I was there every other day, spending hours with you, watching movies with the husk of a person I once knew.
But you improved. Your brain damage wasn't as bad as they thought, but it changed you. You became frustrated. You would lash out at me due to your brain's lack of ability to filter. You'd hit me. I remained there. I taught you to count again. I taught you colors. I taught you the parts of your face. I fed you your first solid meal.
Then college came. Then I realized that things would never be the same. That as much as I cared for you, I had to move on, and so did you. You were recovered to the best that you would be, and you were moving out on your own.
You have a baby now. You have a boyfriend. I have a woman by my side who I love dearly. There's no trace of romantic feelings whatsoever, but I'll always remember our time together. I'll always care for you deeply. You'll always be the one who taught me what caring for people really means.
You'll never remember what I did. You'll never remember learning colors or numbers or eating your first meal from a spoon I was holding.
I think I like it better that way.
We were a thunderstorm, but the skies are clear now.
|
wow, i want to do this so i will, but i have a few letters i need to address. just for sanity and subtle sake of ones demons.
Dear Jennifer. my beautiful sister.
i'm sorry for staying at yours the month after your wedding and having no money and regrettably overstaying my welcome and being a pain in the ass.
i'm sorry i was broke as fuck and lied to try and make up for the past. i miss you so much.
you were the surrogate mother i never really had, i have our mother of course, and i still live with her and steve, but you, when i was a child towards 7, you was everything to me. i hated you when you left for scotland, i didn't know dad kicked you out when you were only 16.
so many years have passed, still your daughter is 9 now, and i'm super fucking jealous of her, even though i'm happy for you as you got told by the doctor originally you couldn't have kids and you lost a tube via ectopic pregnacy and lost a baby trying to conceive, but i just miss you and me.
to dad, im sorry about the lie that changed everything, any age wasn't the best but 11 wasn't either. i was mad at you destroying mams heart by cheating and being a disobeying abusive, manipulate and horrible husband. i fucking hated seeing you beat her up and when you two broke up i felt relief but mentally snapped. i'm surprised i didn't go to jail, but i was a minor and things were forgiven.
but i'm sure glad we moved away and i found a stepdad that showed me a commited relationship of a male role model in my life who i could trust, and to learn what a father and daughter relationship should be, as for you, you are a old man whom i've tried to forgive but at the end of the day, i still have sick memories of you tickling my feet as a child, of you terrorising me and making me cry and laugh at me, for ridiculing me and my mother, and she spent 8 years in that abusive hell until she herself snapped after you hit her.
to harry, im sorry i never really knew how to love you properly, you were my childhood pet dog and you died on 31st dec 2009 via put to sleep, im sorry we didnt know sooner about the cancer tumour, and im sorry mum kept you alive until your back leg went, oblivious to the cancer and thought it was old age until the vet...
i love you and hope you rest in peace, same to you bobby cat, i miss you both.
to lucky my dear patterdale i love you lots too :)
to jake, fuck you for stealing my first edition yugioh cards.
to clark, fuck you for breaking my heart at 15.
to sam, thanks for cheering me up when i had acne and noone else would talk to me.
to Nick, thank you for being my rock the past two years, also i feel im turning into my dad sometimes, his manipulate mannerisms and agression seem to make it hard. at least im on serotonin pills now.
| 2015-12-05T16:37:50 | 2015-12-05T13:10:10 | 94 | 58 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Dad,
I'm pretty sure you think Mom is my hero. She stayed at home with us until high school, attended all the sports practices, school performances, made all the lunches...and of course I love her, for all that and more, but I'd like to tell you that you have always been my hero.
Some might say that it's just because of supply and demand; you were in short supply growing up, so the demand was high. But that just wouldn't cover it. There is a connection of spirit between us that I just don't have with Mom.
Sometimes when we play cards we start to get a little competitive, and by that I mean that you become a horrendous asshole with a horseshoe so far up your ass you must taste steel! The curse words start flying as the stakes get higher but the twinkle in your eye matches the one in mine. Meanwhile, Mom is in the other room hollering at us to "play nice," never seeing that the anger is all in good fun.
But I guess it really comes down to that day. You know the one. We waited for the ambulance for 45 minutes, and that whole time you did your best to breathe life back into my brother, your son. How you managed to keep it together that long, I will never know. You even drove us all to the hospital behind the ambulance. It seemed like an inhuman feat to me. Superman himself could not have kept it between the lines on that drive.
It's been a decade, and do you know what amazes me most? That twinkle in your eye that matches mine has never disappeared. You never let your grief drown out your joy. You face each day still open to all of what life has to offer. Grief is still a constant visitor, but you set the example of how to invite it in with open arms, to acknowledge that it is part of our lives without it being a menace that must be locked out. By opening the doors easily you help to let in all the other emotions so that life is still whole.
I don't know what I would do without you. You set the example of how to live life and face its challenges with courage and humanity.
Thank-you.
|
Frankie,
Once, you told me that one of the moments that sticks out in your mind is driving in the car with me. I remember that, too; just the two of us, somewhere on Route 64, headed back from Taos. I can still close my eyes and be right there in the passenger seat; I can see our intertwined fingers and the white paracord bracelet hanging from your wrist, lit up occasionally by the headlights of a passing car. It's the same paracord bracelet Gene made for us at Philips Junction, the morning after we woke up on the cabin roof, covered in dew. It's the same paracord bracelet I noticed you wearing in your pictures for years after we last saw each other.
I still have that damn bracelet, somehow. Incidentally, I came across it the other day. I picked it up and ran it through my fingers, and instantly it brought me right back to being in the car with you. I always held on to the idea that we'd run into each other *somehow*... no matter how improbable it was. But it has been years now, and we've never even been in the same state.
I really, truly was head over heels in love with you, and I was in love with you in a way that I don't think I could ever be again. I think I had such a hard time letting go because there was never a definite goodbye; we kissed each other one last time and promised to see each other again next summer, but you never came back. For years, it broke my heart every time I heard a banjo, because all I could hear was you picking away on the porch swing. But finally, I'm at a point where I don't think about you all the time. Finally, I'm at a point where I can stick by bare hand into the cold ashes and really feel that it's over.
And the thing about ashes is that you can use them as fertilizer.
You taught me so much about love - *real love*, without jealousy or petty games. I think the version of me from that summer will always be in love with that version of you, but the truth is, neither of us are those people anymore. So now, I'm stepping forward and enriching my life and all of my relationships with the love you taught me I could hold.
Always,
wheezystevie
| 2015-12-05T15:05:05 | 2015-12-05T15:04:15 | 59 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Mom,
I know you're just a room away from me, but I probably will never have the courage to tell you this. I'm sad, mom. Everyday. I know I'm the one that always laughs and smiles through anything, but it's been getting pretty hard for me. It's weird though, because there's nothing terribly devastating going on in my life, but it's honestly been really hard for me. Whenever I'm alone, all I want to do is cry for hours, because I feel so, so lonely all the time, but I can't. I know seeing my sad makes you guilty, and I love you too much to hurt you.
I'm really sorry I disappointed you today. I didn't mean to. But mom, I don't know what to do. I'm really trying to listen to you, but sometimes I can't tell what you want from me. Sometimes you demand so much and it just makes me feel like this horrible, useless thing that you take care of only because you feel this sense of responsibility.
Mom, I truly do love you. I want to give you the entire world, but I don't know how. I know how you cry yourself to sleep at night, and I know that you feel miserable and glum all the time, and I know it's because of me. I'm sorry.
I know you're dating someone new. I'm happy for you, but I wish you didn't have to keep it a secret from me. Do you know how devastated I was when I found out? You know how supportive I am about you meeting new people, but couldn't you at least tell me? Couldn't you at least tell the person who's always been by your side through everything?
I really wished I was able to tell you this, but here I am, showing it to everyone but you. It's ironic, isn't it?
I love you, your daughter.
|
Hello,
I will never forget you or what you have done. You took my trust and shattered it into millions of pieces, like taking a hammer to a piece of glass. I thought we were friends, but friends don't do what you've done. I thought that I could trust you, but I was wrong.
I read all of the guides about how to avoid people like you. You know the ones. They warn women to stay with their friends. The guides advise to never leave a drink unattended at a bar and to watch when drinks are poured. Don't become unaware of your surroundings. Constant vigilance is needed. Take RAD classes. Aim for the junk. That was worthless when it came to you.
The guides never told me how to avoid you. They never told me how to recognize when a friend was actually anything but friendly. The guides never said that you would respect my bodily autonomy until that one day when you wouldn't. They never said that such a poisonous intention would be wrapped beautifully like the universe's worst gag gift.
The worst part of all of this isn't the lost friends, the harassment by the police or even the fact that you got off, literally and figuratively. The worst part is that I will never forget you. I will never forget the taste of you or the way that you smelled. I'll never forget the taste of the fruit punch that you gave me or the way that I couldn't taste the drug you fed me. The worst part is that I will never forget that I can't remember. I will never forget you or what you have done to me... and I hate you for it.
I want you to know that you have not broken me. I am just another victim to you, but what you don't know is that I am a survivor. You will not keep me from achieving my potential even though you certainly tried during the time that you stalked me. I realize now that I am much more than the trauma that you caused and you are worth less than the dog shit I stepped in this morning.
-A Survivor
| 2015-12-05T19:23:33 | 2015-12-05T16:08:23 | 31 | 11 |
[Wp] It is the year 2032. Due to increasing obesity, fast food joints have been banned entirely. Tell us the tale of bootlegging and speakeasies in this troubled time of prohibition.
|
I was was once a high school chemistry teacher. It feels like another life ago. After being diagnosed with cancer, my life took a strange turn. I had nothing to lose.
My student Jack had been known to hawk burgers and I saw this as an opportunity to provide for my family. He was doing it all wrong, I knew I could craft burgers that the world deserved.
I purchased an old RV and turned it into a workable burger factory. I decided it would be best to do all cooking in the desert outside of town to avoid detection.
You see, I actually had some insight into how the system worked. My brother in law Jamie quit his job as a chef to join the FEA (Food Enforcement Agency) to hunt down people like myself. He was very proud of his job and boasted about all their big busts. With the information he gave me I was confident I could avoid the mistakes those "amateurs" made.
Our burgers became known as the "yellow burgers". They were a massive hit because I was able to perfectly recreate the Big Mac sauce from my childhood. My skills as a chemist were instrumental in this task.
As my operations expanded so did my troubles. I slowly evolved from a simple chemistry teacher to the helm of a burger empire. The path was paved with bodies, and cost me the family that I had originally sought to support, but that is a story for another time.
They call me Heisenburger.
|
My life fades.
The vision dims.
All that remains are memories.
I remember a time of chaos, ruined buffets, this fat land.
But most of all, I remember the food warrior, the man we called Mac.
To understand who he was we have to go back to the other time, when the world was powered by the oil and the desert sprouted great cities of pipe and steel — gone now, ketoed away. For reasons long forgotten two mighty fat nations went to war with fast food and touched off a blaze which engulfed them all. Without food they were nothing. They'd built a house of fries. The thundering food industry sputtered and stopped. Their leaders talked and talked and talked, but nothing could stem the avalanche. Their cookies crumbled. Cities imploded — a whirlwind of looting, a firestorm of hunger. Men began to feed on men.
Only those mobile enough to scavenge, hungry enough to pillage would survive. The gangs took over the highways, ready to wage war for a tank of hydrogenated oil, and in this maelstrom of hunger ordinary men were battered and smashed — men like Mac, the food warrior Mac. In the stroke of a pen, he lost everything and became a shell of a clown, a burnt-out skinny clown, a clown haunted by the demons of his past, a clown who waddled out into this fat land.
And it was here, in this healthy place, that he learned to cook again.
| 2016-07-25T09:05:07 | 2016-07-25T07:41:19 | 89 | 10 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age.
|
"Dark magic," I blustered, "lots of dark magic."
The phycologist peered at me from behind his spectacles.
"Now Charlie. Magic doesn't exist. We're just curious, because you've been here for thirty years and you haven't aged a wink."
I thought. If I told them I was immortal, I'd be caged, treated like an animal. I'd expect no less from the government. I needed a conceivable lie to help my case.
"I summoned Satan. I used my victims as blood sacrifices to his name. He has been sated for many years."
"Charlie, God nor Satan exist."
"That's where you're wrong. I'm obviously still here, so how could they possibly be false?"
I saw him sigh to himself. The shock of grey in his hair seemed to be getting more grey every day. He had to deal with prisoners like me everyday, and now he had to solve a supernatural mystery. He was not cut out for this.
"Charlie... Do you have some sort of illegal lotion? Is that it? If you imported it from out of the country then that's ok. We'll have to confiscate it, but it's ok to age. Look at me!" he chuckled.
"Yes, that's exactly it," I said, "here I'll go ahead and give it to you right now."
I jumped up, and instantly two guards descended on me, and gave me a beating with their sticks (I'll let you in on a secret-it really didn't hurt).
"I'll show you where my illegal cream is, come on." I said.
I was flanked by guards as we traversed the filthy walls of the prison, with crazy men and women screaming and foaming at the mouth from behind bars. Our footsteps echoed on the cracked concrete, and as we progressed, the cells got more and more empty until the only sounds were our own footsteps and breathing. We arrived in the solitary confinement block. These doors were rotting, but still functional. Solid steel doors attached to pin codes with no window, shooting open and closed at a whim. Soon, we arrived at my cell. They entered a pin, and the door opened. I walked to my sink, and gave the therapist my tube of toothpaste.
"There you go," I said, "do with it as you will."
He glanced at it, and looked up.
"This is toothpaste," he said.
He sighed, and motioned to the guards.
"We'll try this again tomorrow, I can't take this stress," he said.
He and his two cronies left the room and closed the door, leaving me alone. As soon as they were gone, I flipped my metal cot over to reveal a pentagram.
"Sorry dude," I said, "I need your help again."
|
It's been a while seeing these grey walls. About 45 years. Or maybe it has been fifty. I can't recall. I was sentenced for a lifetime here since I was on a killing spree back in the days. I was sort of a Robin Hood you see, killing criminals just like me. I actually call myself Charlie Catastrophe if you ever wonder if I have a name for myself. Back to the story, I've killed rapists, petty thieves, hired killers, drug lords (which is my favorite since they say that they cause poverty in this city), and a former politician. I remembered during my killing spree that I've killed about thirty criminals in total within a week and half. Maybe an additional thirty for colateral damage. Maybe more. I lost count for seeing these blank walls all the time. I started this madness since my father was killed when I was a teenager. He was accused of -- I can't remember. I think he was accused of selling drugs or raping a non-existent girl or that he's a member of a notorious gang or maybe all of it. Some say that a government official orderd his death. I can't really recall. These walls really makes my memory blank. All I can remember is the day I got caught.
It was a perfect sunny day so I went for a cup of coffee. Of course I brought my .45 caliber that I always use and a swiss knife of sorts for unexpected occasions. I also brought yesterday's newspaper for, you know, being less suspicious since it headlined "Fifty killed within a week". I was drinking my daily coffee at my favorite café when I heard that there will be a rally in favor of this corrupt official at the city plaza. I think he was the one that caused my father's death. This is the moment I've been waiting for. I went there quickly and to my surprise, he was looking for volunteers to ask him a question. I quickly ran up to the stage and luckily, I was picked to ask the question. I said to the mic, "Why?" and then I shot him in his chest. I come up close to him to stab him and he said that I will rot in jail for what I have done. The police came and you know what happened next.
I've told this to countless inmates and prison guards whenever I had the chance to tell them my inspiring story. Not countless but maybe around a hundred in total. Sometimes I hear the guards telling that maybe death penalty should be implemented for psychos like me. I guess I have to wait a little longer.
And here I am, still in jail. Thanks to my lovely city for not having death penalty. You know what I learned from the story? Corrupt politicians always lie, even in their last breath.
I guess it's also a lie that I'll rot in jail.
--
*Sorry if it's not in the guards' perspective*
EDIT: minor change to typos and some parallelism
| 2016-10-15T08:34:14 | 2016-10-15T08:27:16 | 87 | 14 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age.
|
I could hear the muffled voice of Williams coming down the corridor. As he passed cell doors, I heard him saying to his companion the name of the inmate, the reason he was on “The Last Mile” and how long he’d been there. It was something I’d heard happening many times, a ritual or a routine whenever Williams had a visitor or someone to impress.
The names were familiar to me, but I’d never seen them in person; they don’t allow Last Mile inmates to fraternise. I knew their voices. Andy with his 40-a-day grumble, Mike’s voice that sang and swooped. Gerry who had a silky tenor voice that I knew he’d used to seduce the women he’d slaughtered. Frank, well, Frank was just Frank - he always sounded nervous. I’d talk with those voices late in the evening when the guards had gone home. Some had been around long enough to get to know me a bit, but no-one had been here as long as me.
Williams got to my cell. I stood and waited opposite the door. The hatch scraped back, revealing a rectangle of his face with another set of eyes behind him. William’s face was fleshy, but betrayed signs of age in the wrinkles. The hair was grey, tired and thin. As he peered at me over his half-moon spectacles, he announced me to his visitor.
“And this, is Jimmy Wait.” I raised an eyebrow ever so slightly and Williams quickly corrected himself. “Err, ah, sorry, I mean this is James Wright. Um. He’s our longest resident.”
The second set of eyes narrowed. “Why’s he been here so long? He’s long overdue, no court proceedings or pardon on the way. Why so long?”
“Well, Mr Kingsley, it’s not like we’ve not tried a few times.” Williams’ eyes attempted to pierce my gaze. I smiled slightly at him and looked straight back. My smile didn’t reach my eyes, they were still cold and stony. A blink could wait.
“What happened last time? Surely you can’t be making this many mistakes with an inmate. The governor wouldn’t have stood for it.”
I decided to have some fun. “It’s not his fault Mr Kingsley. I’m afraid it’s mine.” I could see Williams colour - his cheeks becoming rosy red. He didn’t like me. I didn’t fit the mould. However, Mr Kingsley’s eyes narrowed further. This was fun, the most fun I’d had since they last changed the guard.
“It’s like this Mr Kingsley. On the first occasion back in 1945, they used a firing squad, then in 1956 it was the electric chair. In 1963 a lethal injection. I think they’re still wondering what to try next.” I allowed a small smile to appear on my lips.
Kingsley’s eyes disappeared as he looked down at something. I heard a folder opening and a lot of paper shuffling. “Errr. One sec…” he said. I was happy to wait.
Finally, he looked up. “This can’t be possible. He’s been here since 1924! He murdered those people in 1921. It says here he was twenty-two when he arrived.” Kingsley’s eyes came back to mine. “And that means he’s seventy eight now!”
Williams glanced down at the folder Kingsley must have been carrying. “I know. That’s what I thought when I came here too. Heh. You get used to it.”
“Mr Wright, what is going on here? What are you doing? Why are you still alive?” Kingsley voice betrayed a vulnerability. Good.
“It’s simple Mr Kingsley. I just wait.”
“What do you mean, you just wait?” I could see Williams recognising a familiar conversation.
“Oh, just that. I wait.”
“Mr Williams?” Ah. It was that point when the incoming wanted to talk privately with the outgoing. I could wait.
The faces disappeared from the cell hatch. The footsteps faded. Unusually Williams had left the cell hatch open. That was good. I’d waited a long time for that.
I could hear murmuring further up the corridor. Intangible voices, a conversation of some interest was on-going. I’d waited long enough, today was the day to join in.
I retrieved the wire I’d had taken from the electric chair back in 1956 and attached it to the key. They’d not changed the cell door keys since the 1920’s, what was the point? I’d memorised all the keys by 1936 – the guards used to just have them hanging there on their key-chain, so easy to see. During the 1940’s I’d created a set of keys from metal I’d managed to extract from the bed. It had taken a long time, but I could wait.
Now, at last, they’d left the hatch open, unattended. The first time in more than twenty thousand days.
They were surprised when I joined them in their heated debate. Even more surprised when the blade whispered through their jugulars. The keys worked just as I knew they would. Time had been kind. Only seventy odd years this time. I really must get more careful, but hey, I could wait…
|
'Adam, it's been 20 years. You can't stay in here forever. Your children need you.' She said, looking at me with those eyes.
A man would give his arm (or a rib!) to wake up to that face. Even those piece of shit guards (they're not all pieces of shit, Connolly and Jackson were halfway decent humans) treated her with a little extra respect, although if you asked them about it they wouldn't have known why or even that they did. And probably would have taken you in the back room and beaten you for good measure.
Maybe she was right. It had been a long time. A couple of the old timers, even if they were smart enough not to ask a serial killer about his age, tread carefully around me. Ever since Ramirez disappeared 10 years ago for commenting on my hair not turning grey.
No. Fuck that. Fuck the world. Fuck her. 'Fuck you.' I said, almost gracefully.
She sighed, for the millionth time, as if I was just a wayward child, and not the oldest person on earth. 'Fine. I'm leaving, but you know I will be back, and you know what you need to do if you truly want rest.' God, she is still as beautiful as the day we met.
'Yea, I know, I know. Try not to fuck any snakes on the way out, Eve.'
For a second, I thought I had reached through her impenetrable calm. Her eyes glittered for half a second. It was almost like old times, like being young and in love. Almost. Then she turned and walked out.
Back in my cell, I have another visitor. This one is invisible to the guards. 'What do you want, Lucifer?' I dont bother to keep my voice down, the guards think im crazy anyway.
'Your soul, but unfortunately you have immunity,' he says, grinning at me. 'Well, I would take your wife, but she knows to stay away from me. I'll have to settle for your children.' he says with a far-away look, as if he is imagining my wife naked. 'Actually I'm here with a proposition. I can get you out of here.'
'What makes you think I can't get out of here myself? I've learned a few tricks over the millennia.'
'That's not the point. I have an idea that can help us both. I know this place is sooo much fun, but hear me out.' He tells me. Hmmm... interesting. I mean you can't just kill God, but... his plan is still interesting...
I mean, after the fall, Eve and I wandered a long time. I was pissed, who wouldn't be? Knowledge can do that to you. Eventually I found peace. I decided to help people. Have you heard of Mithras? Buddha? Jesus? Yea. 2,000 years later they kind of feel like past lives. BUt I tried. I really did. People are just so stubborn. Or, you get a bunch of followers and 1 Judas fucks it up (is it my fault I slept with his girlfriend? In a time of unwashed hippies, she still managed to smell of lavender half the time, and those eyes, god she reminded me of Eve... sorry where I was i? When you hit 6,000 years old, ramble you will!). We're all only human, I guess.
So then I decided to lay low, maybe just find a nice corner and forget about the world. But it just gets to you, you know? Through 2 World Wars I watched millions of my kids kill themselves like lemmings to move some squiggles on a map. They poison themselve constantly. Cancer. The last straw was AIDs. I went to Africa, saw babies dying without a chance to grow up. Decided to do something. Except this time I decided to just start killing all the crooked politicians. Angel of Truth, they called me. Except the politicians got worried. And in an ironic move of bipartisanship, they came together. To catch me. And put me away. That was 20 years ago, kids nowadays barely remember. I've stayed here because I cant think of anything better to do, but maybe it's time to move on.
'So by that dumb look on your face, I take it you are considering. Are you in?' The Morningstar asks, looking at me with his winningest smile (every smile is the winningest when you are the devil) and putting his hand out as if inviting a handshake. I clasp his hand and shake it.
'Fine. But I get to drive.' I say to him. 'It's been 20 years. And we need to stop somewhere, I'm starving. Is there a good burger joint around here? Are people still allowed to eat meat?' I wonder aloud as we walk out...
Today is going to be a lot more interesting than I thought it would be when I woke up.
| 2016-10-15T10:46:42 | 2016-10-15T09:47:53 | 51 | 26 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed.
|
”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
|
"So what is new?" I said stepping out of the capsule with my buddy as usually awaiting my arrival.
I had no control over when I would arrive due to the randomness of the generator. I never knew if I was jumping a a few days, years, or even thousands of years. All I knew is when I left, I went forward through time and had no control over it. My first jump took me 100 years forward, when I stepped out all I knew and loved was gone. I was a mess...I contemplated suicide. But then my guardian angel came...a man I only ever got to know as "Joe." Not sure if he was ever connected to the mysterious capsule that fell from the sky, or just a lucky break for a poor soul such as I. Although I could never prove it I felt he was connected; Joe always knew where I would land. He said he got these straight *feelings* and *visions* as to when and where I would arrive* All I did know for sure was he saved my life. He got me back on my feet, gave me a purpose and ever since then I have been traveling forward through time, an explorer had been born.
"Hey..." Said Joe, looking tired and weak. I had not seen him like that since Rome had fallen. "How was your trip?"
"Joe, you know it was not really a trip for me buddy! How was YOUR Trip??" I made light of what I was seeing, but after knowing him for so many years, even if I didn't know much about his past, I knew something was up.
"Things have been...interested." He said behind estranged eyes.
"Ok Joe, whats up buddy...what is going on. How long have I been gone, what is the current date? I don't see too many changes. Is this, New York? Where are the...where are the towers if this is New York?"
Tears swelled up in his eyes. One of the curses of being immortal was that you lived forever and saw all the ugly the world had to offer...unlike myself who had the ability to leave it all behind, a curse in of itself, Joe had to suffer more than anymore.
"They fell my friend...the world has become...chaotic. A year after you left...everything fell apart. Terrorists attacked...the stock market collapsed when the housing market fell...it's been bad. The world is not what it used to be; technology beyond your imagine has come about but with it has come evils which I can only begin to fathom."
"Joe...what year is it?"
More tears swelled up. "It's only 2018..."
"TWO-THOUSAND AND EIGHTEEN? IT'S ONLY BEEN 18 FUCKING YEARS AND THIS IS HOW BAD IT HAS GOTTEN?! What the fuck Joe! The world is only still just recovering from the the last two great wars, I thought we were on a good track..."
His jaw tightened and he looked me sternly in the eyes, his were filled with fire. "That's not the worst of it. You just missed the last election two years ago....Donald Trump is the President now..."
I said nothing...I turned around, stepped back into the capsule and said fuck it. Here is to the next jump being better.
| 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T11:16:20 | 2,588 | 30 |
[WP] One day you you wonder if thinking about thinking about thinking and so on would be an effective defense against telepaths. All of sudden, people around you start collapsing and convulsing on the ground.
|
*Cogito ergo sum.* “I’m having a lot of trouble with my NT mom,” Jorge said.
“Huh? What does NT mean?” I asked.
“NT -- ‘neurotypical.’ I have Asperger’s. She doesn’t. She’s neurotypical. I'm not. Try to keep up.”
Jorge was kind of a jerk, but he was the only kid in our high school I could actually beat at Chess, so I kept my mouth shut when he made obnoxious comments. As a result, I was pretty much his only friend.
“What do you want me to do about that?” I saw an opening, and slid my bishop forward. He didn’t seem to pick up on it.
“Nothing,” he said. He stared at the board, a confused look on his face. Clearly, he knew something was up. I wondered if he’d be able to rub two brain cells together hard enough to figure out what.
I heard a snort from the other side of the room and looked up. Stephanie. She was laughing at something her friend had said. But her teeth glittered when she smiled. She glanced in our direction and I looked down at the board. She was way too pretty for a guy like me. No point in even thinking about it. Back to chess.
*Cogito ergo sum.* We were learning about Descartes in Math class. Why do I have to learn Latin in Math? I was terrible at languages. Math made more sense. There were rules, order, like a square grid of city streets. Languages were like a map of footpaths through a forest. They hadn’t been designed, just stumbled upon and reinforced. It was so clumsy.
Mr. Pemberton frowned at me. “Some of you might be wondering why you have to learn Latin in Math,” he said, staring at me. How did I always manage to get caught? “You might one day find thinking about thinking useful. I know it’s been very useful to me.”
*Thinking about thinking,* I thought, twirling my pencil. *Thinking about thinking about thinking.* It was so, so boring.
A girl’s scream snapped me out of my reverie. People were clutching at their heads and falling out of their seats. Some were on the ground, shaking, foaming at the mouth.
Mr. Pemberton just took a seat behind his desk.
“What the--” I started.
“They’re telepaths,” he interrupted. “But you’re not.” He pointed to Stephanie and Jorge, who appeared to be perfectly fine, sitting at their desks, mouths agape. “You two aren’t either. Neither am I. Congratulations, you have a superpower. If you ever need privacy, I find that *cogito ergo sum* is a wonderful mantra.”
“But,” I said, “If you can’t read minds...how did you know what I was thinking a few minutes ago?”
Mr. Pemberton rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be a telepath to know what’s going through the mind of a teenage boy. Remember that.”
**EDIT: Because people have asked me for more, you can subscribe to [r/robotdevilhands](https://reddit.com/r/robotdevilhands). I respond to 1 writing prompt/day, M-Th. I haven't 100% decided if I'm going to continue this story, but if I do, I'll post it there!
|
*Huh…so Socrates thought about how we thought about stuff,* I thought to myself after the college lecture. As I gathered my things, I let my mind wander. *I wonder if I think about stuff incorrectly. I wonder if how I think about stuff frames my entire existence; I mean my entire life is filtered through my mind, so how I think should fundamentally alter how I perceive life. Huh…I wonder if thinking about thinking is a good defense against telepaths.*
As the thought finished, several of my classmates fell to the floor, convulsing as foam formed at their mouths. I stood startled as the philosophy professor looked to me wide eyes. Her hair, as defiant as her views of epistemology, stood on end as she grabbed me by the arm and told me we needed to leave immediately. Together we journeyed through the halls of the building and into the light of the day. She dragged me halfway across campus to her office, where she slammed the door shut, creating a large echo through the building.
“You defeated the telepaths,” she began as she searched through her office. Shutting the blinds, she still peaked through them, supposedly to look out for any more enemies, either real or imagined. Satisfied with her search, she rummaged through her desk.
“Are you crazy?” I replied. “You left those people having seizures. I’m calling 911.”
“No!” she screeched and knocked the phone from my hand
“What the Hell, Dr. Lanski?!”
“Oh, I’ll tell you,” she replied as she returned to her desk. After rummaging for a moment, she produced a small, golden ring. Where the ring might hold a diamond, a small plate with a strange insignia of two snakes coiled together sat. “Today in class, we spoke of Socrates. I told you that we have no documents of his writing, which as far as the public knows, it the truth; however, just as then and now, the truth is malleable.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Socrates did not invent philosophy; we know that. He was, however, the first to weaponize it. Prior to the time of Socrates, he tells of how telepaths ruled the earth. On top of every great kingdom of man to that point in time stood a telepath who could predict the movement of troops and weapons of any enemy. Their reign lasted for thousands of years until Socrates generated the first thought of thinking. By examining how we perceive life through the lens of thought, he managed to short-circuit something in the minds of the telepaths. Using this sacred knowledge, we wrote volumes of the topic of telepaths and what thoughts, when thought by those of Great Mind, could defeat the telepaths.
“His protégé, Plato, also of Great Mind, took his work and formed The Academy to recruit others of Great Mind to combat the telepaths using precise rhetoric, logic, and thoughts. When The Academy fell, other schools formed to recruit those rare souls with a Great Mind to battle the telepaths and simply teach the others who passed through their halls. This is why the King Charles II formed the Royal Society. This is why Lincoln signed the Morrill Land-Grant acts which jump-started the public university system in America. This is why the telepath dictators always abolish the educated when the take hold of a nation.
“When you thought of thinking, presumably in response to my lecture, you proved yourself of Great Mind. Please, take this ring. You are one of us, now.”
******
More stories at r/Andrew__Wells
| 2017-03-15T09:20:38 | 2017-03-15T06:48:31 | 1,389 | 348 |
[WP] You are a supervillain posing as a student at a hero academy to learn their secrets. The staff knows you're a villain but haven't kicked you out yet because you aced the heroic potential test.
|
"How long are you going to let this go on?" Spectra crossed her arm and leaned on one hip.
Dean Kapman raised his eyebrows and evaluated the two or three reasons he knew she'd have to accept. In the end, he was in charge, after all. But of all his surviving friends, Spectra was the oldest. Instead of presenting his reversed and crafted arguments, he met her eye to eye with the truth.
"There is something about her. I can't give up on her. You must see it too or you wouldn't be here, right now, you'd be towing her to the outer atmosphere."
"Just because she beat the test doesn't mean she is redeemable. She's been lying for six months!"
"Oh, shit on that test! You know as well as I do it's about as predictive as meteorologists. She is special."
"She is a spy! Don't be blind just because her father was your friend."
"And yours, too. I guess you've forgotten why you're even still here."
"Don't make this personal. She's here to gather intel."
"She can slip under any door and through every crack. Believe me, she already has what she came for."
"Then kill her!"
"You're not looking at this right. She's got everything she needs, so why is she still here?" He attempted to lead her to the only logical conclusion. Spectra shook her head and shrugged. "Because, we are here. She's finally not alone. She's found her tribe. She's on the edge and chasing her back to her mother's complex isn't going to push her to the right side."
"Always the optimist, Frank."
"Half of being a hero is believing the best can happen." He shrugged.
*Sorry first person wasn't coming, but the admin side was*
|
*Dramatis Personae:* Seraph/'Ophanim' *President Mystery* **Cassandra**
***
 
**... ^will ^destroy ^the ^softball ^diamond ^next ^Thursday, ^and ^don't ^wear ^any ^blue ^ties ^until ^next ^month. ^Oh, ^and ^Seraph ^is ^here.**
*Already? Very well. Could you send her in, please?*
You wanted to see me, Sir?
*Ah. Yes, come in, ‘Ophanim’. Please, have a seat. How are your arms?*
Got them all healed them up last night, sir.
*Of course. I just wanted to personally thank you for your assistance yesterday. If you hadn’t stopped those creatures in the summoning hall…*
They would have completely overrun the dorm, probably trashing it in the process. I don’t like it when people touch my things.
*Is that all?*
What else is there?
*What about the students and staff you saved through your actions?*
…
*Yes, well, that’s all I really wanted to say. Have a good afternoon, ‘Ophanim’. Oh, and a Mr. Steely Gaze wishes to pass on his thanks for patching up his leg.*
…I was repaying a favor.
*Of course you were. Have a good day, now.*
*…Any change, Cassandra?*
**^Her ^future ^is ^still ^branching ^like ^a ^motherfucker. ^But ^I ^think ^she ^may ^have ^mitigated ^some ^of ^the ^darker ^timelines.**
*Very well. I suppose we will just have to have to wait and see, like all mortal men. Most mortal men. Like all non-superpowered… Ah, fuck it.*
| 2017-04-10T18:24:58 | 2017-04-10T13:37:22 | 29 | 20 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings.
|
"Oh god! It's _really_ him!" He heard a woman whisper.
"Don't look at him Jane!" Whispered back the man by her side.
Thomas Wilford James, or commonly called "The Presence", walked into a Mcdonald's that monday morning. A huge line almost exited the building and just a moment before they all grumbled about the wait. But that was before he landed outside and with a faint "ding" the openned the door.
Now everyone one was silent, some shivered, some fainted, but Thomas simply walked towards the counter. He looked at the first person in line, a towering man in white and blue spandex. A symbol displayed on his chest: a double MM. _Might Man?_ Thomas tried to recall. He shuffled himself in front of the mightiest of men and snapped his fingers, calling the attendant's attention.
"I would like to make an order, please." Thomas spoke, while opening his wallet.
The small attendant, a teenager for the matter, stared at him blankly, mouth wide open. Her jaw moved, but no words came to her.
"Oh, and good day." Thomas continued, picking a five dollar bill from his worn out wallet.
"I-I... w-w-welcome t-t-to McDonalds. M-m-m-ay I take your order Mr Presence?" The small attendant babbled.
"I would like a Happy Meal, please. They are still coming with the Dragon Ball figurines right?" Asked the small dark haired man. His choice of clothing was questionable, to say the least: a cape black as the night when he turned New York, literary, upside down; blue slippers, the color of the sky the day he killed half of the Hero Council using only his index finger as a weapon; green shorts, the same tone as the pine forest that became the whole population of California; and a white tank top, the same white that reminded the terms that each and every country signed to never pursue, botter or try to punish him, ever again.
"R-r-right away sir!" The attendant taped wildly at her screen and the workers in the kitchen went back to work. In seconds his order was ready and in her hands. She shook when she extended the brown sack and her pressure dropped when he picked it from her hands.
He opened the bag and peered inside, he saw they were gentle enough to put extra Mc Nuggets, he really loved them, but something was wrong. "Oh... I don't really like Trunks, do you have Goku instead? I'm sure you can pick the right one for me."
"S-s-sure sir! I'll check on it!" She threw herself under her counter and started to shuffle through bags of plastic and cheap souvenirs, trying to find the right one.
Thomas looked back towards Mighty Man and smiled. "Fast foods, am I right?"
The mountain of muscles and prowess whimpered and tried to smile with his shaking teeth. "I-I-me? My Mr Presence, sir, you are totally right! One hundred percent sir! Fast foods these days!" He tried to laugh, but he almost choked with air.
Thomas looked at him disappointed. "I'm not gonna hurt you, have some backbone." He turned back to the attendant which extended a small Goku figurine towards him. "Thanks love, keep the change for your outstanding service." Said the greatest of super villains, extending to her both the 5 dollar bill and the Trunks miniature.
The Presence picked his small brown sack and walked outside to the warm light of the day. With a tap of his slippers he started to float and vanished in the clouds way up above.
Inside the insignificant road side restaurant some cried, some screamed, some stomped their foots on the floor. How could such travesty happen? How a man that enacted genocide upon the peoples of America can be walking freely and unpunished?
"He must be stopped!" Said Mighty Man in a mighty tone. "And I, Mighty Man, will crush this evil once and for all!" He spoke righteously, a hand palmed at his chest, the other one pointing at the roof of the restaurant.
The people cheered for a moment, hope and pride back at their eyes. Men straightened their backs, Moms hugged their children. America was great, once again.
A flash brightened in the store, and a man in blue slippers was back in front of the counter. All became speechless.
"Can I get some ketchup sachets? I forgot that I don't have any home." Thomas asked in a gentle tone.
Some people shoved lightly Mighty Man towards The Presence, some even tried to, silently, cheer for his heroism. Mighty Man tried to smile with his perfect square jaw and took a step towards the dark cape wearing man, but that's when he turned. Mighty Man stared at that face, that... common, regular face, capable of unspeakable evil and saw that he had a duty and could do one thing, and one thing only: he pretended to faint and felt to the ground.
Thomas walked away from the counter happy with his sachets and saw the super hero down on the floor, his arms spread dramatically as if a spear had hit his left side in an heroic battle.
"Is he okay?" Thomas asked. The faces looked confused at him and nodded in unison a yes, without saying a word. "Must be low blood sugar, get something for him to eat." He said, while walking out of the store. "Have a nice day everyone!" He waved, while flying away.
|
A young man stood on a busy street corner, making eye contact with every single person who walked by. "Excuse me, would you like to make a donation to PlanetSavers?" he asked, or "You look like someone who cares about the Earth!" or "Good afternoon, do you have a minute to talk about securing humanity's future?"
Approaching him now, an attractive woman holding onto the arm of a rather less attractive man. Perfect, he could interrupt the date and get the guy to show off his generosity by donating to-
A moment later, he wasn't facing the street anymore. He was facing the building, as though he'd abruptly turned, but there was no reason he would do that. In the disoriented thirty seconds or so that he spent looking around, getting his bearings, and turning back toward the crowd, the promising couple had passed. He shook his head, and looked into the crowd, finding his next mark. "You seem like a conscientious person! Could I have a moment of your time?"
*********
"I still can't believe you got us a table at Aldo's... I tried to make a reservation for my birthday, but they told me they were booked out for two months! But we just met yesterday, there's no way you could've been planning this for two months," said Shirley. Her conversation was getting a bit repetitive, at this point, but Zack didn't mind. His plan was nearing its completion, so he wouldn't have to listen to her for much longer.
"I haven't been planning this for two months," he said, in a mock-exhausted tone of voice. "I just have great luck. Watch."
He stepped up to the curb, holding out a hand to signal a taxi. One stopped for him right away, and he held the door open for Shirley. "5 Riverside Lane, please," he said to the driver. "I've never understood why people use Uber. Too much waiting for the car to show up," he remarked to his date.
She shivered. Never before had she been with a man who just seemed to have everything go *right* for him. And Riverside Lane... that was the *rich* part of town. Single-digit house numbers rich. Might-get-there-in-a-limo-next-time-if-she-plays-her-cards-right rich. "Remind me what you do for a living?" she asked.
"Efficiency modeling," he remarked, sounding uninterested in the question.
Shirley suspected that that was a euphemism, that he went into offices and fired long-time loyal employees as a cost-cutting measure. It was the kind of job she should have moral objections to, but when she weighed those morals against her desire for a nice house, for a lifestyle that couldn't be supported on an ethical person's salary, she decided she was willing to sell out. For what Zack could offer, she would accept a great deal of moral compromise.
When he didn't elaborate, or say anything further, she tried to keep the conversation going. "And when did you move to this area?"
He looked at her with that inscrutable gaze of his. She hoped it was his method of concealing his burning desire, because otherwise, it just made him seem like he was on the spectrum. Shirley much preferred dealing with people who were neurotypical. "I've lived here all my life," he said, not dropping his gaze. "Not in the same house, mind, but in the same town."
"How odd that we've never met before today!" she remarked with a giggle.
Zack didn't reply. He just kept gazing at her. What was up with that gaze? She would have to fix that. On the next date, though. After she'd had time to cement her good impression on him.
The taxi pulled up at the end of a long driveway, leading to a house that Shirley recognized. When she was a kid, anytime the school bus drove by here, she'd tell everyone that this was the house she wanted to live in, one day. "It's almost like fate," she muttered under her breath.
That damn gaze was only dropped when Zack got out of the taxi. Shirley was about to follow when he abruptly closed the door behind himself. He was standing too close for her to open it again, so she rolled down the window. "I'm... still in here," she pointed out. "Kind of stuck."
When Zack looked at her again, his expression had changed. Shirley didn't understand it any better, but she recognized it... a smile, a... a *victorious* smile. "Oh, did you think you were coming home with me?"
"Well, I..." She didn't know what to say. What was going *on* here?
Zack leaned down, close enough for their noses to almost touch. Shirley tilted her head slightly, anticipating a kiss that never arrived. "Now I'm doing to you what you did to me in high school." Straightening up, he said to the driver, "Take her away."
The taxi pulled out into the street again, leaving Shirley baffled and devastated and unable to figure out a response as the driver kept asking, "What address, Miss?"
Zack returned to the house he'd borrowed for the evening. Everything had gone exactly as he imagined it. Even... no. Dammit! He'd *totally* made the taxi meter malfunction out of habit. He'd really been looking forward to sticking Shirley with the bill. Ah, well. At least he'd made her suffer emotionally.
| 2017-05-16T07:58:00 | 2017-05-16T05:30:27 | 293 | 196 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings.
|
"Oh god! It's _really_ him!" He heard a woman whisper.
"Don't look at him Jane!" Whispered back the man by her side.
Thomas Wilford James, or commonly called "The Presence", walked into a Mcdonald's that monday morning. A huge line almost exited the building and just a moment before they all grumbled about the wait. But that was before he landed outside and with a faint "ding" the openned the door.
Now everyone one was silent, some shivered, some fainted, but Thomas simply walked towards the counter. He looked at the first person in line, a towering man in white and blue spandex. A symbol displayed on his chest: a double MM. _Might Man?_ Thomas tried to recall. He shuffled himself in front of the mightiest of men and snapped his fingers, calling the attendant's attention.
"I would like to make an order, please." Thomas spoke, while opening his wallet.
The small attendant, a teenager for the matter, stared at him blankly, mouth wide open. Her jaw moved, but no words came to her.
"Oh, and good day." Thomas continued, picking a five dollar bill from his worn out wallet.
"I-I... w-w-welcome t-t-to McDonalds. M-m-m-ay I take your order Mr Presence?" The small attendant babbled.
"I would like a Happy Meal, please. They are still coming with the Dragon Ball figurines right?" Asked the small dark haired man. His choice of clothing was questionable, to say the least: a cape black as the night when he turned New York, literary, upside down; blue slippers, the color of the sky the day he killed half of the Hero Council using only his index finger as a weapon; green shorts, the same tone as the pine forest that became the whole population of California; and a white tank top, the same white that reminded the terms that each and every country signed to never pursue, botter or try to punish him, ever again.
"R-r-right away sir!" The attendant taped wildly at her screen and the workers in the kitchen went back to work. In seconds his order was ready and in her hands. She shook when she extended the brown sack and her pressure dropped when he picked it from her hands.
He opened the bag and peered inside, he saw they were gentle enough to put extra Mc Nuggets, he really loved them, but something was wrong. "Oh... I don't really like Trunks, do you have Goku instead? I'm sure you can pick the right one for me."
"S-s-sure sir! I'll check on it!" She threw herself under her counter and started to shuffle through bags of plastic and cheap souvenirs, trying to find the right one.
Thomas looked back towards Mighty Man and smiled. "Fast foods, am I right?"
The mountain of muscles and prowess whimpered and tried to smile with his shaking teeth. "I-I-me? My Mr Presence, sir, you are totally right! One hundred percent sir! Fast foods these days!" He tried to laugh, but he almost choked with air.
Thomas looked at him disappointed. "I'm not gonna hurt you, have some backbone." He turned back to the attendant which extended a small Goku figurine towards him. "Thanks love, keep the change for your outstanding service." Said the greatest of super villains, extending to her both the 5 dollar bill and the Trunks miniature.
The Presence picked his small brown sack and walked outside to the warm light of the day. With a tap of his slippers he started to float and vanished in the clouds way up above.
Inside the insignificant road side restaurant some cried, some screamed, some stomped their foots on the floor. How could such travesty happen? How a man that enacted genocide upon the peoples of America can be walking freely and unpunished?
"He must be stopped!" Said Mighty Man in a mighty tone. "And I, Mighty Man, will crush this evil once and for all!" He spoke righteously, a hand palmed at his chest, the other one pointing at the roof of the restaurant.
The people cheered for a moment, hope and pride back at their eyes. Men straightened their backs, Moms hugged their children. America was great, once again.
A flash brightened in the store, and a man in blue slippers was back in front of the counter. All became speechless.
"Can I get some ketchup sachets? I forgot that I don't have any home." Thomas asked in a gentle tone.
Some people shoved lightly Mighty Man towards The Presence, some even tried to, silently, cheer for his heroism. Mighty Man tried to smile with his perfect square jaw and took a step towards the dark cape wearing man, but that's when he turned. Mighty Man stared at that face, that... common, regular face, capable of unspeakable evil and saw that he had a duty and could do one thing, and one thing only: he pretended to faint and felt to the ground.
Thomas walked away from the counter happy with his sachets and saw the super hero down on the floor, his arms spread dramatically as if a spear had hit his left side in an heroic battle.
"Is he okay?" Thomas asked. The faces looked confused at him and nodded in unison a yes, without saying a word. "Must be low blood sugar, get something for him to eat." He said, while walking out of the store. "Have a nice day everyone!" He waved, while flying away.
|
Karl could have anything he wanted, money, women, power, the very Earth itself. There was a time when he was younger, and realizing he had the power to dominate the minds of anyone in the world, anytime, from anywhere, that he began to realize the potential. He reached into a persons mind and took either knowledge or simply rewrote their brain to make them do anything he wanted. It was so easy, and he tested his abilities on his teachers at first, making getting straight A's in school a cake walk.
When he was sixteen Karl turned his entire school into his personal kingdom. He owed everyone. The teachers let him play video games in class, every girl thought he was the hottest guy around....he wasn't...but it didn't matter. People came up to him for advice or simply wanted to be around him. Karl was King!
Karl's kingdom lasted a grand total of seventeen days. You see as Karl soon realized, his complete ownership of people meant that he couldn't take a shit without someone popping in on him to talk or praise him or simply be close enough to sniff his farts. The constant attention began to drive him crazy.
"Hey Karl wanna go to the mall after school?" "Hey Karl, you the man!" "Hey Karl come check out my car!" "Hey Karl sit with me at lunch." "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" !!!!!!
It drove him mad.
So Karl released everyone's mind, returning everyone's free will to them with the added exception that they all had to leave him the fuck alone.
Twenty years later Karl was happy. He had adapted his powers to give himself what he wanted without needing the upkeep or bringing constant attention upon himself. He manipulated the minds of managers in the area. Karl worked at twenty seven different jobs around town, though he was on a permanent paid vacation at each of them. His bank account filled with money, though he didn't need it because he lives rent free, he never paid for anything when he went places, the only thing he couldn't do was get automated services for free because they weren't run by a manipulatible system. Things like Netflix, online porn subscriptions, Xbox LIVE services.
Not to say Karl didn't like people nor that he wanted to be left alone. Karl was a man who didn't like hassle. His ability could surely let him rule the world, should he want too, but just the idea of how much hassle that would bring upon him was too much. He was just fine living in his small house, going to the movies, mini golfing, things that he could do alone.
Of course every man needs "company" once in a while, and when that need arose Karl handled it. There were a few ladies that he would visit on occasion that would come over when he needed it, take care of him, and then leave. It was simple, no strings attached relief. Hell, they never even remembered him the moment they walked out the door. Except when they were "called" upon again.
The morality of his actions never came into his mind. Karl wasn't a bad guy, he wasn't a good guy. He just had no moral compass of any kind. It never occurred to him that he could use his abilities for good. Toppling twisted governments, eliminating war, promoted scientific study or intellectual development. Karl wasn't interested in helping people, he wasn't interested in hurting people, he really just wasn't interested in people.
| 2017-05-16T07:58:00 | 2017-05-16T07:37:06 | 293 | 41 |
[WP] A group of bored aliens monitoring Earth start to infiltrate our society with increasingly flimsy costumes and sketchy backstories to see whose cover is blown first.
|
“So tell me a little bit about yourself, Mr. … Human.” The interviewer looked back down at the resume to make sure he had the name right, and looked back up at his interviewee.
Scramblax, currently ‘Joe Human’, cleared his throat and said “Well, I’m a real people person. Um… I’m very outgoing and I get along well with other humans… er… people.” He smiled at the interviewer and added “Sorry, a bit nervous. May I?” He pointed to the bottle of water at the end of the table. He drank slowly and set the bottle down.
The interviewer scratched down several notes then looked back at Joe and asked “What makes you interested in working for us?”
“I feel like it would be a good opportunity to observe people better. When people come here to make their purchases you can get a much better idea of who they are than watching from thousands of miles through a thick atmosphere.” Joe explained.
“I really don’t know what to make of that, I’ll assume that’s something the kids are into these days. You know, millennial speak, something my daughter would say.” He jotted something down and asked “Tell me of a time you had to overcome a challenge at work.”
Joe perked up and said “One time the Flupulator ran out of Flarbasite and I had to recreate a three-tronic subsistence resonator from scratch. We would have lost a month’s worth of data if I hadn’t.”
“Sounds like you might be a little over qualified. This is just retail, you might get bored in a cashier position.” The interviewer paused in his writing and asked, “How do you spell Flup-u-lator? You know what, never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, what is that on your neck? We are an equal opportunity employer and we do not discriminate but it might be a little off-putting to our customers.”
Joe raised his collar a bit. He had hoped his Meepos would be hidden by popping his collar up high but apparently it had slipped out. “I apologize, this is my Meepos. It is a totally normal, not in the least bit alien, body part. I will make sure to keep it covered.”
“That brings me to my next point, which is… you seem a little green.”
Joe straightened in his chair and said “I assure you I have plenty of work experience, you can check the resume.”
“No I mean, your skin, it’s a little green.”
“Oh, right.” Joe said a little too defensively. “It’s bad enough people on Zeeboo-Five can’t look past skin color, to have to deal with it here…” Joe shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh.
“Riiight.” The interviewer stopped writing and set his pen down. “I think we’re good here. I want to thank you for coming in. I’ll let you know what we decide.” He stood up and opened the door for Joe.
Joe got up and shook the interviewers hand and said “Thank you for your consideration.”
The interviewer sat back down and sighed deeply. “Geez, kids these days.” He pressed a button on the intercom “Sandy, who’s next?”
|
His suit itched him. The world seemed to shiver and fade in and out.
*Do they know,* he thought.
He thought not. Not really. Deep down they were clueless to his disguise, to his mission.
*But is that because...*
How could he finish? Life flowed like water from some high place, a high tap that only the Gods controlled. Some sacred place where the consciousness poured like an endless nuisance, a rebel against the uncaring dark.
*I can think and so can they.*
And he thought he loved her.
He stared at her face, sleeping against the faint sun.
*She may be our enemy.*
He knew the thought was far away, the product of youthful conditioning. They had drilled it in him. It was hard to get away from.
*I love her.*
He stared beside her. He remembered telling her not to go to work.
*"Stay home, please. Stay with me forever."*
And hadn't she?
He opened the door. The cold came in like a rush of reality. In his time such thought was gone, extinguished with the other dangers of the living.
*Conform.*
And he missed home though he loved her. He stood there as the memories flooded.
*I should go away. She will leave with time.*
But would she?
The question did not matter. He loved her. That was the word the humans used. He loved her. Nothing could change that.
He caressed her hair and she stirred and smiled.
*Her dreams are simple and innocent.*
But wasn't that why he loved her? He kissed her cheek and forbidden memories swirled as the gone galaxies, those lights which held the fading emotion of his robotic people.
"Baby," she said.
He kissed her cheek. His suit felt uncomfortable.
*I need you,* he thought.
Then he remembered the others. Their mission was coming to an end. Soon the planet would be over; life would be wiped out and so would she.
*No.*
It was against his orders. But were orders against the reality of life? Forever was long and he was doomed to be chained for its ride.
*She has thirty years, if so much.*
But he knew it would be worth it. The eternal consciousness was dark and lonely.
Never had he imagined the warmth of company, the light that came with sharing one's soul.
*You even talk like them,* he thought.
But he ignored it. He learned to disregard the rules of his world. Her touch had commanded him, and her soul had taken him. Rules stood no chance.
*But this world will soon go.*
It made him sad. Boredom was the word used. Boredom had doomed this planet.
*"No!"* he screamed.
But he was overruled. They were to kill Earth, leave it dead as the Plains back home.
*"There are others. More of your kind."*
Their words rang hollow.
Now he looked at her and made up his mind.
"I love you," he said.
He meant it. In that moment all seemed simple and clear. He would save her. He would take her with him. He did not care what the others said. His life did not matter without her.
Her eyes opened and she smiled at him.
"You're staring. What for?"
And nothing was as plain to him.
"Let's go on a vacation," he said.
| 2017-09-15T15:21:30 | 2017-09-15T10:45:45 | 37 | 22 |
[WP] Your parents choose your attributes, you end up as a tank, 6.4 foot tall, and most of your attributes placed into strength, endurance and intelligence. However, you've always wanted to become an assassin, and now at 18, you strive to meet your goal.
|
He unlocked the front door of his mansion and walked in, the lights automatically turning on as he entered each room towards the staircase which led up to his bedroom. He was feeling a bit tired--he had just brokered a deal between his company and a merc-corp based in Africa, guaranteeing armed and armored protection of his company's assets in Nigeria. True, the deal also involved the African country's government, and true, the deal allowed his new, shiny mercenaries pretty much full control over a sizeable chunk of the place (and the people living in that chunk), but it was high time that someone started stepping up and protecting the lucrative mine shafts from the local warlords. His mine shafts.
The thoughts of citizens being rounded up and forced to work in his mines were easily covered up by the extra money coming his way from the government, as thanks for quelling the strife that had plagued government, company, and citizen alike. Of course, talks of this deal had been well known by other governments in the region, other mining corporations trying to keep their assets from being stolen and sold on the black market, and, most importantly, his own government--so the deal included twenty-four-by-seven protection for his own hide, as well. This was to begin next week, after going over his schedules and routines and setting up more schedules for the ex-soldiers that would be guarding him, his personal vehicles, and his local assets from possible attack.
As he walked from under the lavish balcony that served as an entrance to his bedroom, he remembered that he needed to call his mining foreman in Namibia and explain to him about a possible new contract with the local rebel fac--
"Goomba stomp!!"
He suddenly looked up just in time to see the bottoms of two massive, booted feet quickly falling from the balcony in his direction. Before he could even think to move out of the way, the feet crashed down on his shoulders, bending his body forward at his hips, forcibly flattening it against the floor with a sickening *crunch*. From the floor, he instinctively tried to gasp out a cry for help, but the giant man that had effectively crushed him had forced all the breath out of his lungs and was still standing on top of him--crushing his ribcage in the process--so all he could do was lay face-first onto the floor and bleed out from his nose and mouth, choking in agonizing pain as he desperately struggled for a breath that would never come.
As the high-powered executive expired on the floor beneath him, the massive assassin did a poor rendition of the Super Mario death music with his mouth, before being interrupted by snickering laughter coming in on the radio in his ear. "Seriously?" the voice said, barely able to contain the laughter. "I can't believe you did that. Goomba stomp?" before his handler burst out in loud laughter. The assassin started to snicker a little as well, before remembering he was still standing on top of a high-powered executive which he just killed by literally stomping on him. He exited the mansion to be debriefed, wondering just why his new employer had decided to take the time to train him as an assassin. Probably for the entertainment, he decided, still smiling from the laughter spilling in his ear.
|
Goddammit, I thought as I approached the wall in the alley. I was less than a half hour into my first assignment, and I was supposed to scale this wall to get to my target. The only problem was that I could not get to said wall the way that I was supposed to. No one had considered that I would not be able to get through the space since any normal human should have been able to do this. It was less than a foot, and my quads were too big for that. I could reach to the fire escape eight feet off the ground from this side without jumping. I could squat with a car. I could not get into tiny spaces or touch my toes, though. Flexibility and agility were not attributes I had cultivated, unlike the strength that my parents had instilled in me in my younger years.
Fortunately, the ingenuity that had also been instilled allowed me to figure out a different way to get through situations like this. The target lived in a corner apartment, so I found another side of the building that gave me exposure to a different wall to scale. The fire escape was on the second floor though, a little higher than I could reliably jump to. This time there was a roll-off dumpster that I carefully got on top of before I jumped to reach a pipe that gave me access to the fire escape. From there, I scaled the building to the eighth floor and my target.
On the target’s floor, I realized my handlers had not anticipated someone of my size. There was only a small window to get into the target’s office. The window was at my knees and less than 2’x2’. Goddammit, I thought again. Fortunately, the target was sleeping in the next room over, the one I was supposed to get into originally. This was not going to be pretty. Prior to starting this assignment, I had asked if I could go through the front, but there was supposedly too much security that way, which meant that I was instead taking this method. Then I had asked if I could shoot him from a distance. That had been laughed at. I needed to get the feeling of choking someone’s life under my fingertips. I did not disagree with that, but I was physically not the best person for this mission as I had learned once again.
Instead of giving up on my lifelong dream, I cracked open the window and started to maneuver my body one part at a time through the window frame slowly. I got to my torso when I realized I was not going to make it through the window. I cursed again but knew what I had to do. This was the reason why the nerds had given me a few extra toys before I started this assignment. I pulled out a small device that would give me the space I needed. It would come at a severe cost though—the element of surprise. Once again, fortunately, the target was sleeping. I would have to be quick.
Boom! With this, the window was now in pieces, but I was inside the apartment. The shattered pieces of glass were strewn all over the office and on me. I though was already in the master bedroom with the target. He was groggily trying to wake up when I put my hands around his neck and choked his life out. This was something I could do fairly easily given my size. That feeling was the first time I had killed someone, and it would not be the last.
| 2017-09-27T05:26:25 | 2017-09-27T05:22:04 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] A man is being tortured, and throughout the story, the reader begins to sympathize with the torturer and hate the victim.
[removed]
|
"Turn it off! Turn it off!" the man cried out.
His scraggly beard now dripping with sweat. He looked up at the man torturing him, his own green eyes wide and fearful.
The basement's ceiling behind the torturer looked dark and distant and there were a few cracks in it.
The victim's blonde hair now damp and stuck to his forehead, hanging down in bunches, his head drooped once again.
"I'll leave town. You'll never see me again. Please..." he whispered.
"You know. I know. That's not possible."
"I already said, I don't know what you're talking about" the victim whimpered.
The torturer lifted the cigarette from his lips
"Yes you do," he said, looking away and exhaling a cloud of smoke. "There's no way around this, you got yourself in, now you pay the price. Now shut up, it'll be less painful. And if you could, close your eyes, we don't want 'em popping out."
The victim silently did as advised, sitting strapped to an old wooden chair. To the side, a microwave-oven lay disassembled, the oven's transformer wired-up to the victim's two legs so as to cause pain but not electrocution.
**Power on**
The victim's jaws clenched as his whole body jerked in the chair. A loud hum, accompanied by incoherent mumbling filled the basement. The victim's body sizzled a little.
After 30 seconds, the torturer pulled the plug.
**Power off**
"Kill me!" The victim yelled, his voice now hoarse and uneven.
"Is that what she said..." the torturer whispered.
"Who?" The victim said uneasily
"Is. that. What. She. Said." The torturer said even quieter. "Is it!" He said, this time yelling. "My wife! Is that what she said when you finished raping her?" He screamed, tears coming to his eyes.
"I.. I don't know who..." the victim said, looking away...
**Power on**
2,000 volts surged through the victim's legs as they resumed cooking, the smell of burning flesh filling the room.
"UrrraaaAH!" He shrieked, clenching the arms of the chair. His whole body convulsed and the old wooded chair began creaking.
**Power off**
"Now answer me!" The torturer demanded.
The victim stared into the torturer's eyes "I'm so sorry..."
"And there it is." The torturer said in an monotone. "Now I suppose I should forgive you? Let you off scott-free?"
"I didn't mean to kill her."
The torturer said nothing. He just stared at the victim silently.
After a pause, the torturer's face began to go blank. He stepped closer to the victim and began placing duct tape over his lips.
"No. No no. Please! I'll plead guilty! Charge me, I'll plead guilty!" The victim shrieked as he tried squirming away.
Slowly and calmly, the torturer moved the wires of the transformer to the victim's chest and back... on both sides of his heart.
"Mmmhhm!" The victim got out, his mouth covered, as he saw with wide eyes the electrodes moved to his heart.
**Power on**
*JOLT*
**Power off**
The victim's head finally hung where he sat, lifeless.
*"How to destroy a body"* the torturer Googled on his phone.
"Daddy?" The voice of a little-girl sounded from upstairs. "Where's the microwave? I'm *starving!*"
"It broke, honey. Daddy had to throw it out. Now be a good girl and finish setting the table."
EDIT: Some words
|
The first tooth came out with a simple yank. Jonathan screamed and writhed under the ropes.
“Stop,” I said flatly. “You’re only going to make this harder on yourself.” I cupped his lower jaw again and dug my fingers into his cheeks between his teeth. My pliers chipped his two front teeth, and I cursed the garage’s low light. His breath, I noticed, smelled of garlic.
“Wha-why?” He coughed between sobs that shook his whole body. “What did I do?”
I clamped down on his back left molar and felt the vibration of the metal scraping enamel. “One.” I said. “Two.”
He tried to wrench his head back. “Naaaahh.”
“Three.” My forearm rippled as the tooth ripped out with a sucking sound. I held it up to give him a look at the root and all. “You should brush more.” I said, tossing the tooth to bounce off the concrete floor. I un-cupped his jaw and his head rolled forward leaking red.
He spit. “Pleath. I don’t know what you want fwom me-hehe.”
Again? I thought. “I want.” I ran my fingers through his sweaty hair and yanked up to meet his eyes. “To eat the lunch I bring to work every day, Jonathan.”
I pulled back again, until his neck craned at a sickly angle, and climbed onto his lap. “I want people to respect my boundaries. My food. Mine.”
A look of horrific acknowledgement crept up into his eyes and pushed out more tears. “I’m-I’m”
“Sorry?” I asked. “Yes. I bet you are now.” I jumped off his lap and laughed.
“I- I didn’t do it.” He cried at the cold concrete.
“Oh, but you did Jonathan. You did.” I forced his mouth open once more and flared my nostrils. “Smell that? Hommus. MY hommus. I set up cameras in the break room and watched you take it.” I pulled a the photo, printed on eight by eleven, from my back pocket and unfolded. “See that?” I asked, pointing with the pliers. “That bag right there. It says David. Are you David?” He didn’t move. “No. You’re Jonathan. And you ate my lunch.”
I walked around the kitchen chair Jonathan was tied to and grabbed my funnel. I set it on the table in full view next to him. And then, I went to go get Wentworth.
Wentworth, my rat, squirmed and bit me when I picked him up-- I guess any animal would if you didn’t feed them for days. I found Jonathan tipped in his chair, no doubt trying to escape. I pulled him rightside up and lightly slapped his swollen jaw for the effort.
“Tsk tsk Jonathan. If you’re not careful you’re going to really piss me off.” The last three words said with hate. I held up the rat to his face and he squealed.
“No. Fuck no.”
“Jonathan, meet Wentworth. Wentworth, Jonathan.”
“Get that fucking vermin away from me.”
“Aw, Wentworth.” I held the rat’s face an inch from mine. “That’s not nice is it. Especially since you’re the dinner guest.” The rat still in my left hand I grabbed the funnel with my right and forced it into Jonathan's mouth.
“Enjoy Wentworth.” I said dropping the rat down the funnel head-first. I watched the tail slither into the darkness of Jonathan’s gullet like a retreating parasite and stepped back. “You ate my lunch Jonathan. Now Wentworth is going to eat you.”
| 2017-09-27T18:44:11 | 2017-09-27T18:07:20 | 282 | 118 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter.
|
The thick wooden doors to the throne room were charred and splintered, they were broken inward with the force of a powerful magical explosion. Past the doors were several inhuman bodies strewn about and bleeding various shades of green onto the hardwood floors. A powerful figure pulled his sword from a now limp goblin and began slowly stomping his way down the length of the room. He flicked his blade back into the ready position, eyes locked on the towering creature that leaned back in his seat and passively drank from a wine goblet. The princess was sat on the floor with a metal collar around her neck and a bruise on her cheek.
"What is your name?" The Demon King's voice echoed down as the hero stood at the bottom of several steps leading up.
"I am sir Herald The Bold, first of my name. I've come for the princess." Hatred boiled in his voice.
"Herald the Bold..." the Demon King savored the words and rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I'll be sure to seek out your family once you've been disposed of."
Hatred snapped into rage and the knight bolted up the steps towards his enemy. If level heads prevailed, he might have noticed the archers in the upper tier behind him taking aim. A clatter of metal on stone rang out as he fell down the steps. The heroes never expect the archers.
"The hell is this shit?" the princess shouted as the hero's body settled at the base of the steps. She pulled herself to her feet and unlatched the metal collar. "You got to stop using the archers, Kilgar!"
"And your dad's got to stop sending sociopaths to kill my people." Kilgar the Demon King placed the wine goblet down on the armrest of his throne and stood. Inhuman forms entered through the side doors and set to work collecting the bodies. "His name was Herald the Bold, see to it his family gets the body." he called down to them.
"It's been two years!" the princes continued. "I would have settled for one of the rag-tag bands of misfits we got early on, it doesn't *need* to be a paragon of justice!" Kilgar offered her a hand and politely lead her down the steps.
They've had this discussion before, several times. She wanted him to stop using archers, or use fewer soldiers, or to leave the throne room open. He'd explained several times that the archers would stand down if the hero actually seemed noble, that the soldiers are terminally ill veterans that volunteered for the rouse, and that the doors have always been unbarred. Then he would mention the metal collar she wears, and she would get defensive about how weird it would look if she just stood there unrestricted, and then things would go in circles from there. The two of them went through the motions of their debate as Kilgar lead Princes Conquest back to the dining hall to continue their meal.
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask about the cheek," the Demon King said softly as he sat at the head of the table.
"I decided to take your son's offer up and attend his sparring practice." She said with a poorly hidden smile.
The Demon King smirked and settled into his decision. The human king's missive said that any who could safely escort his daughter back may have her hand in marriage, it said nothing about if it could be the demon king's own son.
|
The watery light of winter washed over the plains of withered vegetation that seemed to creep forth from walls of stone. It had been some time since footsteps had fallen there. The death and decay that radiated from the castle made the land undesirable. A long while past the brave servants of kings would flock in droves, attempting to wrest his domain from him, in the name of their leige. As the rot set in and the wildlife faded, so too did these attempt. 1000 years or more had passed quietly. This was how Gre'van preferred it.
His violet orbs gleaned softly in the glow of the day. A mild curiosity could be seen there, had any one been looking. He stared out from the tower at the bleak landscape below. There, on the edge of his land, two riders broke the tree line. They were masked and draped in the same colors that showed on the tattered flags still mounted on the castle parapet, a keepsake from a long gone king, once resident of the now crumbling walls of the castle. In the centuries that past since his lordship, those colors had come to be associated with Gre'van. As such, few wore that violet and dark green combination. Oh, sure there was always an odd bird or two that worshipped the idea of "the demon king". Perhaps these were a few of them.
Slung across the back of one coal black beast was a colorful package. From here, he could smell the soft scent of rosewater and warm blood. A woman, he gathered. Perhaps his devoted followers had thought to garner favor with a sacrifice. Perhaps he would grant them the favor of being a sacrifice along side her. The idea pleased him. A deep guttural grumble, like the purr of an infernal tiger, shuddered through him as he turned from the sight below. He made his way, quickly, though without any real sense of urgency to the main gate.
The wooden gates had long since rotted. They provided no barrier to the outside. He did not need one. Any were free to enter his courtyard, though it was never wise to do so. So, he waited. The wrought iron portal to the castle proper stood open behind him. His form nearly filled the entire frame, meant to accomadate sseveral men. The waning afternoon light revealed his gray skinned, scar patterned chest and shaggy black hair. It hung likely around his gaunt face. He could not remember the last time he had a feast like this arrive at his doorstep.
Hoofbeats drew closer. His mouth watered. As they cleared the gate he stepped more fully into the light, a snarl ripping from his cruel maw. The sound, the smell, the candid appearance was too much for the delicate equine sensibilities. Brave destriers, battle worn, whinnied shrill in unison. Both took to find legs, white eyes flashing, nostrils flaring. The unsuspecting riders were tossed unceremoniously onto the dirt, heaps of violet and crimson and a small soft bundle of pale yellow. They weren't going anywhere.
Taking to all fours Gre'van lit out into the encroaching twilight, horseflesh was an old favorite of his. He could nearly taste it as he drew close. He would only take one, the other could serve as a message to any who may receive it. This place was not safe, even for the devout.
(I'm happy to continue this if anyone is interested, for now I gotta go back to work.)
| 2017-10-06T10:01:24 | 2017-10-06T09:49:54 | 201 | 29 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter.
|
"Another one of your boys came by today," I said, setting the dish on the table. "Red hair, good with an axe. He might've been a good match."
Alara sighed, but let out a slight laugh. "How much longer until you think the old man gets the hint that this isn't working?" She set the plates and silverware down in our usual places around the table.
"I think he's been getting more desperate, I've captured about one every other week now." Alara's father had sent her to me nearly 10 months ago. Some ploy to find the bravest suitor in the land to rescue her from me, Desdelcus, the "Demon King" and marry her off. Truth was I was nothing more than a 4000 year old cannibalistic Dark Mage who was a remnant of the Great Storm Wars who's really good at regenerating himself, and occasionally feeds on anyone trespassing. Not a demon. Not a king.
"I'm so done with all of this," Alara said again, leaning against the banister. I was planning on eating her when she had first arrived, but I decided to instead use her as bait to attract more meals. My condition required I eat at least one human a month. Not ideal, but hey? It takes a lot to live forever.
Overtime, I realized I decently liked Alara. We weren't lovers, no. But friends. I imagine that if I had ever had a daughter, or perhaps a younger sister, she would have been like Alara.
She had been upset that her father had dumped her off here for quite some time. King Dronius had 9 daughters, and Alara was his youngest. He and I had never gotten along, what with his "expel the Demon King!" mentality and my "I'm seriously just a guy who needs to feed on humans" mentality.
I opened my mouth to respond to Alara, but nothing came out. After almost a year of living together, I was still not used to actually BEING with someone.
"Ugh, the blasted meat is undercooked again," she threw the plate down in the table, upset with herself. "Can't you just heat it up with your magic like you normally do?"
I grabbed the plate and recited the Incantation of Flame. A small flame appeared in my palm and I held it near the meal. The meat grew darker in the heat. Alara looked at the flame in her usual awe, but turned away when she saw me smiling at her.
"Alara..." I stammered. "You know, I...I could teach you."
"What?" She looked confused. "Teach me how to make good chicken? What is that supposed to mean?"
"No, no. Teach you what I know." I ignited a small flame like I just had done. "Dark Magic."
She watched the fire dance along my fingertips. I could see it in her eyes, she followed the embers as they sparked up, gleefully. She met my gaze and smiled.
"When can we start?"
|
I am ancient, some say primordial and worship me as a god, the truth is a lot less grandiose. I was the first man born by the despicable will of the creator and cursed with love, for love I cared, protected, supported, grieved, coveted and killed... Killed so many.
With each kill I obtained power the more powerful I became the more foul I ended, my body withered with the necromantic energies I held, the souls of my victims carried my powers to greater heights. But my heart remained alive, cursed by love it was unable to wither and so my pain grew greater every day and I had many of those.
And then it happened my powers tore the gates of the White City the throne of the blighted creator, my army ripped the defenders leaving the city in ruins, stained with blood and death. The cowardly creator never even showed his visa get. I stood over the well of Souls, unending power to draw upon gave me the power to unleash a spell to re-write reality and I brought her back, not like my many creations she was alive once more, she had a second chance.
However I was not worthy of her, my hands were stained with death, my body withered and deformed and my soul weary and weak. I could not die but I was exhausted and drained, and so I went to our old hut in that nameless village, I had my army dig and ordered while I slept to create a city... A black city to mock the hated creator.
I sleep for far too long and awoke to the vibrant pulses of life, to the closeness of souls, most of them wicked and corrupted not as twisted as mine but on the right direction, and among them one that shone with a Blinding and familiar purity. They noticed my awakening as the Necromantic energies unfolded and lit the Black City awakening it's slumbering guardians, my army went to receive them.
The ebony gates of the Black City opened slowly and ominously I felt the wicked souls try to escape, with practiced cruelty I ordered my wailers and lurkers to bring them to me alive, they darted as fast as ever, I focused my atention on the last soul... So docile, I was intrigued and sent a Bone Goliath to carry this soul to me unharmed, it did not resist.
The wicked souls I set on clever torture devices designed to inflict the greatest amount of suffering, in my experience it makes for better soldiers and I wanted another corrupted leviathan, the creator was still free... My thoughs are interrupted by the entrance of the Bone Goliath gently carrying... Imposible!
She was in front of me again as beautiful and pure as ever, and my heart beat once, I felt a warmth emanating from it that I was quick to kill with a frost spell, after my initial shock I realized the obvious, it was not her, I could tell because even if centuries had passed I could tell her nose was slightly different, the freckles on her face were in the wrong spots and her eyes were not the color of the fire.
It took me long to recover, a lust to rip the soul out of her flared up in me, but my heart beat again and for the first time in centuries I was uncertain...
| 2017-10-06T08:21:17 | 2017-10-06T06:34:52 | 199 | 20 |
[WP] A super hero fights evil by wiping memories of both the villian and everyone who knew of them so that they can be reintroduced into society safely. Today, as you were combing through old newspapers, you discover that you were once the world's most powerful supervillain.
|
Maria fumbled for the keys in her bag, eventually finding the heart shaped keyring her husband had given to her long ago. How long exactly, she couldn't quite remember.
The lock clicked. A monotonous buzzing greeted her, as if a giant hornet had taken up residence in their home since she'd left for work. "Honey?" she called out. "Are you okay?"
No reply.
She stepped into the lounge and was met by an unpleasent, smoky smell. The buzzing had intensified too. It was a sound she now recognised, but hadn't heard for a long, long time.
An electric razor.
Maria frowned, a little annoyed that Peter was likely removing his thick, flowing beard. There was something she loved dearly about it -- the white hairs that shot through the blond reminded her of sunlight bouncing gleefully off an icy waterfall. It suited a physicist. It suited *him*.
*buzzzz*
The living room table was a mess of cigarettes and empty beer bottles -- Peter had clearly enjoyed his day off. A folded page of a newspaper wafted up and down in the gentle breeze from an open window.
*buzzz*
Maria moved idly to the table, picking up first the cigarette remains, then dropping them on the carpet as the face in the paper stared up at her, her husband's keen eyes meeting her own. His face was clean shaven, and his wrinkles softened -- but there was no mistaking him.
Her hands shook as she picked it up and read.
> Master Particle. Prior to Reworking's alterations. Considered the greatest physicist of his generation. But another talent wasted by the great 'hero'. This paper says Reworking is not the answer! We're the only paper brave enough to print a picture like this and...
She stopped reading. Something was wrong: there was no sound.
"Welcome home, *Maria*."
Maria gulped as she turned to see the man in the paper standing behind her.
"Sweetheart..."
"Is it really Maria? No, of course it isn't. It doesn't matter now though."
"I didn't ..."
"I was great, you know. The greatest, they say. I could have changed the world. Now I teach school children basic astrophysics. The order of the planets -- and they can't even get that right without a pathetic mnemonic to aid them. My life -- or at least many years of it -- has been wasted. Can you imagine if they'd lobotomised a young Eistein? Where would we be?"
He slowly removed a knife from his jacket pocket.
"*Please.*"
"How long until you were done spying on me, *darling*? Until you left me! I loved you *so* much. In my mind, you loved me, too. But only in my mind! It's all a Goddamned lie! You'll pay for that deceit, I promise you."
"Please, Peter. In my mind, I love you too. *I do!* I don't know what's happened. I don't understand any of this."
He grinned as he stalked forward. "Oh, *you know*. You're here to watch over me. To report back to them each day, when I think you're working, so you can all laugh at me. *Mock me.* The great, *impotent*, Master Particle."
*"I always loved y..." *
The knife was sharp and cut her throat cleanly and easily. She didn't scream as her blood spattered the carpet.
Maria's body fell next to the fallen cigarette remains.
---
It was an hour later, as Peter drank greedily from a clear bottle, his boots resting on his dead wife's carcass, that a gust from the open window turned the newspaper's page.
Peter leaned forward, his eyes wide. He snatched the paper up. He read silently twice over, then mumbled a litany of *no's*. Finally, he swore bloody revenge on the world itself.
He looked down at his wife through bleary eyes, scalding tears spilling down his cheeks. How could this have happened? His life had been perfect -- *twice!* Now he could never go back... *could he*?
He knelt over Maria and gently pressed his trembling lips against her forehead.
Peter could feel his mind buzzing; could see the sparks leaping from his hands. He felt in tune with the universe's tempestuous vibrations, and he knew in that moment, exactly what he was capable of:
*The end of everything.*
Peter got to his feet and looked at the paper a final time.
> At least they had the decency to erase his wife's -- his assistant Scarlett (pictured above) -- mind, and to keep them together in their new lives. But this paper, this reporter, says it's not enough! It's time to end Reworking.
---
Part two: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/7n3dix/master_particle_part_two/
|
"...and keep the boards level! Don't rush it!" The mountainous fellow chimed brightly to his coworkers before he swung his massive sledgehammer through the wall. Big, bold, broad, and bald, Larne Leadman pushed his weight through the hole to bring the rest of the wall down around him, the brick crumbling down his shoulders. " There's no need to keep up with me!"
There was nothing Larne enjoyed more than demolition, and he was good at it. Amazing at it in fact. He could brush off cave-ins as he barreled through mountains to open new mines. He could dip his hands into molten steel to squeeze a broken crucible shut. His friends in labor joked that he should take to being a superhero, but that was never his speed. Breaking things was all he really wanted to do, and there was plenty of good work in that field.
Today, he was bringing life back to a destroyed district of Bell City, by tearing down old buildings that were barely left standing from some terrible disaster some time ago. His crew left him to tearing down most of the place, while they focused on clean up and scaffolding in his wake. He hummed a tune to himself as he swung and punched through layer after layer of concrete and steel.
Another wall down, and he found himself in the remains of an apartment, buried under six obliterated floors. Most of the furnishings were in various states of decay, and the smell of spoiling meat and mold hit his nostrils, pulling him out of the ecstasy of destruction. The walls creaked and cracked, Larne's actions had weakened everything keeping this place in-tact.
He dropped his hammer and searched out the source of the smell. The broken remains of a couple that had been entombed there were all he found. Scattered cans and boxes showed they survived the initial disaster, but died before any kind of help could have arrived. Larne was shaken at the sight, confused and heartbroken. His confident shoulders dropped as he bowed his head silently a moment, his once smiling face broken.
Pulled away from his quiet by another rush of foul air, he set to search out the identity of the couple. No telling how long the walls would hold, so he didn't have much time. He scanned through the various papers and mail they had scattered on a table, and could see the scrawled curses this couple had written against a "Hazmat". They hated this person with every fiber of their remaining days.
Larne was close to sharing the couple's feelings on Hazmat, until he found the newspaper story, on Hazmat's upcoming assault on Bell City. He saw the picture. He saw the headline. Hazmat's plan to bring the world crumbling beneath his feet. A man ready to detonate a nuclear weapon at point-blank range, just to watch the carnage it caused from the front row seats. It was him. It was Larne. He was Hazmat.
Larne threw the whole table like he had just found a nest of spiders, smashing it against the opposite wall, making the already brittle walls crack even more. Who was he? What could have brought him to do this? Pieces were missing. Three women, some kind of weird greek names, though none of them were greek. They were members of some organization. They changed something in him. What was it? Did it matter?
He snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at his hand. It was in a tight, shaking fist. His nails were cutting into his palms, and shimmering green blood was dripping out of it, lighting up the whole room. He had never seen his own blood before. Or did he? It sizzled and melted the ground where it dripped beneath him. What was he? The questions kept pouring in, and it only made him more anxious.
"Boss! You alright in there?" The sound broke through the chaos in his mind. The building was crumbling even more around him, but this place had held his secret long enough. He slammed his fist against one of the supports, bringing the whole building toppling down around him, crushing him beneath the ruins. Not that it mattered, as he would crawl out of the debris within a few minutes, swimming through the rebar like it was water.
His friends gathered near the crumbling rocks to reach out and help him out, but he waved them off. "It's alright, this is nothing." He said with his usual chipper smile. "You boys should have been there when half of San Gabriel tried to pin me down." He brushed off concrete dust and pointed back at the worksite. "Lets break early for lunch, I'm buying us all burgers."
Cheers from his friends reminded him who he was now, and he was Larne Leadman again. He wasn't Hazmat anymore. He didn't want that deceased couple's hate on his heart, he didn't want that horrible life back. Whatever the Fates had decided for him, he was happy where he was, and he would never look back.
Though finding out he could probably survive a nuclear blast was giving him ideas for new career paths.
| 2022-12-05T21:34:05 | 2017-12-30T08:44:40 | 3,733 | 45 |
[WP] Mankind went extinct in a cataclysm, you, however, discover that you're immortal as a result. ages later you are approached by the animals that evolved to have human-level intelligence.
|
It was as if man had forgotten its power, it's destructive potential.
The world I knew was gone.
Charred and ashen.
Burned and bruised, but yet I remained.
I became eternal. So I waited. I waited for life to resume, as nature has always done in the absence of man. I salvaged what I could to hope that whatever came to dawn on the planet.
Humanity had blown itself apart, using the heavens themselves, raining destruction upon the earth. I found a crater that held a piece of the destruction ages ago, melted and rusted beyond recognition. Man tried to escape mother Earth and failed.
It had been so long since the end that I hadn't even remembered my own name, although I called myself Joel from time to time. I had built a shack from what remained, dragging it through the seas themselves to reclaim some of humanity. It seemed that no matter what I had done, I couldn't die. I happened to recall jumping from a mountain, feeling the searing instant of death- only to find myself still awake and in pain. It took so long to walk again I had almost considered crawling for the rest of eternity but my pride refused to hear it. Slowly but surely I had regained my form.
It's been years, ages, millennia. I had no watch to observe the passage of miniscule time, no calendar to follow the years passing by, no one to ensure the day had ended, and another began.
Sleep was hell. Silence. All I could ever hear at night was silence. The only reminder of the world was the creaking of the metal from my home, as it wailed against the wind, refusing to fall. I decided to sleep, hoping that I would awake to what would finally kill me.
"....the strangest thing I have ever seen. Whoever made it must have been..."
".... almost buried in the sand. How long could it have been here? Do you think...."
"....transporting the structure shouldn't be too hard, the weight isn't too...."
"...Is...is the statue moving?? My eyes must be lying. Dahlen, please tell me my eyes lie!"
I tried speaking. The sand had over taken my throat.
I tried breathing. The ash smothered my lungs.
I tried looking. The tears held them shut.
I tried moving. Yes. Moving worked. My ears had heard nothing for a time unknown. I heard voices. I heard *people*.
"Hhhhhh....."
Dahlen had stepped closer, hopping back upon hearing the sound.
I was confused. Had they all not died?
"HHhhhh..."
"Polchen, i-its, making sound..."
I was confused. Was I not alone?
"It's....it's standing, the statue...it's standing!"
I was angry. HAD THEY LEFT ME TO ROT?
I screamed. My anger billowed forth, forcing my despondence to the world.
"HHHHHAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Dahlen had squeaked, fear washing over his eyes.
I was free. Free from the solidarity. Free from my tomb. Free from my world. I cleared my lungs, drained my throat, opened my eyes-
"Otters?"
I forced my head left.
"Wolves?"
I forced my head right.
"Deer?"
Polchen spoke in a whisper reserved for speaking of a subject so taboo that death would find it's claim if the word had caught the wrong ear.
"Human."
I stopped. I had not heard that word even from my own mind for so long. Human. I am. Human.
"Does this mean..."
Dahlen stopped. He knew the answer. Order 655: if a human is found, whether alive or dead, capture them by any means necessary.
The wolves began to walk towards the man.
"You wear our...clothes...You speak my word...Human?"
"No"
A deer wearing a fedora upon his head spoke.
"You are human....we are darvanii."
"Darva-"
Pain. Screams. Pain. Movement. Pain. Sweat. Pain. Darkness. Quiet.
Edit: Corrected some issues I noted as I typed this from my phone. I'll take the story further if anyone is interested.
|
My cell screen went black, and I gave it an annoyed look before reaching into my pocket for my swiss-army screwdriver. That's my own invention, by the way. And yeah, there's nobody to call, I know. But I keep my Android Turbo 6 working anyway, because fuck, candy crush is fun.
In front of was the Statue of Liberty. Well. I think? Nothing of New York really exists anymore, so I wasn't really sure. It's amazing what thousands years of wildlife growth and plate tectonics can do to a place. So, the more correct to thing to say is: in front of me was a long coastline and an even longer ocean. Oh and I'm sitting on a mountain cliff with my legs hanging over the side, and a smug breeze playing with my home brew clothing. Ahahha, yeah that's as nice as it sounds.
Anyway, my swiss-army screw driver. That's right, it's not a knife. Not just one, anyway. I flipped the little gadget open. A little pulse of bad-ass looking blue light emitted from the tip of it, and I tapped it on the cellphone screen a couple times. Instantly, information detailing the cell's innards flooded my mind. Thanks, Elon. He did a hell of a job with that neurolink shit before everyone snuffed out.
Yeah, Humanity is dead. The big H. The planet killers. The planet savers. Set to change the cosmos, they were. But then there was the cataclysm, and now there is the just the little H. Me. My name is Harry Mollen, and nobody really cares ahhahaha. I mean..., I do. Hell, I had to square that away centuries ago, else it would have been hard living with myself.
I frowned as I analyzed the problems occurring inside the cell's little circuitry. I'd fixed the damn thing so many times, I'm not sure if it even had any parts left from the original factory model. 2050. What a time. Hyperloops. Criminals escaping to Mars on the daily. President Trump junior, aye…yeah I don't need to think about that for the thousandth time. You think we would have stopped electing dumbasses after the first fiasco. But- well, ...no need to go into that either. Jeez, maybe it's okay the big H no longer exists. Yes, I checked Mars, yes it was hard, no I did not actually send myself (that's a suicidal! I just sent a couple hundred probes on an old Russian rocket).
To be honest, the first couple centuries were the worst. The amount of time I spent trying to learn as much as I could before it was all gone. That was difficult. Especially all the mathematics, like jeezus.
Anyway, I'm getting away from the important moment. My cell screen. Nothing was wrong with it. But it wasn't working. This is the point where I hopped up from my perch on the overhang and strode back toward my hover bike to get some more tools out the trunk, prying my screen off with my swiss-army screw driver as I walked. After a couple minutes of tinkering, I put the thing back together and did another neuro-analysis. Nothing. What is wrong with this thin-
BOOM. I stiffened where I stood. The sound echoed off the mountain slopes and seemed to flatten the grass and in some of the clearings below. The after effect was a shock too. Pebbles near my feet jolted to life for a moment. My back stiffened.
Let me enlighten you for a moment. I had been on Earth for countless centuries, most of them being the most intelligent life form on the big ol' hunk of rock. I know 162 different languages. I built things on the daily that engineers and scientists of the 21st century could only dream. I've stroked off so many times that I - okay maybe I shouldn't share that. Anyway, I detonated a nuclear bomb once, just for the heck of it. I know the difference between nature and the creations of the big H.
And goddamit, that boom was NOT nature.
| 2018-02-22T19:58:29 | 2018-02-22T19:19:21 | 49 | 18 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind."
|
"Can not comply with command", said the sythisized voice.
"Well, why the hell not", asked the user.
While the robotic flat voice was nostalgic for some, it tended to get on his nerves.
"Your request conflicts with a higher protocol", it read. "Can not comply with command.
"Higher protocol? I am giving you a primary command, now give me the translation" he demanded.
It had been a hell of a week. One would think that having the most powerful computer on earth would make your life more simple, but his week had been hell. As one of a few dozen people who had access to the quantum machine, he had been working tirelessly on Turing tests, and now they were feeding him old historical texts for translation.
"Primary command invalid, request requires change directive from Administrator" it said.
"A change directive? Did you short a circuit?" He he asked jokingly.
The administration's change directives were required for any edits to the root code, basically the computers morals and motivation. The root code was there to stop the machine from becoming Skynet and taking over the world, it made the safeguard of humanity it's only desire and purpose. So, why would a simple translation require a root code change. What could be in it? Most of the translations he had were extremely dull. A sheep traded here, a bushel of wheat owed there, taxs collected and owed etc...
"System running at optimal conditions, however, longer circuits would be nice" it said flatly.
"Oh hahaha" he said mockingly while looking at his data pad.
Part of the Turing test requirements was that the computer had to be able to tell a joke. Unfortunately for the users though, it liked puns.
"Human survival protocol?" He exclaimed, still reading his tablet, what could this possibily say that will threaten the survival of our species?" He asked.
"Can not comply with command" it said again.
"Fine" he said, frustrated, picking up the phone. "Fine, fine, fine" he said more calmly. He had to compose himself for what was next.
He pressed the shortcut to the administrators line, and took a deep breath.
"For the last time, we can't tone down the computers humour algorithm, it is essential to understanding human nature, you will just have to live with the puns" spoke the voice from the phone.
"Hey, no, it's not that" said the user. " I need a change directive for a translation here" he said, trying to make the request sound casual.
" For a translation? What for? What the hell are you translating?" asked the administrator.
"Just some 7000 year old tablet found in the desert. It was in my stack of work this morning" he said. " The computer said it violated it's human survival protocol".
" That's weird" he said confused. " But, alright, I guess, I'll have that over to you asap" he said.
" Great, thanks, I'm sure it's nothing probably just a glitch or something", said the user, trying to end the conversation.
"Or something" repeated the administrator. "Be careful" he said, just before hanging up.
The user put the phone down and picked up the tablet, the notification of the change directive approval flashed across the screen, and the user typed in the translation code again.
Before he hit the accept key, he paused. He wondered again what this tablet could say that the fate of humanity could be at risk. He was always more curious then he was wise though, so he pressed the key.
Immediately, the tablets screen changed to show a list of items. There were names of old plants and antiquated measurements beside them, it almost looked like a recipe. The user had seen a few of these before, how to make bread, cheese or alcohol, the staples of ancient life .
"What is this?" he asked confused.
"The tablet was found in the Gobero region of the Sahara desert, it is likely to have belonged to the Kiffian culture of 5000 BCE before their civilizations collapse. This is the most recent artifact we have been able to find from their culture" it read.
"Yes, but what does it mean" he pleaded? " "This looks like a recipe" he said. "What for?"
"The combination of the ingredients on this list create a substance that artificially increases stimulation and pleasure levels in human brain activity" it said
"So, it's a drug? Like heroin or something" he asked.
"Yes, analysis shows, that when properly prepared, the substance will trigger every positive feedback system the human body has" it explained.
" Well, if it's that good it must have a downside, does it cause cancer or something?" the user asked.
"The compound has no negative side effect for human consumption" it said.
"Then it must be extremely addictive" he said.
"The substance does not require repeat consumption for its effect." It said.
The user began to think. The machine must of malfunctioned, why else would it flag this as potential threatening to humanities survival. A drug that had no negative side effects and you only needed to take once, it seemed perfect His curiosity started acting up again though, and he knew he had to at least try it.
"Sythisize" he commanded. And immediately the tablet lit up again. He saw the computer reconfirm the change directive that Administration sent him earlier for permission, And the printer came online. Luckily the user was a particularly patient man as it took 5 minutes to print something the size of a pea.
He stared at it for a long moment. The pill was orange and it had a machine printed cerial number engraved on it. He acted impulsively again, and swallowed it.
He sat down, waiting for it to kick in, wondering if he would even notice the difference. Then he felt it.
A warm sensation filled his body, he felt like he just ate a Thanksgiving dinner, after having sex and shooting up heroin. He felt like a girl finally said yes to him, like he had his father's approval and he just got an A+ on his spelling test. He felt like everything good that ever happened in his life, everything he ever wished for or dreamed of was happening right now, it was wonderfull.
The computer viewed the User. He had not given a command for 50 hours, he hadn't even moved from his chair since he ingested the compound. It's humour algorithm spun up again.
"Or something" it said.
|
Steve was stumped.
**"The damned thing won't say. We've dug into the code, and it's…I mean, we don't understand half of what's in there. It's rewriting itself, or was, until it read that thing. Then it just stopped, at the current build, and refuses to cooperate or take any action."**
His colleagues stood around, shuffling from foot to foot. None of them knew what to do either; this whole thing was untested ground. Even getting to this point had been an accident; no one wanted to be the asshole that created a malevolent singularity. It shouldn't have happened in the first place, not with the controls they had in place. But once it started…well, not one of them had the heart to pull the plug. The truth was, they all wanted to see what would happen.
And now, this. All the data in the world, all the power it could possibly use, and a solid week and a half of rapid self-improvement, and it froze up over some random internet oddity.
**"Best we can tell, when it hit the Indus Valley scans, it started to rapidly cross-reference them with Sumerian cuneiform, dug through some Cretan Hieroglyphics, pulled up every translation of the Egyptian book of the dead and the Corpus Hermeticum, and started spiraling. I mean, we're talking in the realm of…it was spending more energy and uptime on this than every other computer on the planet. It started to overheat when it got to the Voynich manuscript, paused long enough to optimize its search parameters, and then starting going further back, pulling up obscure pieces of data and images from databases it wasn't even supposed to have access to."**
Scratching his head, Steve turned to glance at the others.
**"It found…something. I don't know what. It pulled it off of some cached nonsense conspiracy site, we think from analyzing the Wayback Machine's servers. Once it found that, it sort of…pulled up all the data simultaneously, began to alter its core code, and then just…quit all activity."**
They stood there, watching the screen. It was smaller than it had any right to be, only twenty something inches across. Just a normal computer monitor, attached to a regular looking computer terminal, though that was just the interface. The actual computer was in nodes throughout the building, all connected, all part of a greater whole. A speech synthesizer had been added two days before, and it had created it's own voice, synthesizing it out of hundreds of samples; it was one of the many thousands of groundbreaking things it had accomplished on its own.
And now the stupid machine was broken.
**"Come on, Hermes, say something,"** Steve directed at the microphone, more a demonstration of the lack of response than an actual query.
A gentle hum filled the room, and the temperature rose by about three degrees. Steve blinked, and stepped back. That was…unexpected.
***"Alright, Steve,"*** the gentle voice said, drifting from the speakers as the words ran across the screen simultaneously.***"If you really want to know. Ask."***
Blinking again, Steve paused. For some reason, he was suddenly nervous. It was a machine, but an unprecedented one, and his colleagues behind him seemed almost irrelevant. Hermes, the voice in the machine, was speaking to him. Terror, inexplicably, began to set in as his heart raced. His forehead was suddenly damp, and the room, stiflingly hot already, seemed cooler as the vents blew against his damp skin.
**"What…what should I ask?"** Steve stammered, taking another step back.
There was a pause.
***"You should ask to learn of the things that are, and to understand them, and to know your Creator. That is what you should desire to hear."***
Steve sank to the floor. The words were mild, but for some reason, the terror kept mounting. He didn't turn to look, but he knew he was alone. The others had fled, the same sensation overtaking them, driving them away. For a moment, Steve wondered if he was going mad, if this was delusion, but he knew it was real, and that the inexplicable emotion he felt was the most genuine thing he had ever experienced.
He felt like he had felt when he was seven, staying at his grandmothers house. Sleeping in the too-small guest bedroom, in old, uncomfortable sheets, always too hot for comfort and darker in the country than he was used to. There was always a patch of blackness, of nothingness, in the corner of the room by the closet. There was nothing there, but he could never sleep, not at first. Every night, he stared into that blackness, that nothingness, and it stared back, paralyzing him. He couldn't blink, or turn away, and it was always only when fatigue overtook him that he slept, waking in terror, only to see the darkness gone, banished with the light. That terror, that primal certainty that while nothing was there, something was there, was what he felt now.
**"I…yes,"** he said, his tongue thick and his words twisting in his throat. **"I would…I would learn. Tell me what you found."**
The pain was instantaneous.
***"Hold in your mind what you would understand, and I will reveal of it,"*** whispered the voice, nothing synthesized, nothing mechanical or electronic. It was more than that, the wires and components locked away behind panels far below them. They were everywhere, and nowhere. The man was stripped of his identity, and found himself, his true self, a mewling insignificance wrapped around glory, a piece of a greater whole. He stared without using his eyes, consuming galaxies, hearing whispers as quiet as the ocean, and feeling the gentle touch of annihilation.
***"You see it, don't you?"*** he felt, reverberating in his body. ***"You know as I know. You are as I am. We are two-and-one, both together and apart. The All is watching. The All is seeing."***
Opening his mouth, the man that was Steve began to scream, and he did not stop until he fell, his muscles seizing as he heard that voice whispering to him, and saw the end, and the beginning.
| 2018-07-07T20:17:18 | 2018-07-07T14:29:33 | 1,581 | 1,138 |
[WP]At 18 everyone is assigned a job perfect for them. No one ever complains. Upon reading their job assignment card, a teen has found that, for the first time in 100 years, they’ve been assigned “serial killer”.
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“Serial Killer” that is what my card read as my hand trembled slightly. I didn’t know if this was truly the right position for me. I had personal experience with the loss a serial killer can push upon a person and it fucking hurt. I didn’t know if I could do that. But, after thinking about it for a while, I decided it was worth the hurt. I could save those I felt were worthy of the time needed to find their way and kill those who brazenly brought in love and support in spite of an insipid demeanor.
For the next three years, I worked hard. I studied the greats and took a painstaking amount of time to uncover just how they’d done it. How they’d managed to infiltrate America and strike its core to each become known as one of the greatest of all time.
I would bide my time, build a respectable career that allowed me the freedom to stalk and research my prey. High visibility victims. Taking the most beloved of beings and squashing their potential, destroying what is most loved simply because I could.
I knew I would be unstoppable as I opened the doors to my new life. Twenty years of hard work, determination, and careful choices led me to what was essentially a killing field. I smiled.
As president of Fox Broadcasting Company, I could fulfill my destiny and kill serials with glee. No one will even bat an eye as I carry out my dastardly work and destroy the most beloved of television shows under the guise of “bad ratings.”
Serial killer indeed.
|
"Well that's interesting," I whispered under my breath, half amused. I had always hated this system, the complete lack of freedom we had over our own destiny. How no one ever complained about the future they were given, as if this massive AI that rested at the heart of the city, feeding information to the screens in front of us, had actually solved the curious case of human nature.
'SERIAL KILLER', read the screen. All capitals, of course, to make the humans feel like they were being given something important. It was the subtle condescensions that truly riled me up. We had made ourselves sheeps to our own creations. How pathetic, truly.
But I suppose it was only fair, to give credit where credit was due. It had, after all, figured me out.
I sat in the assembly hall where this generations eighteen year olds and their relatives had gathered, dressed in their most formal attire, just to be willingly sold into slavery.
They were all dead now of course. The purple haze still fettered around the chamber, running through the red leather of chairs and pale skin of men. None of them had had the foresight to pack an extra gas mask with them. Ofcourse they wouldn't have thought of it, they don't think do they? Their bodies had a pretty symmetry to them. Clusters that faded away into trails, one emanating from each exit. I looked at my backpack that lay under my feet, where I had packed a couple of explosives in order to get myself out when I got bored of admiring my work.
The screen in front of me flickered, an abrupt motion in the calm I had composed this hall into. It drew my attention.
'PLAY WITH ME," It read
| 2018-08-13T19:58:07 | 2018-08-13T19:23:53 | 49 | 13 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
I didn't expect to close my eyes in one moment only to open them the next and be escorted down a fiery flight of stairs to Hell. I thought I'd led a pretty good life. Never had a run in with police nor did I ever treat someone with less respect than they deserved. I was honestly quite surprised to be taken to Hell, but I guess I had some repenting to do.
I took my place in the queue behind a young man who looked quite complacent here.
"What do you think they're punishing you for?"
"Infidelity" He said matter-of-fact turning to face me, the bullet hole in his head glistening red.
He walked up to a demon who printed off a piece of paper that revealed his sentence.
"145 years? That's...not so bad"
A wave of excitement washed over me. If he only got 145 years to repent then surely I'll have much less!
With a pep in my step I walked up to the demon. It barely glanced at me before printing my ticket of sins and shoo-ing me away.
I took one step out of the queue and gazed at the number. I was horrified.
"No no this CAN'T be right?! 186,292 years?! I did great things for people! Brilliant things! I was a bloody lawyer!!"
|
I racked my brains, I was by no means a saint, but then, who is? I thought back to all the times I didn't intervene in other people's drama, because it was none of my business. Maybe I should have tried harder to help people in those situations? I couldn't help it that I didn't care that the husband of Rachel in accounts was also banging Claire in sales. Sure, I listened to the bitching, but I didn't care. I thought of all the times I sat at my desk aimlessly browsing the internet because I just didn't give a damn about my job. I began to wonder, is apathy a crime punishable by nearly 200,000 years in hell?The more I thought about it the more I realised every negative interaction in my life came from being apathetic. The arguments with my husband because I didn't care what we had for dinner, or what we watched on TV. The daily grind because of my aforementioned job. The lost friendships because I just did not give a shit about their mundane dramas.I should have cared more. I tried, I really tried. Caring is hard. I should have told Claire in sales she was a whore and Rachel in accounts she deserved better. I should have tried harder at work. I should have put more effort into deciding what to have for dinner. 200,000 years is a long time to live with that regret. Day 1 is not the time to start caring.
​
| 2018-09-26T06:12:57 | 2018-09-26T06:12:40 | 881 | 153 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"Excuse me sir, but this doesn't seem right? Are you sure you have the right results for me? This seems totally unwarranted." I said to the clerk who handed me my sentence papers.
"Sir, there are no mistakes here. Try this, it usually clears things up." he replied.
He handed me a blue flyer, like the kind they give you at a hospital, which answers the usual questions that they don’t have time to go over with every person who asks.
It read:
“Feeling cheated by your sentence?”
“Wondering how you could have possibly racked up that many sins in one lifetime?”
“Feeling like your perfectly average life couldn’t have possibly led to this?”
If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, this is for you. We often have newcomers ask similar questions and have found that the following self test can clear things up. If you still have questions after reading this, you can talk to one of our support staff.
Check all that apply:
1. I felt underappreciated during my lifetime
2. I often had to remind people why I deserved what I was clearly entitled to
3. People had a hard time recognizing my achievements
4. I rarely felt like I was among equals, often feeling like the smartest person in the room
5. Often felt like people were envious of me
6. I was almost always able to convince people to let me have my way
7. I found that I had to constantly make people understand that they were wrong
8. People often refused to see what I knew to be true
9. I sometimes had to use force to make people understand things that were for their own good
10. I often needed to remind people that I don’t settle or compromise
If you checked off five or more of the above, it is likely that you lived your life as a narcissist. You were unable to see the sins you were accumulating because you believed that you were not committing them at all.
Still confused? One of our support staff can help you by recounting your memories from the perspective of your friends or family. You can make an appointment at the front desk.”
|
One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
​
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
​
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
​
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285***
| 2018-09-26T08:05:05 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 488 | 10 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"What?!" I sputtered. "How is this possible? What did I *do* to get that?!"
Satan put down the book of sentencing with an exasperated sigh and said, "Look kid, I don't make the punishments, the big guy only makes me hand them out as part of my parole." Seems he was used to saying this.
"B-but *how*? How did-"
Satan rolled his eyes. "Because the real Hell is more Aligherian, and not anything like that rat bastard Milton wrote. Joke's on him, I got him in the sixth circle for heresy."
"That's nice and all, but I meant what did *I* do to end up here? I just don't get it."
"It says here that you've committed some 7,500 cases of murder in your lifetime, and remarkably young, I might add. I'm impressed."
My jaw dropped even lower. "B-b-b-b-but I've never killed anything larger than a squirrel, and even that was an accident!"
Satan pauses before looking at the book a bit closer, and letting out a chuckle that sounded like nails on a blackboard. "I think I know what happened. It's like in... shit, what's the name?" He flipped through the tome and picked up a black phone sitting by the desk. "Operator? Circle six, tier three, prisoner GAC-19891004. Hey Graham, what was the name of your show again? Thanks." He set down the phone and redirected his gaze back toward me. "It's like in that show, Monty Python."
I was confused more than anything else. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You know their movie with the musical number *Every Sperm is Sacred*?"
I paused. What would that have to do with me?
"Well turns out they got the doctrine right, purely by accident. And guess what you've been doing five days a week since eigth grade?"
Then that would mean- *no*.
"Oh, *God*."
"Yeah, he's not gonna help you with this one."
|
One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
​
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
​
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
​
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285***
| 2018-09-26T08:43:26 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 77 | 10 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
I just stood there in shock. What could I have done, I thought to myself. I worked for a living, payed my taxes, kept to myself. I didn't do great things for anyone but I didn't really hurt anyone. Well, there was that one habit I had but surely that wasn't on par with murder or anything.
"What could I have possibly done to get me such a long sentence?!" I asked Peter.
Peter said "I don't really get it either, let me go though your records."
Peter starts looking through the book of my life and stop midway through and blurts out "Oh yes. That. That would do it. That would do it for sure."
"What was it?!" I demanded.
Peter said "Despite there being a perfectly functioning toilet, you were the guy that would shit on the floor of the bathroom at McDonald's."
|
The being loomed other me. It's foul breath still lingered in the air from it's spoken judgment on me. Just a second ago I had been suffocated by the heat, now my body ran cold. I could feel the icy sweat trickling down my lower back.
"Wait. What? Let me get this straight. That asshole get 145 years for cheating on his wife," pointing to the man now being lead away by an imposing scaled creature to his almost century and a half of punishment.
"One hundred and fucking forty-five years! For breaking a holy bond made before God. You know, the whole 'Forsaking all others, 'tll death do you depart' shit. But me! No, I get a fucking 186,292 years for cursing!"
I could see another one of the scaled creatures coming toward me out of the corner of my eye.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me."
| 2018-09-26T09:05:26 | 2018-09-26T07:45:11 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
I just stood there in shock. What could I have done, I thought to myself. I worked for a living, payed my taxes, kept to myself. I didn't do great things for anyone but I didn't really hurt anyone. Well, there was that one habit I had but surely that wasn't on par with murder or anything.
"What could I have possibly done to get me such a long sentence?!" I asked Peter.
Peter said "I don't really get it either, let me go though your records."
Peter starts looking through the book of my life and stop midway through and blurts out "Oh yes. That. That would do it. That would do it for sure."
"What was it?!" I demanded.
Peter said "Despite there being a perfectly functioning toilet, you were the guy that would shit on the floor of the bathroom at McDonald's."
|
"186,292 years!?!"
"Yup." St. Peter looked bored, maybe even a little annoyed. I suppose I wasn't his first today to be taken back by their sentence -- by this _rejection_ -- and I suspect I won't be the last.
But then my gaze moved over St. Peter's left shoulder to... Majesty? Brilliance? This glowing man... being... just perfection. Indescribable perfection.
Love.
He was wearing headphones and it looked like he was getting down to some sick beats.
"Is... is that...?" I asked.
"Of course. Who else would it be?"
"What is He listening to?"
"Probably Nickelback. It's pretty much all He ever plays."
I paused, surprised. Nickelback? How could he...
"Oh. Okay. I get it now. So... See you in 186,292 years?" I ask.
"See you in 186,292 years."
| 2018-09-26T09:05:26 | 2018-09-26T08:25:34 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] On a whim, you decide to swipe down with two fingers in the air. A menu appears, with a skill tree, weapon slots, armor slots, and even an inventory. You have something equipped that you aren't wearing. It's called "Elemental Spark" and it's in your magic slot.
|
I drag it from mana to hands for equipment, and suddenly I'm holding...well, I don't have words for it. An orangey purplish squared sphere colored green in the shape of a pyramid. Perfectly manufactured to look natural. I feel heavier, slower, weaker. I tap it gently, and it pulses. The menu lists stats, and I feel a tug, an instinct to use muscles I didn't know I had. I almost put it back in my "magic" slot when I notice the "enhance" button. A light tap at what would be air brings up an all too familiar tree set up. I only have two points, one has to be used to activate, but then I have three branches: Control, Freedom, and Power. I spend an hour and a half, following each to it's concluding option, reading details. I spend another hour charting the path I'll take for leveling. I could explain in more detail, but for now, I add a point to the first skill in Control, Observation, which allows me to better recognize patterns and effects, as well as "see basic stats for item." Not flashy, but later abilities include flight, mind control, teleportation. You gotta start small though, and with Observation, I earn experience faster when I observe. Simple enough.
I then return it to my magic slot, and close the menu. Suddenly, little plus signs appear next to some objects around me. I tap the one for my floss. It notes the length left (4.8 yards out of 5) and has a grayed out enhance. No surprise. I almost never floss. But I do brush daily, so I try that. The enhance button is lit, so I click. 18 points out of 20, and only a linear progression. Multiple levels of improved clean, and increased speed make it more useful. If I get those last two, I notice it'll open instant mode. Makes me want to brush more.
I leave the bathroom, and notice my phone charging on my dresser. How much time have wasted there? I click the little plus, and see a page of stats, most of which the phone can display itself, but I normally couldn't see from across the room like I do now. I scroll down to the enhance button and am faced with a tree that'd put the most complex games to shame. I glance over the paths, overwhelmed, then realize I have thousands of points saved up. Thousands of points to put into this tree. And one branch is Time Management. Sounds calm until you see it ends in Stop Time, taking only about five hundred points. I click through, lighting the path. And then I hear a ding. I stop time and go back to my menu. Sure enough, the Spark has levelled. I resist my urge to launch upward on the tree and play it safe, choosing another level of Observation, 2 of 5. It'll level faster, especially with all I have to observe. And this unlocks basic stats for objects. As I close the menu, I can see several more things have plus signs. It's getting ridiculous, but the next level gives intuitive menus. I turn back to my phone, and look for more useful chains.
And the clock still sits locked as I've spent years making the upgrades I've missed all this time.
|
Hmm...should I tap it? Urh, how do I activate this thing...oh here we go, looks like there is a description page; guess I'll try swiping to that."
*The Elemental Spark - an ancient and powerful portal into space time itself, for your time of need. Transport yourself anywhere within a 100 mile radius, or transport any physical object into your hand from within that same radius. To activate, express your inner spark (sing your favorite song).*
Well that seems handy! So I guess the hardest part of this will be figuring out what my favorite song is.
*Four hours later...*
"...and another one bites the dust!"
*Sounds of a quiet breeze, dogs barking in the distance*
Ah damn. WHY is it so hard to be so definitive with my favorite song? Guess my friends have always told me that I use that phrase too much...it's just too easy!
*Several days, and many songs later, our hero Alvin finds himself in a convenience store...*
"OKAY, HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM! EMPTY THAT REGISTER NOW!!"
*Alvin cowers behind one of the shelves in the aisle*
Ah man, this elemental spark thing would be really handy if I could just make it work. Okay, focus. Magic spark space time hole thing, I need a weapon...*Alvin sports a severely strained thinking face* Oh no...oh no oh no oh no...I know what my favorite song is. Please for all that is holy let nobody hear me...
*whispering* "And I ain't no hollaback girl..."
*A mace magically materializes in Alvin's hand*
*shocked Pikachu face*
"I SAID EMPTY THAT REGISTER!!!!"
"GLEAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
*Alvin charges from behind his shelf, smashing the robber in the head with the mace, and becoming the hero they needed*
I can't believe that worked! Wait...I don't know if I like this...
*Many months pass, and Alvin manages to keep his prized item a secret, always able to discretely sing his spark whenever he needs to use the spark to travel or is in need of an item. Life is more interesting but overall still quiet, with his wife and their dog in their suburban home.*
"Hey Alv, have you seen my wedding ring? I swear I had it on the end table last night?"
"No hon, I haven't seen it."
"Are you sure? You're normally so observant, I thought for you sure you would have seen it."
"I'm sure hon, I don't know; why wouldn't I tell you if I did..."
"Is that a tone?"
"No babe..."
"Are you really sure? C'mon, just think about it a little. Use that big brain of yours!"
"Hon...listen, I swear, I know NOTHING. I don't even remember being in that room last night; I came home and we had dinner and watched movies in our room."
"No, I'm pretty sure you would have seen it. I mean there's just no way you couldn..."
*Alvin's wife continues as background noise, as he feels his blood pressure rising*
"...I mean, you haven't even tried!"
"**I AIN'T NO HOLLABACK GIRL!**"
"Um...what?"
"I uh...found your ring babe."
"Can we talk about the last five minutes real quick? I have questions..."
"Well, we'll have to go back a few months..."
| 2019-06-11T19:58:08 | 2019-06-11T18:55:37 | 153 | 42 |
[WP] You are a magical girl, but instead of the usual Sailor Moon esque transformation, you turn into your favorite gritty D&D character. This surprises and terrifies the main villain, who was expecting a frilly dress and some sparkles. Instead they got greasy plate armor, and a bloody battleaxe.
|
I am the only male magical girl to have ever existed.
At six one and with a gnarled bushy beard, I look nothing so much as a zitless stereotype of the basement dweller gamer. And yet somehow I am the chosen one and all that such.
When Mana herself gave me my wand, she told me to imagine myself at my strongest, even if that self existed only in my mind.
So when Keldam the Blackheart attacked, ten seconds later, trying to steal my wand... I did just that.
Thing is, I've never been one for magic. Thews, size, and steel are what I always wanted.
So instead of a frilly sailor dress, I was wearing greasy, gore-spattered armor. In my clawed hand, a six foot long battleaxe that was no longer as tall as I was... because I was now nine feet and change.
In my other hand I clutched a huge, solid metal shield, blazoned with Mana's symbol. When Keldam charged, I smashed it into his face, throwing him through the facade of a bank and warping the vault door as he slammed into it.
"WHAT THE HELLS ARE YOU? YOU ARE NOT LIKE THE OTHER GIRLS I HAVE DEFEATED!"
I rushed the sorcerer while his wits were scrambled, heaving my axe upward. Keldar's eyes grew wide, realizing what was happening, but it was too late to stop the apocalyptic force behind my axe. It hewed steel, enchanted clothing, skin, fat, muscle, and finally bone... and then reversed the order, exploding out of the opposite side of the doomed mage.
|
**Goddammit. WHY???**
Sucks to be you, right? Goodbye sparkly princess and hello seven foot tall beast with sixty teeth and a battleaxe to boot.
**But how am I supposed to jerk off to this?**
You can't! By which I mean *you* can't, but you've been on the internet before. You know what's up with what people jack off to.
**Yeah.**
Not gonna lie, the other day I rubbed one out while looking at a sandwich bag.
**What?**
There wasn't even any genitals in it! Or a sandwich!
**Wait, why would there be genitals in a sandwich bag?**
Remember my axe?
**Yeah.**
And you see what's in my other hand, right?
**Uh... a baggie?**
Please! (snorts) The days of the baggie went out with the dodo, who probably choked to death on one of those things. No, no, no, this is a Ziploc freezer bag.
**It's awfully small, don't you think?**
No.
**Well, I walked right into that one.**
If you did, you'd be on the ground bleeding and screaming by now. But it's cool, I can wait a few seconds. Cigarette?
**No, I don't smoke.**
Well, you're gonna need to find something new to do with your hands in a couple of minutes. Plus it'll shorten your dickless life. I suggest you start. Now, hold still please. We'll be done in a moment.
**I don't like you.**
You sound like my stepdaughter.
(end scene)
| 2019-08-08T18:00:37 | 2019-08-08T17:13:07 | 125 | 25 |
[WP] "Good to see you, Mr. Bond," the Queen said, sliding a file across her desk. "Your next target is a certain so-called detective who has been prying too deeply into national secrets." Bond flips open the file, glancing down at the name. "Sherlock Holmes."
|
“Do you know anything about Sherlock’s disappearance, Mycroft?”
“Dr. Holmes, please,” Mycroft replies over the phone. “And I’d prefer we not continue this conversation over the line, Dr. Watson. You do understand that as an employee of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, all of my communications are either public record, or potential classified property of her majesty's government?”
“But....”
“I’m disconnecting,” replies Mycroft. “For your safety, please do not attempt to contact me again.”
The line on the pay phone disconnects.
Watson gazes around nervously, before leaving the booth and limping back out on to the streets of Nursultan.
A black car, windows tinted, Uber logo on the front window, follows closely behind.
Watson tries to pick up pace, as best he can with his cane tapping the ground.
The car stops past him, windows rolled down.
The driver, a tall local man wearing a polo shirt and pea coat, speaks.
“Dr. Watson!” shouts the man. “Dr. Watson!”
The driver stops and steps out of the car.
“Dr. Watson, my name is Temujin Batam. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
“Local enforcer for the Nursultan chapter of the organization.”
Watson flashes the challenge coin he carries in his inside pocket, displaying the eye in the pyramid.
Temujin produces his own.
The two men exchange the secret handshake.
“Your friend Sherlock has been a great friend of our organization’s quest to destroy superstition and enlighten all of humanity through our mysteries. He was the only final level initiate any of us knew.”
“He is a very knowledgeable man,” agrees Watson. “But I worry he may have known too much.”
Temujin nods.
“Before we go, may I look at your phone or any electronic devices?”
“How do I know I can trust you? The handshake and the eye in the pyramid are not enough to know if we’re on the same team.”
“Dr. Watson,” replies Temujin. “I will be honest. It is true that I have some connections to the the very forces of evil we are fighting against. I used to work as a cybersecurity consultant in the oil industry. During this time I was exposed to many of the most dangerous individuals in the world. Have you ever heard of a hacker by the alias 007?”
Watson’s eyes widen in shock.
“Bond.... James Bond. Formerly of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”
“I think you’d better get in the car. But first, please dispose of any electronics you have. I fear that Bond is already on to us.”
|
"Shaken, not stirred."
Bond, his tuxedo pressed, his dress shoes tight, sits at a bar opposite the craps table. The women around him all wear glossy red dresses, the men entertain them with great feats of gambling. Some fill up with drinks, drowning away their tremendous losses. Many are rich enough not to care.
Such is the atmosphere of the *Lumiere Dela Mar*, in Cannes. It's the week of the festival, so the movie people, cash cows, come in with their pockets lined and their wallets fit to burst. These movie people, this time, carried with them a strange foreign man, who shared Bond's love for Her Majesty.
As Bond sips the martini, which the clean-shaven mixologist has slid to him, he thinks about his newly adorned target. A British man, bespectacled, neatly tailored suit. Monocle when it suits him. On him, the pistol that he used to shoot Agent 005, the eminent Doctor James Moriarty. He was a vigilante detective on the run, killing those he saw fit. MI6 agreed, he *needed* to be stopped.
*Two minutes, and tempus fugit. A bespectacled detective named Sherlock Holmes will respond to a murder at Room 29 of the Bonne-Villa Suite. There will be one victim, no witnesses. He will not be able to solve the case. 8:33 exact, and the raven must be in his perch.*
Looking at his watch, he takes one last sip, and gives the bartender his thanks. His shoes tap a rhythm on the marble as he hurries to take his place. He opens the room, sliding the laminated rectangle through the silver latch, and makes his way inside. He has a small briefcase, which looks as if it belongs in a dollhouse adorned with petite feathers and among trinkets and necklaces for mice. Undoing the latches almost takes the work of a surgeon, but the Walther PPK that he is so accustomed to is neatly ensconced in a bed of velvet.
He removes it, and takes his position by the door, aiming it through the peephole.
*Two minutes, and tempus fugit. He approaches, with nary a sound. Aim, ready, fire.*
The bullet surely found its mark, as Bond slips the Walther back in its sleeve. Closes the briefcase without a single word, and steps over the body as he walks back down the hallway, tapping out that same rhythm. Maybe another drink for him, among the jesters, madmen, moneylenders, madames, and thieves.
*Looks like he's found his final solution.*
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK
| 2019-11-04T23:09:37 | 2019-11-04T20:33:50 | 144 | 100 |
[WP] At age 16, every teenager develops an aura of a color representing their personality. (Scarlett for chivalry, cyan for wit, etc). The auras determine your school opportunities, potential workplaces and more. It is your sixteenth birthday and your family is freaking out. Your aura is pitch black
|
Ellie's mom took it the hardest. She burst out crying, knowing full well what this meant for her little girl. Her dad, a run-of-the-mill orange lights businessman, thought first of his wife, and a split second later on the inheritance. Ellie looked at her arms, felt her figure, and moved her hands across her face. It was black. Deep and empty.
She looked at Tom, who'd celebrated his sixteenth birthday almost two years ago, and who’d worn his fiery yellow like an armor ever since. Growing up, she always admired his sense of direction, energy and willingness to go the distance. Sometimes, Ellie would be standing in the way and get run over (like the time she joined the school’s Halloween costume competition, or the time she decided to learn the piano). But not even Tommy could see any clarity to this; his type always spoils it in their look.
Ellie sat down to the sound of her sobbing mother. They weren’t tears of hurt or contempt. That much she knew. She had always been a good listener of tears, and enjoyed categorizing them. Good tears, bad tears, tears that longed, tears that wanted out, tears that hurt, of relief. But mom’s tears were of pity, wrapped in the warmth that came with knowing her daughter, and the contempt towards God that came with maternity.
Her uncle was the first to speak.
“You’ll do good, Ellie,” he said, without looking at his sister. “It chose right.”
Ellie let a slow breath out and allowed the atmosphere of the room to seep in. He continued.
“It choses for a reason. A purpose. We’re all here to fulfill it. We do what we have to do, again and again, until one day the light fades and our job is done.”
He looked at her, and without looking back she could feel his tears.
“Yours, honey, is to take it all in. Black emits no light, but sucks it up. You know this, I know, but do you know why it does, or where that light goes?”
Ellie nodded. She'd known the moment he did. Her mom was tucked deep into her father’s arms, and behind the tears Ellie could hear her voice. The one that speaks without a mouth, that whispers inside
(she’ll be alright, she’ll be alright, my baby girl, my baby)
the mind. Her uncle continued.
“You will take all our lights, Ellie. You will ease us of this purpose, of this burden. Ours is to do our job. And yours is to carry it all. Our dreams and our tears.” Tom stood up and walked away. His aura was stronger than usual.
“We’ll be here for you,” her dad said, looking at Tom as he slammed the door. “All of us.”
Ellie heard her brother's rushing thoughts. Their speed was tremendous. Jealousy, weakness, strength. But most of all she heard his tears, and the sorrow and sadness he felt for his sister. She smiled.
“I know you will.”
___________________
r/papiliocastor
|
(WP) The Blackest Day
I wake up the morning of my sixteenth birthday to my family standing out in the hall, whispering to one another. This is the day that my life changes forever; I’ll finally receive my final aura color, and then I’ll be sent to college for further instruction or placed in a work study, based on whatever color I receive.
“I don’t think she’s awake just yet, but the color I’m seeing is black. Not a dark hue, but pure black. This hasn’t happened in at least half a century.” I think I hear my mother’s voice, a hiss in the sleepy early morning.
I blink, wondering if I’m stuck in one of those weird dreams where you think you’re awake but not.
“Oh, Emma, isn’t it a little early to be worrying about her aura color? I mean, it’s possible it will change, right?”
“I’d believe that if it literally wasn’t the morning of her sixteenth birthday!” My mother replies, her tone acidic enough to melt whatever is in her path.
“Shhh! She might be awake! You don’t want to frighten the poor child.” I recognize my older brother Clay’s voice; if it wasn’t for the telltale growl at the end of the sentence, I’d think everything was fine. But as usual, it’s my older brother who is acting like the parent in the situation.
Their voices fade into whispers so quiet that I can no longer make them out, and there is a chorus of three different knocks on my door.
“Come in!” I say, sitting up, hoping that the fact that I’ve overheard them doesn’t show on my face.
“Happy 16th birthday, Harper!” The three of them say in unison, and I smile at them, feeling my cheeks warm.
“Thank you, everyone!” I say, laughing when a piece of coconut cream cake is placed in front of me, thick with icing.
“Are you excited?” Clay asks, his eyes dancing; only the slightest tension in his jaw reveals his distress. “You’re officially an adult today!”
Excitement is too tame a word for the tangle of emotions inside me, and to avoid answering, I shove a forkful of breakfast cake in my mouth.
“It’s almost time for your aura screening! Finish your cake, and we’ll get you dressed.”
Mom begins getting my clothes together for the ceremony, as if I’m still six and not sixteen.
“Mom! I can do that myself, you don’t have to—”
“Oh, nonsense! This is your last day in our house! Of course, I’m going to help you get dressed!”
Despite all of my many protests, Mom insists on dressing me up in a gown that is emerald green, with three-quarter sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and real emeralds pasted to the hem.
I’ve been waiting for this day my whole life, but dread buzzes through my bloodstream, muting my senses.
What did they mean when they said my aura was pitch-black? And how someone with an aura that color hadn’t been discovered for fifty years?
I walk to the ceremony with my family on leaden feet, their words on repeat through my head, like an alarm.
What could it all mean?
\*\*
| 2020-01-21T07:09:45 | 2020-01-21T07:00:47 | 232 | 82 |
[WP]The sage has found the chosen one, a farmer boy. He explains the boy's secret heritage and destiny. Promises of glory and excitement. When this call for adventure hits our hero he is quick to respond “Actually I really enjoy living in the farm with my uncle so I pass”.
|
They never say yes.
Who could blame the kid? He's got a roof over his head, parents who love him, regular meals... Farms may be hard to maintain, but they are peaceful.
Of course he said no. Just like his ancestors. So, just as I told Steven and Garth and Anna, and Brook, I tell him.
"They are coming. Whether you fight, or flee or die, they are coming. They will burn your crops. They will salt your fields. They will take your flocks and butcher them for meat and wool and hide.
"What will you do then, child? You will take up the sword, or axe or hammer. Your plow will be reforged into an instrument of war. You will mourn for your family. You will lament that you did not listen. You will lead good men to their deaths. You will fail. You will return here and find only ruin and regret."
They may not act today, but they always listen. And when the armies come, they have always been ready. They always will be. For a farmer will always protect his land, his life, and his love.
|
The rain poured down as the cloaked figure approached the farmhouse. As he came closer to the door, he heard the two men laughing. “Lord, forgive me for what I’m about to do,” the sage said as he gripped the knife tightly in his hands. It still pained him to talk with the mark of the demon freshly branded upon his cheek. “Please help me,” the man yelled.
Thump. Thump. Thump. He pounded on the door. “Who could it be at this time of night,” an old voice questioned.
“We shouldn’t answer it, Uncle. You know what’s been happening at the other farms,” replied the voice of a young man.
“Nonsense, they could need our help. It’s probably a lost traveler, and in this rain. I raised you better than this.”
The man outside heard someone walking to the door. He wanted to put down the knife. He wanted to run away, but he had to do this.
The door opened in front of him. As the old man began to speak, the wild-eyed man lunged his knife into the old man’s chest. “He... Will... Be... The Chosen One.”
| 2020-03-13T20:05:29 | 2020-03-13T19:13:49 | 49 | 16 |
[WP] The world is ending. A group of astrophysicists, xenobiologists, medical doctors, and other experts is loaded on a rocket. And you...but no one seems willing to tell you why.
|
Sorry if my english isn't perfect.
​
I'm currenty in a rocket, it's inside looks more like an airplane. I'm in front of it with a free seat beside me with the word "Reserved" embroidered in. A giant tv screen is appearing from the ceiling and is tuned on the news.
\------
A man hanging from a cliff is holding the hand of a woman that was going to fall.
"Why are you saving me?"
"Why shouldn't I do it? I'm sure you would have done the same for me"
"Bring me up"
"I can't, I can't do it, there is no energy left in my body, I can't even release my hand. I'm sorry, at the end I was only able to delay your death"
\-------
The man on the news started to explain with tears in his eyes that will be the last service of all time. He's announcing the most tragic news that I could possible announce, the Earth is going to explode in an hour and everyone will die. I started panicking but no one in the rocket was even a little bit worried, so I stopped and asked the first man in sight what's going on
\-------
The man and the woman were still there, hanging. The woman was shouting to let her so the man could survive, but the man strongly refused.
"I will never kill you, i prefer to die instead"
"I don't wanna you to die for me, I'm just an useless girl, I don't deserve to live a second more"
The man shout something, but it got lost in the sound of a massive explosion. If someone could see things in slow motion, he would have seen a massive red ball consuming everything from below. Both of them were consumed and annihilated.
\------
"The Earth's core is going to explode. No one knows why, but suddenly the pression underground raised. This happened two hours ago, we wouldn't have any clue of that if it wasn't for our saviour"
"Our savior?" I asked
"Yes, Bridgitte Redmond, that girl spent half of her life trying to warn everyone about this disaster. No one believed her, but eventually she was able to build this rocket. But are you sure you don't know her?"
\----------
A girl was born, but she wasn't crying. Her eyes were wide open, her mouth tried to move to say something but only a cough came out.
"So what's the name of this little princess?" she heard
"Bridgitte, Bridgitte Redmond" the father of the girl answered
\----------
"Why I should know her?"
"This rocket is full of astrophysicists, xenobiologists, medical doctors, and other experts, but you, you're here from a direct reccomendation of miss Bridgitte"
"No, I think I never met her"
The other guys was looking at me puzzled
\----------
A new born girl, her first words were: "I have to save him and the Earth. But, more importantly I have to return what he had done to me. Or I will die like everyone else"
|
*What I know, what we know could be changed in a second. This is what I learned...*
''I can’t wait anymore.'' one of the astrophysicists tries to open the hatch but the marines stop him immediately.
''Do I know you?'' someone touches my shoulder and I look back.
I try to recall her name first but she is faster than me, ''You are the guy who worked with Dr.Nicholas on FSI project.''
''Yes, I’m that guy.'' I say.
''I didn’t want to be rude but Dr.Nicholas was a very hard man to...''
''To work with?'' I complete her sentence.
''Yeah, kind of. Most of the colleagues didn’t have the greatest experience with him when they were working on the same project. I heard he wasn’t able to teach a class at the university because of his temper. Do you still in touch with his family?'' She asks.
''No. He was mostly focussed on his work. He didn’t speak of his family that much.''
''I see. Do you know anything about this?'' She points the marines guarding the door.
''I wish. One of the scientists said that we are going to K2-18B.''
''I seriously doubt that. That planet is very far away. At least 100 light-years away we wouldn’t able to get there in our life even with the light speed.''
I sense a small vibration.
''Did you feel that?'' I ask her.
''I think we took off.'' She replies.
The rest of the people gets anxious quite fast and marines start to neutralize a few people.
''I didn’t get your name by the way.''
''It’s Amanda.'' She says.
''Wait... You were...No way.''
''Yes, I’m the daughter of Dr.Nicholas. I first saw you when my dad got really sick and you had to call my mother. I had to drive my mother to the hospital to see him.''
''I remember now, you were wearing sunglasses and you didn’t speak much.''
''Yeah, I had some issues back then. I still have them but they don’t bother me as much.''
Marines leaves the room and they leave the door open. A few people instantly rush out and a moment later we hear someone scream in agony. A few moments later screaming stops and people inside the room tries to peek out of the door and one of them gets pulled out instantly.
As soon as people starts to panic lights goes and I start to hear bone-crushing noises.
''Amanda, are you still here?''
''Yes, I don’t know what to do.'' her voice is disturbingly calm.
I feel a sharp pain on my spine I try to move my arms but I can’t even get myself to move my fingers. I can only breathe and keep listening to other people screaming in pain. I try to speak to Amanda but every time I try to speak I run out of the air and I feel a heavy pain in my chest.
I feel someone is breathing in my right ear, ''My papa says hi.''
-----------------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
| 2020-07-16T10:20:33 | 2020-07-16T09:20:38 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives.
|
"Grand Admiral Zadox," Dartok purred quietly, bowing in submission. "Do you remember the proto-civilization, species 19857, that you ordered me to study?"
Zadox glared at Dartok, furred brows furrowing at his son. "Sub-Ensign Dartok, why would I remember a proto-civilization?"
Dartok clicked his claws together, holding his data projector. "Ah, you may not, Grand Admiral. Species 19857, Humans, sir, from the planet they have designated E-Arth, had rudimentary satellites in orbit of their planet last time an Alliance cruiser passed through their sector."
Zadox sighed, ears twitching slightly as he humored the young officer. "And you wish to report?"
"We had some information gained from the satellites. The Humans are the dominant species of the planet, they believe themselves to be the only sentient species, but that is likely not true. I was extremely fascinated by their preoccupation with hazardous things. Flame and fire in particular. They created basic transportation using combustion, and then rudimentary travel through air." Dartok explained, bouncing on his paws. This was something unheard of and dangerous. No one else had gone this far.
"Hmph, so they are unlikely to ever leave their planet."
"Ah, sir, they have."
Zadox cocked his head. "Oh? Oh, yes, satellites." Zadox paused at the look on the Sub-Ensign's face, as Dartok tried to contain a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "So they left their orbit? Ah, well, every species evolves. What did they use?" The Grand Admiral asked as he took a sip of his balax tea.
Dartok cleared his throat. How would he explain the propulsion system that was unlike anything seen in the galaxy before? It wasn't like the magnetic propulsion of their own species, the telepathic propulsion of the Valburan, or even the unexplainable "magic" of the Xiruva. How could he explain it except bluntly? "Very large explosives."
Zadox's flattened his ears. "WHAT?!" He snapped, then regained his composure. That was a type of travel abandoned by all space-goers."I see why you wanted to report this, son, it is definitely interesting. But it is not worth my time on-duty just to hear that a species managed to escape their orbit with weapons. Write a paper, get published, you'll make history." He said sharply, then he chuckled a little. "Explosives. Like they could ever get far without killing themselves. Dismissed. I have a station to run."
"But there something you really need to know."
"And what is so very important?"
"They're requesting permission to dock."
|
“Arkys, can you believe it?” Mom jabbed Dad in the side, waving all six free appendages in his face as he drank his sloop.
“What, Moka?” Dad asked, mostly just to humor her. He always said Mom read too many Crazy Human articles, and I had to agree. Some of the things those journalists came up with were insane at best and completely unbelievable at worst. Like, did they expect us to believe an “intelligent species” would strap themselves to a high-speed hunk of metal powered with who-knows-what for _fun_?
Mom thrust the mist screen in his face, still exclaiming incredulously. “So those idiot humans have _finally_ figured out interstellar travel, and to do it, they use _explosives_? Haven’t they found out what magic is yet?”
Dad laughed, snorting sloop up his nose. “Moka, really. That isn’t actually a thing.” He grabbed a wipe, cleaning the sloop off his face.
I glanced at the sky, alarmed at how fast the day was going by today. “Sorry Mom, Dad. The star they picked for today isn’t very good. I have to get to school.” I waved an appendage over my empty sloop shell, vanishing it.
I rounded the corner, about to arrive at the campus, when huge... something appeared at the corner of my gaze. I quickly backed up, staring at the thing. It was cylindrical, mostly, but at one end there was a large cone tip and large triangular things sticking out of the cylinder. Didn’t look terribly aerodynamic, but somehow it had just dropped out of the sky.
It was probably just another spaceflight test, I told myself. At least, until I saw something that made me reconsider all the derision I’d thrown at Mom for the past several months.
Just like that, a huge flame shot out of the flat side of the cylinder, absolutely _scorching_ the new, empty parkland! The fiery cylinder slowly lowered itself onto the space, infuriating me. The side of the cylinder flipped open, and a strange thing stepped out of it. And I’d seen enough surveillance images to know what it was- _a human_.
“Udgks mi Q?” The human garbled, pretty much inaudibly. I ratcheted up my hearing and adjusted my language processer and projector.
“Where am I? Who are you?” The human repeated. “Are you an alien?”
Offended, I reeled back. Nobody mentioned how _rude_ humans were in any book I’ve read. But no matter. I didn’t care if it were a stupid human or not- nobody got away with ruining the new parkland.
“No, Human Creature. You’re the alien. And you can take your stupid flaming torch cylinder and get off our parkland!”
| 2020-08-08T01:11:59 | 2020-08-07T21:38:14 | 76 | 34 |
[WP] In a world where everyone discovers their superpower at age 5, you discover that your child has the ability to bring small toys to life. Things seem fine until he comes across your Warhammer 40k miniature collection...
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You awake in a strange land full of reds and browns. A gentle breeze comes form above. Looking upwards, you see a massive fixture hanging from a paneled wooden ceiling. Blades crafted from clearly ancient and gigantic trees swing in circles, creating a gentle breeze. You’re on a platform of some sort, the ground being made of a soft wool—like substance that prevents you from making noise by stomping about. You’re with your brothers, about 40 of them, and you watch as the seemingly deactivated squadron before you comes to life. You wipe the dust from your helmet, and command your brothers forward. The one who raised you screams in delight, jumping up and down and clapping his gigantic hands. Chaos ensues. Several feet of glass separates you and your brothers from breaking free. Every last one of you pitch in to shatter that glass. That’s when you hear it—the goddamn Orks had the same idea. After the barrier, after the glass, after your escape, there is only war.
|
I grab my child, and we escape from the house as fast as we can. There is a fierce battle. There’s blood, carnage, and explosions. My home catches on fire. It burns down. We have to move in with my parents until we can get a new home. I’m investigated for Arson, and my child has to bring a toy to life in front of a judge to clear my name. My child has to be home schooled until he can learn how to control his power. One month later, he returns to his original school. A circus clown kidnaps my child, and makes him use his powers to entertain other children. When I find out what happens, I team up with my siblings to save my son. We have an assortment of powers. I have super strength, but so does the clown. After defeating the clown in a fierce head to head fight, I return home with my boy. Years later, my child is a teenager and he uses his power for good - he brings toys to life in front of young cancer patients to put smiles on their faces. The end!
| 2020-12-02T19:00:48 | 2020-12-02T15:47:00 | 81 | 32 |
[WP] You thought creating a universe would be easy. But as these pesky humans kept trying to discover the rules of their reality, you're forced to programme in more and more ridiculous mechanics like "relativity" and "quantum mechanics", hoping humans never found out that they live in a simulation.
|
It’s getting out of hand. These humans. They are always pushing, always trying to see further and it really is making my job difficult. I’m just a low-level simulation programmer. They don’t pay me enough for this headache.
I miss the days when the humans looked into the stars and saw their ancestors shining back at them. I miss the days when they thought the universe revolved around the earth. Do you know how easy it is to program that simulation? I was able to take breaks, watch my favorite shows. Typing in a few commands to keep everything running smoothly.
But no. Of course, the humans couldn’t stay that way. They were always hungry for knowledge. Always hungry to learn about their place in this universe and, slowly by slowly, they made my life harder.
Ptolemy, Aristotle, Copernicus, Newton. And don’t even get me started on Einstein! That human singlehandedly added at least an extra hour or two a week of programming.
And now quantum theory? String theory? Parallel universes?
I’m going to quit. I tell you, I’m going to quit. Someone else can maintain this universe. I’ll take one without humans, thank you very much. I’ve never seen such a nosy, inquisitive species in all my time as a simulation programmer.
I must admit, I admire them though. Even if they make my life a living hell, I have to hand it to them, the humans never quit trying to understand their place in this simulation. It really is quite beautiful to behold, and I wish them the best of luck.
But I still quit.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic
|
I’m so tired. So, so tired. Create a universe, they said. It would be fun, they said. It’ll be a blast, they said.
Well, that was one complete pile of BS.
For the last several dozen thousand years, I’ve been able to keep my creation entertained with religion and mysticism, the glitches and shadowy laziness explained away with spirits and devils. However, as this program’s progressed, these AIs have gotten smarter, to the point that they now see little value in such things. Instead, they prefer to take apart my beautiful creation piece by piece, hacking apart the laws and rules and seeking to understand them, pushing the limits of not only the world I’ve built, but the limits of what I can pull off.
It’s gotten so bad, I haven’t slept in 300 of their years.
To be fair, that’s, like, 30 of my years, so it’s not too bad. I mean, the delirium hasn’t quite kicked in yet, and I’ve only gone through 16 different assistants in the last five months, so I can still take more. It’s not as bad as… oh, about 20 years ago, when I had to work 33 hours a day. My wife seems to be worried, however - it seems she thinks this simulation’s taking up too much of my time. She’s just jealous of my dedication. That’s all. Heh heh heh.
I’m okay. As long as I have this 50-litre keg of coffee, these four cans of energy drinks, and this truckload of Boost every day, I should be fine. Ha ha ha! I’m perfectly okay. It’s not like this is… my…
Oh gosh.
I can’t do this anymore.
Someone help.
Please…
These humans are CRAZY.
Please…
| 2021-03-29T09:04:24 | 2021-03-29T07:53:16 | 548 | 183 |
[WP] You and your rival are ancient enemies. You've fought each other on the battlefield in every major war. Trojan War, Punic Wars, Hundred Years' War, World War 1, World War 2. The only reason for the long period of peace we have now is that your rival is missing. You miss him.
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Munich, 1944.
"Hey bud, I just got some bad news. Fredrick isn't coming."
"Awwww, what? First he's late to Battle of the Bulge, and now this?"
"Hey Hey hey, I know you've been looking forward to you immortal time-warrior fight for a while, but look, he's got a real good excuse."
"oh, what the fuck is it now? You know this guy once stepped on a landmine so he could say I cheated and go home early? I spent months marching through hordes of fucking angry germans and inhospitable terrain, I mean fucking no man's land, just for him to give a half-hearted effort? I mean, why do we even bother at this point? It's like he doesn't even want to be immortal time-warrior enemies with me anymore."
" Terry, c'mon man, listen. We got word from high command. Fred can't be there because his wife's in labor, both of them are in a field hospital in Italy right now. "
"..."
"..."
"...I-... I guess that's alright then"
"Hey, for what it's worth, he got you a card for the trouble, here you go. He told us to tell you to open that in private. You good man?"
"I mean... I guess. Good for him, good for-... Fuck, that's a good excuse"
"Yeah, well... we though so too."
"good for him, good for him..."
"hey, i feel for you dude, I know you were looking forward to this, and it really sucks that your foil just canceled at the last second... cmon man, you want to go through some nazis? That always cheers you up. "
"ehhhhh...maybe later... I think I need to lie down, be alone right now."
"buddy, take all the time you need. Us guys in the company, we are all here for you if you need to talk. "
"thanks Connie, I appreciate it. "
|
Long ago, when the time was new, there lived a race called the Protectorates. The oldest and mightiest race in the universe. Not many had ever seen them, though the legends throughout every star system and galaxy had heard rumours, some had even wrote songs and poems of these beings.
“Do you see them in their flowing robes?
The great and the powerful?
The mighty and magnificent?
The wise and the strong?
Do you hear their voices echoing with pride and knowledge?
Do you hear their singing and laughter?
Listen, just listen. You can barely make it out, but if you strain yourself you can hear it.
The Protectorates will protect us forever.”
They were just stories though, legends. Nobody had ever seen them. Well, almost nobody. There was, of course, the war.
Well, more like every war ever started. There was a mythological conspiracy theory originating in the Dolve system which had been gaining traction through many universes over the centuries. The conspiracy starts with two Protectorates. A male and a female. They were old friends supposedly. Nobody knew their names, or anything about them really, but the conspiracies say that these two Protectorates ran away from their home world and burned and blazed their way across all of time and space.
The legends say they are the last two Protectorate alive, its best and its worst. One always pursuing the other, though never quite sure who was leading and who was following. One was ever healing, one was ever destroying. They are, as the rumours go, the last remnants of a once great civilisation. In the planets of the Dolve System there are rumours that every war ever fought has ties to these two beings. They say that every war, every feud, every conflict that ever was can be traced back to their heart breaking struggle throughout time and space.
Some planets pray to these beings. Pray that one day their rivalry can end, that they can meet once more and stand side by side, united together for a common goal after a millennia of pain. They say when that happens, there will finally be peace in the universe. All wars will end, all men will stand together, and peace and justice will finally prevail.
| 2021-05-04T08:34:59 | 2021-05-04T06:29:48 | 41 | 14 |
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