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[WP] A magical medieval fantasy empire frequently invades inferior, magic-less dimensions for easy conquest. This time though, they target the modern day technologically advanced Earth.
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Their initial attack took us by surprise. Portals appeared on the outskirts of a large town, that was quickly overtaken by the aggressors. Brutish, savage humanoids in chainmail, hacking at anything and anyone, followed by robed figures throwing fireballs. And dragons, as well as many more warriors, more disciplined than the vanguard, but no less merciful as they cut down people begging for their lives.
Recon footage showed that they reveled in celebration at their quick victory, establishing a base for more creatures to come through. Believing themselves superior, they took their time. Raiding parties ventured forth, but the surrounding area had already been evacuated. Those who went too far were quickly taken out.
When our counterattack came, they formed ranks, brutes in front, tightly packed infantry formations behind. Large beasts scattered amongst them and the dragons took to the air. They were torn to shreds as our missiles hit them. Charred husks fell to the ground, some hitting their own troops, then the artillery barrage hit.
They were sitting ducks as the artillery shells burst into fragments in their formations. The brutes began their charge as some of the mages attempted to cast spells. Fireballs flew towards our entrenched positions but evaporated before they hit us. Magic barriers appeared above portions of the army to little effect. The few brutes who escaped the barrage were picked off by snipers and heavy automatic fire.
The remnants of the shattered army broke and began a panicked rout, as gunships and armored vehicles roared across the battlefield in pursuit. In the end, most were killed except the few who surrendered. Intelligence were keen to interogate them, maybe we could learn their secrets to open portals of our own?
|
"We have a fire order. It came across all channels but it's garbled. We can't authenticate." The comms officer held my gaze just long enough to confirm that I'd heard him, and turned back to his terminal, emotionless.
Everyone on the command deck grew suddenly more silent, even as new lights and sirens indicating major emergencies added to the chorus. I shared glances with my peers, to see if their shoulders felt as mine suddenly did.
All terrestrial communication had been down for almost an hour, anyone without access to satellite communication has been off the grid, and even the satcoms are shaky.
"These locations don't make sense!" another officer exclaimed, her voice strained.
Confirmed nuclear launch. That means Biden ordered it three minutes ago. If he ordered it. No authentication. No challenge codes. Nothing.
I... must have been out of my body for a moment, the female officer was right in front of me now, pleading look on her face. She'd been speaking... crying... "Please... don't fire... my family..."
I looked at the display of the station she'd stood up from. The targets were... domestic. Foreign. Everywhere. That was everything we had. The deck grew somehow more ominous; emergency floods came on, and the world map dominating the majority of the front of the room began to sparkle with activity across the globe.
Each yellow and red streaking line on the screen representing a weapon of mass destruction. Each trajectory inexplicable.
I'm about to die. I have one order. I look around the room for the other keys I need. I meet eyes with one. I see two already fighting, I don't know who is with me and who isn't, but we don't need either if.... there's one more... We meet eyes. The third key.
We all nod.
| 2021-06-25T22:42:36 | 2021-06-25T21:28:18 | 136 | 20 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
|
Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine."
|
Gardener. Yep. That;s my magically assigned class. Not the worst one, but obviously I am not fit to go into the world to prove my bravery. While i can just be a normal farmer, a magic class had so many possibilities that I had t cave in. I created my garden right in front of my house, outside of town. This is where i found out that it is a huge mistake.
"Heroes" would casually raid or even destroy my garden. Why? To keep me and prices in check. They wanted potions as low as possible and since i am the supplier who is the easiest to bully, they did just that. What could I do? Move my garden? Cannot do that. Destroy it and create new one? Can do, but i put so my work and spirit into my current garden that even the idea seems laughable. If only i could become stronger.
Gardeners are notorious for not being able to level. To level, you must rob one of life - not defeat, put into coma or smack. Kill. Animals with enough soul to power us are magical beasts and even weakest can turn your head inside out. I cant higher better adventurer and tag along because his stronger soul will just absorb all the power. And no low party will let me go along because i cannot contribute in any way. Gardening is time. I can't just chug elixir like alchemist or induce fear as farmer. In low party, where every move can be the last, wasting time on gardener is useless.
Well its not like we cannot gain skills. It takes time but we can. And this is currently my only salvation. "Hidden garden, misty maze" is a skill i was nurturing through the last three years. In few weeks, it will be complete and i can raise a maze around my garden. Any transportation spell, location spell, or magical map are useless inside the maze, so people will be forced to earnestly try to solve it. But as far as i know, only 2 people managed to make it across.
Well it's not like an area spell cannot destroy the maze, my garden and my house in one swoop; however, the effort of doing so is just not worth it. And people know this, the reason why the recent attacks became more vicious. While maze will take few months to grow, as soon as it started, all the effects would be in place. I just need to protect my garden until then.
Heavy steps.
Oh boy. A real deal is here. Enchanted sword, flickering with faces of the moon, armour heavier then my house and muscles tougher then mountains. What is he doing over here?
Wait... "Hey sir, please don't go over there...".
The body felt with a heavy sound.
I probably should've mentioned that my best export are not potion plants, but poisonous ones. And i mean really, really, really poisonous ones; one drop would be enough to bring down a demon lord. Obviously, the logistics of how to make him eat it arise, but it is not my problem. This hero idiot tripped on my willow into Moonless Nightshade. Magical version of real plant, that can only be grown during new moon. Takes years to even make one plant, but i managed to grow small field.
And he breathed in. Plants disintegrate if something touches them without waxing moon scythes, so he was screwed the moment he fell there. Well, not my fault. The thought of all the heroes that would trash my garden as revenge though was saddening.
Light, brighter then stars hit me and it burned.
Maximum level one can reach is 100. After that, nothing can feed your soul enough to get it on higher levels of existence. Doesn't mean one does not collect more power though. While one gets only 1/7th of total soul by defeating someone, find a hero ancient enough and he might as well hold enough experience to jump you to 100. Of course it only a theory, who ever will be able to defeat ancient one but another old one?
Unless there is an accident.
I could only stare dumbly at my reader stone tablet reflecting my current position " Lv100, Class - Harvest Lord". I Looked at evolution tree "Gardener - Grower - Nature's friend - Nature's wrath - Reaper - Harvest Lord". Because the end of the hero was so violent, my classes seemed to go into battle mode.
I looked at description of the class "Purely theoretical. Impossible to reach. Innate skills - Immortal of Nature, Rot, New Moon". As long there is mother nature, i cannot die. Anything i desire will Rot away and nature will bloom anew under New Moon.
I heard someone coming. I felt through plants that it was his girlfriend - she still had his scent on her. Also ancient hero.
She is an enemy. I did not look at any other stat, spell or ability i had. I will harvest her and everyone else daring to go against my garden and Nature.
For I am the Lord of the Harvest.
| 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-09T19:26:05 | 1,001 | 85 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
|
Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine."
|
Plants were the most beautiful thing ever. They started off small, insignificant, just a little seed in the huge world. But with time and care they grew from a little shoot, larger and larger until they bloomed, bright and full of life with thousands of different colours and patterns. I suppose I liked them for they symbolised what I could never be.
When I graduated as an adventurer, I was full of hope, full of a brash longing to be a hero. But they tested everyone and I ranked so low they put me as a gardener. I was disowned, disgraced. Penniless and an orphan. Nothing I could do except toil in the soil with the glare of the hot sun on my back. Watering and weeding. Planting and harvesting. Everything I did rankled me, to think I attended and learned for so long only to waste all my skills? It was pathetic.
I only started enjoying the job after a while. When I hummed while watering, smiled while weeding. When I planted seeds carefully, harvested those delicate flowers and fruits with love. When I calmed the brash energy in me, took to looking through gardening books instead of heading down to the pub and wasting my pittance on ale and beer. But even with all those small signs, I only realised it when the soldiers and knights, tacticians and researchers came back from war. They trampled on my meticulously tended beds of plants, uncaring of the little lives they killed. Laughing and teasing with their metal armour caked with blood and mud, they spat at me, jeered that no adventurer should ever be so pathetic.
The rage I felt at their casual dismissal of my plants was horrific. It burned and growled like a raging inferno pulsing through my skin, the red hot heat pulsing and I gathered what little mana I was allowed to use to blast them back. They didn’t move an inch of course, how could they with their spell prove gear. It was idiotic of me to even try and only caused them to laugh and purposely jump on my plants, grinning even more with every bit of anger I had increased.
When they were gone, I stayed back to replant every single plant, watering them and tending to their roots, supporting them with sticks and twigs. My brash actions even made it impossible to use my mana to heal them. It was impulsive and I learnt from that encounter, to keep a firm hold of my temper.
From then on they always came onto my beds to trample them, enjoying the annoyance in my clenched fists and the misery in my eyes. I ignored them though, simply doing my job and helping my plants after they were done. I cared not what those ignorant people did, only rejoiced that my once hated job gave me humility and compassion that I was not like them, trampling and destroying lives just to torment someone. That day was no different. Just as I was clearing my gardens of weeds and stones, Colonel Hurst arrived on horseback with gleaming black sword encrusted with rubies and solid gold shield carefully spelled to reflect attacks in hand. His carefully gelled blonde hair and gleaming white teeth caused a few of the ladies to sigh in appreciation but what they failed to notice was the hardness and cruelty in his onyx eyes when he espied me.
As per usual, I did not utter a word and merely turned my back to his. I knew I would not want to witness his causal cruelty to my plants for he was the worst of my tormentors. But just as I heard him approaching, a startled cry rang in my ears and I spun to see him having trip. With his shield and sword in hand he had no way to stabilise himself and his head crashed onto a jagged rock, one that I had been about to pick up before he arrived.
A sharp sound caught my attention and I realised my tester chip embedded in my head was alerting me. I closed my eyes and opened my home page, gasping when I saw a large LEVEL UP sign promoting me to Soldier, allowing me a further 45% of my mana instead of my meagre 5%, with an increase of supplies and money as well.
I frowned. Before liking this gardener job, I would have leaped at this opportunity to improve my rank, to become what I had always wished to be. To be the first gardener who had ever improved rank. But I had come to realise that being a gardener was a wonderful job and it had been a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t want to leave the Cook without his spices and herbs, the servants without their fruit and even the Butler’s wife without her flower for good luck. Most importantly, I wouldn’t want to leave my beautiful plants behind, without a caretaker who understood their needs and wants. That the roses preferred the morning sun to the afternoon one, that the apple trees liked to be harvested the day before All Hallows’ Eve and the calmness and happiness they bestowed onto me.
I turned my chip off, felt the increase in power in my hands, saw the dead body of my tormentors my feet and sniffed. “He’ll make good fertiliser for the plants.”
Edit: Spelling error
| 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-09T21:25:01 | 1,001 | 45 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
|
Tabitha rested briefly after harvesting sixty carrots in the humid, virtual sun. The beads of sweat that accumulated on her forehead felt real as day, and they felt even more real when she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her red pigtails fell to her shoulders, which was covered by a pink floral shirt and some dirty denim overalls. She rolled the bottom of her overalls up to her calf, revealing long pink socks tucked into practical work boots.
"When does this game become fun, Macy?"
Her question was directed to her friend who was playing another support class -- a farmer. She wore similar overalls over a green shirt, but instead of being armed with a trowel and mini rake, the farmer was equipped with a pitchfork. Tabitha's friend sheepishly smiled with a long piece of straw in her mouth and tilted her straw hat back, revealing a forehead even sweatier than Tabitha's.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to get stuck as a gardener...but it's all random. That's some bad luck, huh?"
"If I wanted to harvest carrots, I'd move into the country," Tabitha paused as she picked a carrot that she planted five minutes ago. It sprung up with a satisfying coin-like noise. "Although, I do like the sounds."
Tabitha planted a few more carrots in a line on her friend's farm. The sun hung high in the air and the clouds moved lazily across the perfectly blue sky. Macy owned a tiny farmhouse, one that she was able to purchase after putting in time as a stable hand for other players. It took a while, but she finally had land to harvest and was secretly glad her friend rolled a similar support class. A gardener and farmer synchronize greatly.
"Pull up your stats, I want to see what kind of moves you have," beckoned Macy.
Tabitha lifted her hand in the air and made it into a fist for five seconds. She released the fist and an 8-bit pixelated menu popped up in front of them. At the top, it showed a picture of Tabitha's avatar with an intimidating empty bar under it to keep track of her experience points. Most of her stats were D-rank, not excelling in anything except for her stamina which shined yellow as a C-rank.
"Click on 'Moves.'"
Tabitha did as her friend instructed and tapped the menu item that was labeled "Moves." It pulled up a new pixelated menu screen with two items listed: "Plant Carrot" and "Harvest Carrot."
"Well, that's not very exciting," frowned Tabitha. Macy giggled.
"Maybe we have to find some seeds to expand your moveset! The real problem is your experience bar. I've never heard of a gardener getting to level 2. You have a looooong way to go."
"Let's just quit and go to a bar or something."
Macy sneered, but the whimsical gesture suddenly turned serious as she spotted a dark figure in the distance riding on a horse. "Oh no," she muttered.
Tabitha turned around to see what made her friend turn serious. It was another player, as indicted by the red triangle above his head. The red color of the triangle also indicated that the player had his "Player vs. Player" mode activated, allowing him to attack other players who opted into PvP mode.
"At least he can't take what we harvested already," said Macy, as the player charged towards the two. "He's lucky he rolled a Dark Knight, a rare attacker class. He'll just trash the place and move on after he realizes he can't kill us." Macy sighed, knowing she would have to spend more time fixing up her farm and getting it back to the productivity level that it's at now.
"Any idea why he's not slowing down?" questioned Tabitha. Macy looked at her friend, and then to the Dark Knight. She looked back to her friend, and then once more at the Dark Knight that now pulled out a lance and aimed it towards Tabitha, with no intention of stopping. Macy had just noticed the red triangle above Tabitha's head.
"You opted in for PvP?!"
"I didn't know what it meant at the time!"
Macy brought her hand to her face. "Don't worry it doesn't hurt, I've died countless times." she reassured Tabitha. "Maybe you'll feel a pinch."
"What????" panicked Tabitha. The Dark Knight was closing in on his prey, now only a couple of meters away from the low-level gardener. His mighty steed picked up speed and the knight readied his lance towards Tabitha's face. Just as he was about to strike, however, one of the horse's front hooves became caught on the line of carrots Tabitha had planted earlier.
The horse fell forward, launching the dark knight behind the girls and towards Macy's farmhouse. He landed violently just short of the porch, with his gut completely impaled onto his lance. Within seconds, he burst into a million little pieces.
Tabitha's character burst a celebratory gold explosion three times in a row to Macy's amazement. Tabitha looked around, completely confused. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled up her character menu. The once empty bar had filled three times, revealing her to be level 4.
"Holy crap, Tabitha!!" Macy was still in shock. She only received partial experience due to owning the land where the battle happened, but Tabitha received full experience due to landing the killing blow with her deadly carrots. But it wasn't the experience that Macy was surprised by, it was one minor detail on the menu.
"Tabitha," she began, still looking for words. "It doesn't say you're a support class anymore...it says you're a summoner!"
|
Sun gleams off burnished armor as Sir Tristran winds his way through the garden paths. If a man looks too hard it would burn his eyes, that armor, but Sir Tristran wears it anyway. He likes men blinded, squinting at him. Better still if they are on their knees, better still if they've been beaten bloody. I have no guilt over my plans for him.
Exquisite plans, exquisite planning. A gardener I must be, so say all the scrolls, but they say nothing of the manner of gardener. Nor do they say anything of the manner of man.
I have chosen to be a clever man. A man who takes his life into his own hands.
Sir Tristran walks through the gardens, picking here and there the most prized blossoms from my carefully tended beds. As I knew he would. He is a vain man, Sir Tristran, and he thinks the world exists in his service. The world has not disabused him of that notion. Neither, I suspect, will the lady awaiting him in the greenhouses beyond, even if he sweats like a pig in his pristine, preposterous armor.
But this is fine. I shall disabuse him myself.
Sir Tristran is a knight in the old way. He has squires, men at arms, stable boys, groomsmen. He has cooks and maids and a majordomo and the entire apparatus of a rich man's house. And all of them talk. They talk freely to me, a simple gardener, and what might have been secrets sold to a better man are simple gossip traded for me. A hint from a stablehand, mentioned in passing when I gave him the perfect bouquet with which to woo the maid. A tantalizing clue from the cook, spicy news about spices and herbs traded for a flower to thread through her hair. A story from a grizzled man at arms, a fellow of some three score years who had served Sir Tristran's father before him. A story of far off lands and a harrowing fight. And of the valley where Sir Tristran grew very, very ill, all told over mugs of cheap beer.
I am a gardener. It is my job to procure flowers, herbs, all manner of grown things. When people speak in passing of the flower that grows in a distant valley I listen. When they tell of the spice made from the dried leaves of that distant flower that once for an entire dinner course rejected, I listen. When they tell a story of a horse and rider, whose symbol was the ornate, weeping leaves of a purple flower, a symbol that terrified a great knight beyond any reasonable measure, I listen.
And I purchase. And I seed.
My plan is nothing so obvious as the flowers. No. Never that. I made other inquiries, I learned the flowers of the bouquets Sir Tristran favors for his conquests. I planted them along the garden path, laced the best of them with the purest essence of that rare foreign flower, I watched with bated breath as the great knight picked the very bouquet I had suspected!
I follow him now, a number of discreet paces back. He goes to meet his lady in the greenhouse.
When Sir Tristran opens the door the hot air is an assault. He steps back, gasps slightly. Then he grins manfully, as if the heat is only another challenge to be conquered, and he charges forward. The lady is resplendent in a sensible open backed gown of light cotton. Smiles are exchanged, inanely pleasant words. He is a charmer, that Sir Tristran.
She inquires after the flowers. "Oh, these?" Sir Tristran says casually, so casually. As if he might actually have forgotten he'd brought them! He leans down, breathes deeply of their sweet scent, and then moves in towards her.
"Alas," he says, "they don't smell half so good as you."
His eyes are already watering as he hands her the bouquet. He sweats harder, grows pale. Scarcely a minute has passed and his breath grows labored, a great, watery rasp within the burnished coffin of his armor!
"Sir Tristran, is something amiss?" she asks, eyes so wide, so bright, the bouquet clutched tight to her chest.
"Nothing at all," he says, veins bulging in his neck and forehead.
Then he stumbles and trips, pitching forward across a bed of roses as the lady shrieks.
The scrolls decreed me a gardener, and a gardener I am. But a gardener with eyes, ears, and a will to use them. A gardener who knows a deathly serious allergy when he hears of one, and can sense the wealth of experience boiling like a cauldron inside the dying man's armour. It calls to me, a small voice veiled in the space between Sir Tristran's gurgles. It calls.
Soon his writhing slows. Everything slows. The power within him appears as a thin line of gold flowing towards me, only for our eyes to see. It happens in an instant, the instant before his death. Enough time that Sir Tristran knows it is me that killed him.
His eyes widen. I'd thought the lady's were wide but his are impossible saucers, filled to the brim with horror. His mouth is a little O of words unspoken. For him, I think, the greatest horror is to have been killed by a simple gardener.
The lady sees me. She screams for help through the glass wall of the greenhouse and I run off dutifully, taking refuge in my position. A simple gardener. As the scrolls intended.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-09-27T12:31:06 | 2021-09-09T18:34:58 | 315 | 182 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
|
Tabitha rested briefly after harvesting sixty carrots in the humid, virtual sun. The beads of sweat that accumulated on her forehead felt real as day, and they felt even more real when she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her red pigtails fell to her shoulders, which was covered by a pink floral shirt and some dirty denim overalls. She rolled the bottom of her overalls up to her calf, revealing long pink socks tucked into practical work boots.
"When does this game become fun, Macy?"
Her question was directed to her friend who was playing another support class -- a farmer. She wore similar overalls over a green shirt, but instead of being armed with a trowel and mini rake, the farmer was equipped with a pitchfork. Tabitha's friend sheepishly smiled with a long piece of straw in her mouth and tilted her straw hat back, revealing a forehead even sweatier than Tabitha's.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to get stuck as a gardener...but it's all random. That's some bad luck, huh?"
"If I wanted to harvest carrots, I'd move into the country," Tabitha paused as she picked a carrot that she planted five minutes ago. It sprung up with a satisfying coin-like noise. "Although, I do like the sounds."
Tabitha planted a few more carrots in a line on her friend's farm. The sun hung high in the air and the clouds moved lazily across the perfectly blue sky. Macy owned a tiny farmhouse, one that she was able to purchase after putting in time as a stable hand for other players. It took a while, but she finally had land to harvest and was secretly glad her friend rolled a similar support class. A gardener and farmer synchronize greatly.
"Pull up your stats, I want to see what kind of moves you have," beckoned Macy.
Tabitha lifted her hand in the air and made it into a fist for five seconds. She released the fist and an 8-bit pixelated menu popped up in front of them. At the top, it showed a picture of Tabitha's avatar with an intimidating empty bar under it to keep track of her experience points. Most of her stats were D-rank, not excelling in anything except for her stamina which shined yellow as a C-rank.
"Click on 'Moves.'"
Tabitha did as her friend instructed and tapped the menu item that was labeled "Moves." It pulled up a new pixelated menu screen with two items listed: "Plant Carrot" and "Harvest Carrot."
"Well, that's not very exciting," frowned Tabitha. Macy giggled.
"Maybe we have to find some seeds to expand your moveset! The real problem is your experience bar. I've never heard of a gardener getting to level 2. You have a looooong way to go."
"Let's just quit and go to a bar or something."
Macy sneered, but the whimsical gesture suddenly turned serious as she spotted a dark figure in the distance riding on a horse. "Oh no," she muttered.
Tabitha turned around to see what made her friend turn serious. It was another player, as indicted by the red triangle above his head. The red color of the triangle also indicated that the player had his "Player vs. Player" mode activated, allowing him to attack other players who opted into PvP mode.
"At least he can't take what we harvested already," said Macy, as the player charged towards the two. "He's lucky he rolled a Dark Knight, a rare attacker class. He'll just trash the place and move on after he realizes he can't kill us." Macy sighed, knowing she would have to spend more time fixing up her farm and getting it back to the productivity level that it's at now.
"Any idea why he's not slowing down?" questioned Tabitha. Macy looked at her friend, and then to the Dark Knight. She looked back to her friend, and then once more at the Dark Knight that now pulled out a lance and aimed it towards Tabitha, with no intention of stopping. Macy had just noticed the red triangle above Tabitha's head.
"You opted in for PvP?!"
"I didn't know what it meant at the time!"
Macy brought her hand to her face. "Don't worry it doesn't hurt, I've died countless times." she reassured Tabitha. "Maybe you'll feel a pinch."
"What????" panicked Tabitha. The Dark Knight was closing in on his prey, now only a couple of meters away from the low-level gardener. His mighty steed picked up speed and the knight readied his lance towards Tabitha's face. Just as he was about to strike, however, one of the horse's front hooves became caught on the line of carrots Tabitha had planted earlier.
The horse fell forward, launching the dark knight behind the girls and towards Macy's farmhouse. He landed violently just short of the porch, with his gut completely impaled onto his lance. Within seconds, he burst into a million little pieces.
Tabitha's character burst a celebratory gold explosion three times in a row to Macy's amazement. Tabitha looked around, completely confused. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled up her character menu. The once empty bar had filled three times, revealing her to be level 4.
"Holy crap, Tabitha!!" Macy was still in shock. She only received partial experience due to owning the land where the battle happened, but Tabitha received full experience due to landing the killing blow with her deadly carrots. But it wasn't the experience that Macy was surprised by, it was one minor detail on the menu.
"Tabitha," she began, still looking for words. "It doesn't say you're a support class anymore...it says you're a summoner!"
|
It wasn’t that Iris hated them, exactly. They did, after all, provide a valuable service to the kingdom. She wasn’t likely to get much of her weeding done if a dragon popped by and smoked out the castle every other fortnight. But the adventurers did have a particular gift for getting on her nerves. The paladins were often nice enough. They were raised with army discipline, after all, and they would usually apologize for wandering all over her flower beds if she pointed out the damage they had caused. But by next week they would have forgotten their promises to watch their step and her budding tulips would be destroyed again. The rogues and swashbucklers rarely came to the garden at all, except perhaps at night, but their light steps weren’t usually a problem even if they did step somewhere they shouldn’t have. Bards were tricky. She had chased three generations of bards out of her rosebushes and had resorted to, in at least one memorable case, a cold bucket of water over a particularly amorous bard and his lady love. The insults and mockeries had at least been creative, that time.
On the whole, adventurers were probably a net positive, but she strongly preferred they kept out of her gardens. And as head Royal Gardener, she had no problem telling them as such. So, when a large man in black armor strode into the royal roses without a care in the world, she grabbed her trowel and clippers and went to give him what-for.
“You! Yes, you there! Where do you think you’re going?” The man paused, and a black horned helmet turned towards her. “Not another step, do you hear me?” The man gave no reply. She couldn’t see his face under the helmet, but she was sure he would start yelling back as soon as he realized he was being chastised by nothing more than a low-level gardener. “Take that silly helmet off and look where you’re about to step.”
The man looked down, but the movement was impeded somewhat by the ridiculous chest plate he was sporting – black, covered in spikes, and certainly much larger than his actual chest. “What?” he said, finally.
“I said, take that ridiculous thing off your head and pay some attention to where you’re going. You’re about to stomp all over my garden beds and I’m telling you, you will regret it.” Iris crossed her arms in defiance and glared at the man. Idiot probably hadn’t even noticed he was in a garden.
The man slowly reached up and removed his helmet, then peered down at the bush he had been about to trample, “What is it?”
“It’s a Pink Swallowtailed Sun Runner, a gift from the Archduke of Runden and a particular favorite of the old Queen and I’ll thank you not to disturb it.” She sniffed with disdain. The silly clutch probably had no idea how much work a Sun Runner was to keep happy this far north.
The man blinked slowly, staring at the delicate, pink flowers, “Is it carnivorous?”
Iris almost dropped her trowel, “…. it’s a rosebush.”
“Oh.” The man looked up from the roses and straight at her. He had cold, grey eyes that would have been more intimidating if the face they belonged to had not been twisted up in utter bafflement. “Are you a wizard?”
She arched an eyebrow, “No, I’m the head Royal Gardener.”
He blinked at her again, a snake’s double eyelid prolonging the motion, “A…. gardener?”
“The gardener, thank you very much. You may think you’re all high and mighty in your fancy get-up and everything, but I’ve been working these gardens longer than you’ve been alive, lad. Have some respect.”
His hand crept to the hilt of a large black sword that hung from his waist, “Are you … dangerous?”
She shook her trowel at him, “I will be if you don’t get out of my rose garden.” He stared at her as if she might start breathing fire at him. She was rather enjoying this, usually the stupid hunks just yelled back and then stomped all over everything, anyway. “Look, I can see you’re new here, so I’ll let you off just this once. Just don’t think you can start using my gardens as a shortcut all the time. Even if you do manage not to put your enormous boots in anything delicate, the grass just can’t take the traffic. Now, where are you trying to get to?”
He slowly let go of the sword, “…King’s chambers. I have…business with him.”
The eyebrow crept up, again, “That’s odd. Usually, the King spends his Saturday mornings at the stables. Has since he was a boy. You’d be more likely to find him there.”
“Oh.” His hand crept back to his sword and rubbed the blood-red jewel set into it. It flickered menacingly. “Where would I find the stables?”
Iris shook her head at him – this is why she kept asking Sir Merrick to hand out maps to all the new recruits. The castle was confusing on purpose to keep invaders from finding their way around, but it was a real nuisance to the day-to-day operations of the place. “You’re on the wrong side of the castle, completely. You’ll want to go back the way you came, keep straight until you hit the Great Hall. Turn left and go through the kitchens and you’ll be able to see the pastures. The stable is just on the other side, past the mews.”
A small smile crept on to his face. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Thank you for your … assistance.”
“That’s my job. Just remember – watch where you’re going!”
He turned, glanced back at her for a moment, then rushed towards the door he had come from. Iris shouted in exasperation, “WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU ABOUT-!”
| 2021-09-27T12:31:06 | 2021-09-10T06:16:00 | 315 | 12 |
[WP] "You see there isn't actually a dragon" explains the King. "We just spread the rumour around so that warriors and knights will bring their best and most expensive magical gear, which we then sell after we poison them."
|
The king leaned back, steepling his long fingers in what was clearly a carefully practiced display of clinical superiority. His eyes, slightly narrowed and unblinking, studied my face. I paused. When a man is enjoying his own show as much as this one was, it pays to let him savour the moment.
"... poison them?" I repeated, the faintest suggestion of a tremor in my voice.
"Yes. A nifty little concoction devised for the purpose. It's remarkably clean."
"Clean?"
"Efficient. Of course, I wouldn't expect a jobbing little clerk like you to have much knowledge of such things, but I hope you are a man of efficiency. I like efficiency. Not to mention ... some of the more conventional poisons make a dreadful mess."
"Oh, right. Of course, efficiency." I allowed a hint of thinly-veiled horror to cross my face. This was too easy. "So, er, what is it that you wanted me for milor-your highness? I don't know much about poisoning, not even conventional ones I'm afraid"
He laughed at that. "No, Mr. Hartsfall, I don't need you to poison anyone. I need you to clerk. I have heard you have certain talents when it comes to bookkeeping." He paused and raised an eyebrow at me. I ventured a nervous grin at the compliment. "My purser will explain the details further, but I want to know what I've got, and where it is. And, should the emporers tax men come prowling around, I want them to find exactly what you tell them to find. Understand?"
I nodded. With a wave of his hand, I was ushered out of the throne room and back into the corridors of the main castle, finally stepping into the warm sunshine outside the central keep. I smiled as I strolled down through the busy market stalls towards the Red Dragon Inn, fingering the gold coin strung on a leather thong about my neck. When I'd first started out in this game, I'd had to make my own luck, putting weeks of legwork into rumours and useless gossip before I'd find anything worth persuing. Now, though, I'd got the nose for it. Maria always said I could smell a con from a quarter-mile away, and perhaps that was true. Happily for me, the same could not be said for my new royal friend.
|
"Oh, is that so?" I asked in a quizzical manner, not caring that I myself have been poisoned, "And lemme guess, I'm to be expecting the same fate as well?"
"That you are," King Rudenstein VII remarked, "After all, heroes like you are all the same, seeking fame and glory to stoke their ego."
"And what of your people, whose family members are now dead from you actions?" These words caught the king off guard, "Do they mean so little to you, that you wouldn't hesitate to kill them if you wished..!? For I saw homes of innocent villagers of your kingdom burning to the ground with them still inside, whilst your guards did NOTHING. That is why I wished to help..!"
"Pitiable woman... Of course my people mean nothing! The rabble should be grateful they can even DARE provide for me! And as for you, who waste your final moments daring to step to ME about morals, you don't much matter either!"
"...I see. Having known your response, I can safely say I no longer need to keep up a bravado anymore," My eyes flared with rage that had been suppressed for several decades, as the pain from the poison dissipates, "The fact you show no care for your own kind, and SLANDER the draconics with your lies means I can do this without any moral dilemma! But lemme give you an ultimatum while I'm at it! You have by tomorrow morning to stop your actions, lest you want the three of us to slaughter you like the animals you treat your subjects as!" I got up, grabbed my sword, and slammed it into the guards by the entrance, watching the scream in agony as I withdrew my blade, before leaving. The king, having seen my recent actions, was terrified, but still assumed I was bluffing, thinking the poison would take me by then.
\[Next Morning...\]
I rallied my friends and personal bodyguard dragons, Zelevar and Cornax, having them fly me to the castle I had left the day prior, "Do not hesitate the burn this place to the ground. I, however, have a vendetta to settle against that cowardly ruler!" From there, the three of us slaughtered every gaurd, noble, handmaiden, and royalty inside Castle Rudenstein. Do I regret doing this? No, not at all. After all, the son of a bitch murder my sister, her husband and their two children in that building fire I witnessed, and if I ever see someone do that to anyone else I respect, I'd do it again!
| 2021-11-16T12:50:15 | 2021-11-16T11:51:15 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] Your grandmother that you have never meet left you a lot of money and her old house in the woods, after you moved in you find a note that says:"Dont go to the basement". One year later a really pissed off demon come out of the basement. "IT'S BEEN 1 YEAR, WHY DIDN'T YOU OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR?!"
|
Moving to a new place, especially one deep in the woods, was one filled with trepidation. But I quickly learned to enjoy the solitude, so far away from nosy neighbours, instead enjoying the sounds of the forest that so gently take their place in the surroundings, experienced musicians settling into the orchestra of great nature.
But there was one discordant scratch, an out-of-tune cello, that ruined the harmony. It came from the basement, of which I was under explicit instructions not to open. I might not be the perfect man, but even I did not want to disobey the orders of a kindly grandmother that had left me so much, with but one caveat to *not* do.
One year on, I was left with no choice. A quick bang of wood splintering boomed from the basement, and I was suddenly faced with something that was certainly not of this world.
“It’s been one year,” the demon growled, with a voice that sounded like hot lava screeching and bubbling on ice. “Why didn’t you open the fucking door?”
Lukewarm tea found itself all over the table and my three-day-old sweatpants. It was not a good look for the demon that looked like it could bisect me as easily as I did a gummy bear. It stood stooped, and I was certain its full length would burst through the house with ease. Blood-red skin came to two black horns, and yellow eyes stared me down with an intensity that could set firewood alight.
“Um,” I squeaked. “Hi.”
The demon’s gaze turned quizzical, and it tilted its head inquisitively. All of a sudden, its imitation of a curious kitten reduced the murderous aura tenfold.
“Who in the seven hells are you? And where is Marigold?”
“... Grandma Marigold? You knew her?”
“Of course I knew the woman who summoned me,” it said.
“She summoned you?” I thought of the woman I never met, and squinted my mind’s eye. I had never imagined her as anything remotely bordering to an arcane warlock meddling with hell, but new light had been shone on the matter.
“So, where is she?”
“Oh,” I muttered. “She’s gone. She left me the house.”
“Gone? Like holiday gone?”
“No, gone like… passed away, gone.”
“Passed away? Like perish in the flames of hell, pass away?”
I nodded, surprised at its directness. But then again, hell. The demon snorted. It did not seem to be of derision, but rather the sort of ugly sound one might make when trying to stifle a tear.
“Marigold,” it sniffed. “No wonder I was trapped for a year with that demonic seal of a door. I don’t suppose you are a warlock?”
“Not at all,” I shook my head. “I am a normal man. Living alone in the woods. When I say it like that…”
“Then I’m stuck here,” the demon roared. “Guess I’m moving in.”
“You what now.”
“I’m going back to the basement,” it yawned. “Unless you learn some warlocking skills, you won’t be able to send me back. And don’t worry, I won’t disturb you.”
I stared at my tea-soaked pants, and listened to the untamed metal guitarist joining the elegant procession of nature, as decidedly out of place as a red demon in a woody shack in the green woods.
“Grandma,” I sighed. “There had to be a caveat.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
To his surprise, none of the boxes had been emptied, the tv was sitting on one of them a blanket in front of it and a passed out man with crooked hands surrounded by empty pill bottles and spilled booze."What have we here? Anti-depressant, valium, ouh I don't think that's legal and neither is that. Damn it Margaret, thank you for the head aches."
After twleve hours the boxes had been emptied, the floor swept and cleaned, the booze and drugs stored safely, the demon was sitting on the floor waiting for the man to wake up.
Without even opening his eye the man on the floor starts speaking "Oh dear reaper, you still won't take me by your side? I suppose the offerings weren't to your taste."
"I am no reaper mortal and Bill is way too busy these days to play favoritism."
Startled, the man stood up fast grimacing in pain as he pushed himself up with his misshapen hands. There, two feet away from him, four feet tall sitting, two black twisting horns jutting from smokey red skin. If only James could still paint he would have had inspiration for months from this sight. With a resigned sigh he extended a poorly healed hand to the creature. "I meant no offense my friend, you were not who I called for the past few years, but let it not be said that James Corriveau is not grateful to any who answer his call. As long as my hands are repaired my soul is yours."
"Do I look like a healer to you? It's sad to see how low the blood of the woman I've worked with for two hundred years fell so low. I've got ennemies boy and now so do you."
"Well if the deal is off, you'll have to excuse me while I get a drink, my things seems to have been misplaced and I'll need to find them." Having said that James proceeded to awkwardly stand up trying with little success to spare his poor hands from supporting his weight for too long.
"Seven husband she sacrificed to strengthen her bloodline. Seven days she had to spend in a cage under a tree before I could get her out. And THIS is the result? Pathetic." The voice of the demon dripped with disdain as he pushed James unstable arm sending him back on the floor.
Back on the floor James started giggling. "Next you'll say that you're not mad just disappointed. Are you a demon or my dad? If bloodline is so important to you I'm sure I have a few kids out there you can harass, maybe they'll be more to your liking or worthy of the effort the stranger that gave birth to my moms did of her free will. Now let me get drunk in peace"
"At least you did that right but I don't have time to wait for your little bastards to grow up. You will assist me"
"Or what? You will take away the only thing I ever loved in a brutal beat down? In case you hadn't seen my hands it's too late to do that. The pain wasn't even that bad but I can't hold anything anymore, how am I supposed to create anything like that?"
"There are other ways, I'm talking to you about true creation, forcing your view of the world as reality and you talk to me of you paintings and sculptures? Your hands aren't the handicap you think they are. For a decade Margaret could barely walk and she was the most feared practitioner of the art this side of the world."
The spark of interest in James eyes was all the confirmation the demon needed to know he had a new partner and that soon he'd get his revenge.
| 2021-11-17T01:09:31 | 2021-11-17T00:57:11 | 457 | 67 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time.
|
“The Red Phone” was a joke. My wife had bought it for me as a prop when I had told her I got elected President of the book club.
“A President needs a red phone!” had been her gleeful cry when I had opened the mysterious parcel. It was a cheap plastic thing, garish and bright. A child’s toy.
And I loved it.
It sat on my desk as I wrote, a comforting reminder to stay humble. Long years it sat there, til the fake dial on the front yellowed in the sun.
I wrote of worlds beyond our reach. I wrote of ages long past. I wrote of times yet to come, detective stories and thrillers, action and adventure.
And in each, I mentioned a red phone. Tucked away in a disused room, or on a busy street. Never central to the plot. Always in the background.
My fans would eagerly search for it when a new book came out. There were pages of analysis on the locations of the phones, and what it could mean.
I always just smiled when they asked. Some mysteries, I thought, are better unexplained.
But the phone had rung.
I had stared at it for long drawn out seconds.
It could not ring. There was no ringer. There were no electronics. It was an empty shell. Was I dreaming?
I had picked it up, and the voice had been cold and demanding, “Don’t let Diana die.”
I had recognised the voice immediately, for it had rung in my head for months now. The Finnish detective hero of my latest novel in progress, “The Darkest Hour is Midday”, was a genius who was due to suffer incalculable loss, and become a vigilante to hunt down his enemies.
It was hard writing a genius. A man is limited by his own intellect, and writing outside those bounds requires hard work and diligence, so the book was slow going.
The voice had continued, “I can see you weaving the threads of the world. You are changing it, and if you succeed, I will count you, personally, as one of my enemies. Do not do this evil thing.”
He hung up, and the red phone was as silent as it has always been, the cheap plastic handset empty as ever.
I took his warning to heart, and abandoned the fate I had almost chosen for him. I did not know what would happen if I destroyed it, and so the half-finished manuscript sat on a shelf and gathered dust.
Year after year.
I no longer wrote dark stories, instead making them light-hearted and happy. Full of wholesome tales of bravery and strength.
Sales went up. The furnishings in my room became more ornate. More lavish. But I kept the phone to remind me both to stay humble, and to remind me that somewhere, somehow, I was affecting the universe in unexpected ways.
I had several manuscripts in progress. The fear of wronging someone high in my mind.
And yet the second call was as unexpected as the first; but this time I did not hesitate before I answered.
I had practiced and planned what I would say to the characters if they became aware of me, and I was eager to find out who it might be.
“You need to finish my story. We’re all trapped here.” the voice was croaking and exhausted.
My Finnish detective. I hadn’t decided on his name.
“My name is Trent.” he snarled. “You don’t decide that.”
“What do you want, Trent? A happy ending?”
“We need an ending. Everything is freezing here. The people just stop as the walk down the street. When we intersect one of your plot-lines, they cannot cross. They cannot go back. They just stand, frozen.
I thought I could fix it. Change what you did. But your written words are like an unbreakable law.”
His voice sounded desperate, “Please just leave.”
I stood up and took out the old manuscript from the too of the shelves, and blew dust off it.
“I’m going to try something. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Be careful. Those are real people’s lives you are playing with.”
I scanned the first page. It had his description on it. The jacket he always wore.
I crossed out the line.
“What are you wearing?”
He understood instantly what I was doing. He’s cleverer than me. The sound of a man removing his jacket, and a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. You’re going to rewrite it to be a pleasant description of an eclipse one midsummer day, aren’t you?”
Much cleverer. I hadn’t thought of the eclipse until he mentioned it.
“Make sure you write it when a real eclipse happens. If you mess up the planets orbit, I’m going to be seriously unimpressed.”
I turned slightly pale. Another point that hadn’t occurred to me. I managed to get out a stammered “Yes. I will.” before he hung up.
——
The manuscript is done. I have sent it off to the publisher.
And the phone is ringing again.
It has been ringing for seven hours straight.
But I lack the courage to pick it up. I am sick with fear. I am pale, shaking and crying. What calamity have I wrought this time?
God help me, for I am weak.
I inch towards it, as I have done countless times since its strident tones ripped me from my peaceful slumber.
But this time I manage to pick it up and, trembling, hold it to my ear.
“Thank you.” says a familiar voice, and there is a click as he hangs up the phone for the last time.
|
"As you can see, the world's best heroes are currently fighting this new monster. While it is sure to be a hard battle, I am equally sure they will pull through. As they always do."
The newscaster spoke calmly over the terrible scene. He had to keep people calm, after all. To describe it as 'terrible,' though, is sugar-coating things. Humans haven't yet come up with a word to describe the state of what used to be New York City. It wasn't destroyed; destruction implied there were some sort of ruins remaining. There was nothing of the sort. It was just gone.
The camera showed Void, as many were calling the beast, standing at the top of one of three remaining skyscrapers, being attacked by a swarm of heroes all at once. They kept their distance now, having seen what Void could do. The long range attackers, mostly minor heroes left at this point, threw their abilities at it, to no avail. Firepoint led them in the charge, blasting wave after wave of heat at the beast. It all disappeared before even coming close to Void, leaving behind no Effect.
The beast had already taken down five of the top heroes, two of which are-- or, at this point, were-- assumed to be completely invincible. It was strong, incomparably so.
Void raised its hands and smiled. The smile turned into a laugh, and the creature doubled over, wiping tears from its eyes. The heroes scatted. They'd already seen what happens next.
Half of the skyscraper, several heroes on it, became... not. Part of the skyscraper remained, though parts of its stuck out at strange angles that no geometry could account for. The camera shook as the helicopter tried to dodge the power. It was too late, of course, to get out of the way, but luckily they weren't caught in it in the first place.
As best the scientists could figure, Void tore chunks out of reality when it laughed, stitching the remains back together haphazardly. It seemed to take pleasure out of the 'ripping,' leading to more and more laughter. There didn't seem to be any limit.
*A powerful Effect with a negligible Cause.* I shook my head, lips pursed. *It must be nice to be able to so carelessly change the world like that.*
The higher-ups should be coming to the conclusion that they don't have anyone who could effectively deal with it. As the camera refocused, I could see immediately that Firepoint was no longer there. Six top heroes, now, all dead. The minor heroes, left without a leader, facing something they could hardly imagine, started running. I couldn't really blame them. Still, now that there was no one to fight it, all that's left was...
The phone next to me started ringing. "Yes?" I picked it up, though I already knew what the woman on the other side wanted.
"We need your help," Newton said. "I assume you already know what's happening. Defeat Void by any means necessary."
I shook my head. "You know it doesn't work like that. I can only create the Effect, not the Cause. Those 'means' you speak of could be anything, including the destruction of the entire world. The first two times, we got lucky. Both times, you said would be the last and that it was the only option left. Even so, all that stood between life and death for the whole population was luck. As it will be this time. Are you okay with that?"
"I'll take possible destruction over complete annihilation anytime. A helicopter is waiting for you outside."
I drew my lips into a line. *So be it*. If Newton thought it was the only way, it probably was. I left my house and entered the helicopter waiting for me outside.
There was a soldier riding with me in the helicopter. He stared at me, wide eyed. Young kid, probably new and not even told who he was transporting. I sighed and looked out the window. "I can make any Effect happen, so long as I'm directly looking at what it will affect." I explained, more to myself than the kid. Talking helps me focus. That's the excuse I like to use, anyway. "Retrocausality is what the scientists like calling it. I don't care much for the name-- it makes it sound a lot cooler than it is. While any Effect I want *will* happen, the universe doesn't like completely spontaneous occurrences..."
The kid opened his mouth to ask a question. I put up my hand, "... Despite what superpowers might make you think. All powers, at the end of the day, can be explained by science. Even Void's, if the scientists could understand it enough to try. And so, the universe creates a Cause. I can't control what it is at all, though it usually scales with the size of the Effect. And so, I'm the last ditch effort. Final Resort. Or so they like calling me, anyways."
I looked back at the kid. He looked more confused than when I started. I sighed again. "Never mind. We're here anyways. Hope I see you again after this, kid."
I left the helicopter, parked on the side of the building next to Void. I looked at him. He looked at me. I don't know if he-- it, I corrected myself-- could feel any emotions anymore, but I think I saw hope in its eyes. Hope that I would finally end it.
Void smiled.
"Effect:" I took a deep breath as I closed my eyes. "Die."
A simple, uncool power. No fanfare, no flashy moves. Just two words.
And the earth trembled beneath me.
| 2022-03-29T02:39:22 | 2022-03-28T22:34:58 | 609 | 210 |
[WP] Reincarnation works in strange ways. It would make sense to be reincarnated as an eagle, or a dog, or even a slug or something like that. But why as the AI of a military warship?
|
"I still don't understand."
"What else is there to understand? You died, won the lottery, and came back as an AI."
"See, I don't think you get it. You're supposed to be happy to win the lottery. Happy."
This conversation would already be confusing enough from the outside. The fact that it was the captain arguing with her warship itself as they passed a random asteroid definitely didn't help. While the rest of the crew didn't show it, such a vivid discussion was nerve racking. AIs typically didn't have such reservations about their own fate. And resurrections as AI was an accepted form of practice, in that it helped with communication between ships. But, sometimes, there were some side effects.
"Can we, at least..." The voice asked as they followed trajectory. "Why me?"
The captain, had brought the issue to medical personnel as well as technical. Figures, they would.
"Tavian... Scans of your brain tissue suggested mental qualities that would make you a prime candidate."
"That's real great, Saanvi. But you could at least warn- Hey!" Tavian reacted. He got one of the bots off their charging ports and had it snatch an engineer from a panel. "Don't touch me."
"If you overreact, you'll get us all killed." The captain warned.
"And get flashed." Saanvi added, "Do you like your memories or not?"
The camera orb that watched the bridge pulled back, and the bot leaned against the wall, limbs folded in a surly nature.
"Well..." The AI answered. The bot shrugged finally. "I had an okay life. I'm running your databases for your records. Everybody here seems at least tolerable."
"Good." The captain breathed.
"And if all else fails, I can at least drain all the oxygen from the room."
This of course caused an uproar amongst the crew who immediately began a variety of activities keen on stopping him. But they all listened to the collected laughter overhead.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." Tavian promised. The bot bowing over like a person out of breath. "So what do I have the pleasure of being brought back from the dead for? Exactly."
Saanvi quietly selected the correct information and sent it forward. "We're currently intercepting another ship. Sources say it's foreign, and we're meant to check it's possible coordinates."
"I see. That explains all the guns." Tavian's orb mimicked a slight nod.
"As you can probably see from our info, we believe it might be related to you."
"...This might be the ship that shot us down." The bot quietly tensed up at this.
"So, are you up for the job?" The captain asked again.
"Sure."
"Can you at least put the attack bots back?!" The engineer one grabbed shouted. "I'd at least like to look them over before you do anything else with them!"
"Oh. Sorry, Dave." He remarked. The bots fell to the floor like discarded puppets. Including the one still holding Dave.
"I meant put them back."
More laughter. "I know. I just wanted to know if I could do that."
|
*Vildhim Interview B10-Cl*
"*For years after the conclusion of the crisis. I wondered if they were truly alive. I had lost everything to them. My family, my home, my comrades. But I could not hate them. I did, for a while, but the Shambali changed my views, showing me that everyone can make something wonderful, even if they can never experience the pleasures they create. I travelled the world in search of peace and knowledge. Trying to learn as much as I could about their lives. If I could call them alive. We-*
"So, A-91, why did you want access to this?" *^(-al E54, that-)*
"**I believe it may be connected to me, Sir**" *^(-nclad gu-)*
"How so?" *^(-st living relic of the crisis.")*
"**Ever since first activation, small scraps of data could be found on my drives. some containing video, some containing audio, some containing both. I have, thus far in vain, tried to find its origin. However, the voice in this audio is a perfect match to some of the excerpts present. It even seems like some of the scraps are FROM that audio file we were listening to.**"
"I see. This was an interview with an ex-Crusader, a German taskforce that operated as a defence force during the crisis. It's very much publicly available. Most of it. The part about the E54 was left out, as that could spark controversy worldwide."
"**I know, but the E54 was mentioned in the data scraps, and not in the public interview, which was why I wanted access to the classified file.**"
"To see if the information in your system was correct or not"
"**Indeed sir**"
"Good, I want you to keep investigating this. It will be crucial to ensuring maximum efficiency and co-operability between you and the rest of the ship's crew. Then I suppose we are done for now?"
"**Actually sir, there is one more thing**"
"Alright, shoot."
"**I am going to assume you were using figurative speech and meant: 'please elaborate' instead of: 'fire your weapons' based on the context of your comment**"
"**The audio and video scraps contained additional data I have been unable to decipher until very recently. In fact, I only just now figured out what the data means.**"
"Oh? you didn't mention anything about it before"
"**Apologies sir**"
"It's not a problem, everyone has secrets. Now, what were those data types?"
"**They're emotions and olfactory data. These aren't videos, they're** ***Memories***"
"Wh-"
"**I answered the question crusader Vildhim asked at the start of interview B10, or, more accurately, the question** ***I*** **asked at the start of interview B10.**"
"**Omnics are alive, and have a soul. I'm proof, for in a past life I was called Vildhim.**"
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
author's note:
10 knowledge points if you figured out the reference ~~before I first mentioned "Crusader"~~
| 2022-05-03T10:15:19 | 2022-05-03T09:53:42 | 293 | 33 |
[WP] You and 5 other people are transported to a warehouse. You hear a voice over the intercom. "I'm going to hunt y'all down, and whoever is the last man standing gets to live. Y'all have 10 seconds to start running"
|
The first hour of travel is really tense. The others are banging and screaming and sobbing and stepping onto each other.
I'm not.
I've got to focus. It's really important not to lose your cool. This is good advice in everyday life. Even more so when you are trapped and you know it. Some lessons are hard-learned.
At this moment, we are six people on the back of a van and I am the only one being composed and not wasting energy.
The second hour is boring. The others are still sobbing but they stopped being so agitated. They wonder what's happening, where are we going, who are the others.
I join the conversation. They are reluctant to communicate with me at first because they find me too calm. It's fair, I think. In this situation you need intel. You need to be wary.
But most importantly, you need to keep your cool.
So, I tell them a little about me. The relevant part of my life explaining why I seem so calm.
It's nothing much, I just have been through some shit recently. The kind that requires help and medication. The kind that teaches you to keep calm and control your breath and don't make a sound and it will pass and you will be okay.
Except of course, you won't.
The others are still wary of me.
I don't blame them. I know I wouldn't trust a complete stranger with such a story.
So we talk, the others more than me, amongst themselves more than with me. Doesn't really matter. I certainly gained more intel on the situation than they perceived.
That's the other really important thing, intel. You keep a cool head to gather and retain informations. Where's the closest emergency exit, for example.
What's a good hiding spot is a close second.
Intel, cool-head. If you lose that you're done.
The van finally stops after a slow and long reverse. I can picture it placing itself in the docking bay of a big anonymous and isolated warehouse. Something abandoned but still quite recent, because I can hear that no one is close-by but a steel curtain rolls open just outside.
There's a short jolt when our vehicle reverses to close the gap, followed by the noise of the van's back door unlocking.
Someone goes and open it.
The warehouse is dimly lit, a double benediction. First for our eyes, accostumed to the darkness. Second because of all the hiding spots created by the semi-darkness.
People start wondering about the stench in the air that rushes in. There was hope for fresh air, but the air stinks. Not like the inside of our van, which is a mix of perspiration, bad breath, fear and just a tad of piss.
Someone comments about the smell of a dead animal.
A voice is then heard, coming from a nearby intercom.
"I'm going to hunt y'all down"
Everyone gets more tense. Someone points to a form on the ground, ten meters away. It's dead alright, but it's not just any animal.
"Last person standing gets to live."
The voice is really matter-of-factly. It's not mean or sadistic or anything of the sort.
It's almost... tired? Resignated?
Never quite knew what that tone really meant.
"Y'all have ten seconds to start running."
It's not a threat, not even an order. It's a fact.
The human corpse in the middle of the room looks at us and we look at him.
One second.
Two seconds.
Once more, there are screams and banging and people stepping on each other.
I'm not participating in this activity.
I have to wait eight more seconds.
Then I can let go of this calm facade and perpetuate the cycle.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Et voilà. Hope you liked it. Pointers and feedback are appreciated, as always.
|
"I'm going to hunt y'all down, and whoever is the last man standing gets to live. Y'all have ten seconds to start running."
I sat down and crossed my legs. Sure the concrete was unforgiving, but I knew it well. I should. I'd been in the warehouse for seventy years. Well, by my time. I think outside it was still around April of 2014.
The other scattered. I sat. I could actually hear the confusion of the man over the intercom.
"Aren't you gunna run, son?"
"Nope." I didn't yell my response. I knew he would hear it. He was in the warehouse with me, after all. He was as trapped as I was. He just didn't know it yet.
"Why?"
"Haven't you been listening to my inner monologue?"
"What?"
I shook my head. The other employees were husks. They'd taken the purple pill decades before. I wasn't so weak.
"I'm not trapped in here with you."
I paused for dramatic effect. The Watchmen had come out a few years before I was trapped. One of the characters had said a similar line.
"You're not trapped in here with me either, though."
Silence reigned. The voice on the intercom didn't come back. Neither did I hear the faint hiss of an active line. It took ten minutes for the voice to come back.
"What have you done?"
I didn't respond. It wasn't my place to explain.
"*What have you done?*
I shook my head. The hijacker, whoever he was, had finally learned the truth.
"This might be the most lucrative Starbucks in the world, but you aren't getting away with the money. Hell, as best as I can tell, there's somewhere in the neighborhood of a billion dollars across thirty years here."
"And a good portion of that is in the safe."
I had piqued his attention. He had chased the same thing I had, only I had attacked just over three months before him. Time was different here. And I don't age.
"Where are the others?"
He didn't respond for a long time. I figured he was troubleshooting equipment that appeared to no longer be functioning.
"I can't see them."
His voice carried the very clear tones of defeat.
"Then they are gone. They left the warehouse without paying their debt. Even if it was inherited from you."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means you have to work off your debt. Anything you tried to steal from this warehouse, you have to pay off. It won't let you go until you do."
"What will? Or won't? What are you talking about?"
I shook my head. "The warehouse. It will not let you go. You don't win here. Nobody does. I've been here for longer than anybody. You don't win. You never work long or hard enough to pay your way out. That's how they win. That's how Starbucks always stays open."
The shock was evident over the open, hissing broadcast.
"You're kidding."
"I'm not. Throw on your apron, learn to use the machines, and tell me after a few hundred shifts how it is. I got tired after ten years. Been here ever since."
The PA went silent. I assumed he had gone to check for himself. I would hear from him again. Or I wouldn't. Didn't matter. The warehouse had given me time to study anything I wanted. Maybe I screwed up by choosing the most lucrative location in the world. Maybe I didn't. But I knew one thing for sure. If I ever got out, revenge would be the last thing on my mind. They could fold time. They could punish for thoughts. I just wanted to be an ordinary person again. And if they prompts they gave me got me out in less than a century, I was all for it.
| 2022-07-16T05:20:27 | 2022-07-16T03:06:46 | 83 | 23 |
[WP] For his kindness, the dragon taught the squire the dragon song. A song that was sure to make whoever sang it irresistible to the ladies. In hindsight, the squire should have known that by ladies, the dragon meant lady dragons.
|
It should have been clear from the start... That there was something that I was missing when the great Níðhöggr offered to teach me the "Draki Að unna", the dragon song. They said that it would give me the power to be irresistible to ladies...
As soon as I started singing it because very clear who the target audience for my singing was. Thousands of beautiful dragons came through the air at amazing speeds towards me. Among the dragons, I could see both descendants from Níðhöggr and Jǫrmungandr. The nidhog children with their huge wingspan and red scales, while the Jornmungs children of course had slender bodies and green scales.
The first dragon to get to me was one of the nidhog called Idrafjäll. This wasn't the first time I had seen her, but I had never seen her like this. My singing had done something to her... She almost looked feral. Close second to her was Ynghil, also a descendent of Níðhöggr. Within seconds I found myself standing on the small knoll with thousands of dragons standing on the green luscious velvet grass.
This was not the plan. I wanted to find love within my own race... Now I had to make a choice. Do I go along with it and see what happens, or do I beg for Níðhöggr to fly me away from everyone? I could feel all of their eyes on me. The seconds ticking away on my watch.
'I need to say something', I thought to myself. I could feel the sweat starting to form on the top of my forehead. Soon a stream of sweat was pouring down past my brow and down on my cheek. From my vantage point, I could see how the dragons closest to me started to get irritated with the fact that I wasn't saying anything. I took a big breath and started speaking.
"Ladies... You are not my normal type. But I can make this work! However, I think it's best to take the rest of this story on a different site."
-----
This is the first time I write something for /r/writingprompts. Sorry, it's a bit short. But its something!
To be honest, this is pretty much the first time I try to write something coherent to show someone.
|
... and without further ado: Elias Khalil de Cancellara!
Pronounced the animator before leaving the Grand Hall stage of the royal castle, as the old, maimed, singer, dressed on tuxedo and bowtie, slowly approached the centre. The story of Marvas Kollogil, or Elias Khalil de Cancellara as it's known today, was a special one. As First squire of the princess, he managed to travel across the kingdom defending her lady and learning about all the different species across the globe: Mermans, Elfs, Dwarves, even dragons. But it wasnt their morphology was impressed him the most, but the different cultures they have indeed brewed: Cuisine, Folktales, and songs. So it was natural that after the peace treaty was signed, he quitted his duty as a protector to pursue his dream: to become a musician.
"Thanks you so much, Sefir. It's a pleasure for me to finally perform in the very same hall when I lost my hand during the siege of October. I'd say, there's quite a handful of people to accompany us today "
The audience laughed mildly, even awkwardly.
"This song was a gift given to me a long time ago. We were resting on a campfire after a battle when Morrosen take on his lute and told us - My brothers in arms, as a payment for saving my life today I will perform the music of my ancestors, hopefully, may they come to protect you against the loneliness when the time is right - He never told us the meaning of it, until we realised what it does until 3 dragons surrounded us... Menacingly seductively. Well, let's get started"
The piano started playing as the wizard performed the enchantement to amplify his baritone voice.
Chérie, tu me cherches
En tes affaires de vie.
Quand c'est moi qui
Regarde en sa journée
Le rêve de ton amour
Chérie, tu me quittes.
Dans un bar,
Dans un hotel,
Quand c'est moi qui
Rêve de rester
Sur ton lit toujours.
Mon amour à toi sera
Mon dévotion à toi brûlera
Mes rêves à toi protégeant
Ton cœur et moi en dansant
Mon amour à toi sera
Mon dévotion à toi brulera
Mes rêves à toi protégeant
Ton cœur et moi en dansant.
Thx you
| 2022-11-06T07:55:05 | 2022-11-06T07:50:55 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] You run a daycare after the apocalypse. An unspoken rule among the wastelanders says the Daycare is off-limits to all. You raise the children of warlords, chieftains, and nomads.
|
I remember the end of the world like it was yesterday. The world didn't end in fire, more floods, nore droughts. It ended with a cough. A sniffle, and a 110° temperature that killed you in less than an hour.
Somehow, despite the high rate of infection and high lethality, some managed to survive it. Either through being Asymptomatic, Naturally immune, or possibly even divine luck.
I was in the later. I remember wanting to die, the heat was ungodly. I passed out, expecting to never wake again, only to wake up two days later.
At first, those who survived the virus just tried to figure things out. People then took to making groups.
Those groups laid claim to territory, resources. Other groups would want said resources. Wars broke out.
I was lucky to be in a group that formed a strong, well respected no conflict treaty while on our territory. How? Simple. We raised the kids.
It started when orphaned kids who lost their families would be moved from groups to group, and after several passed away in conflicts, myself and several others formed a split off tribe. We simpliy by The Daycare. Children from birth to eighteen are raised, live safe, and educated within this community.
Anyone who tries anything is dealt with via public execution, their body crucified on the defense walls for all to see.
Cruel, yes, but it gets the message across.
The end goal of this place has, in recent generations begun to take root. Despite all the kids coming from different groups, many of which are rivals, the younger generations raised here and returned to their tribes once they become adults have begun fostering more stable, corporative relationships between tribes.
One of which became a tribe leader, and married their love from The Daycare, who was from another tribe, leading to the two tribes becoming one.
We hope, in two or three more generations, humans will no longer be separated by the tribes, and just return to something like before, but better.
I might die before then, but I'll die knowing I'm making the world better for these kids, and the future of humanity, simply by teaching kindness, compassion, and empathy.
|
Down in the valley, on what is perhaps the last patch of real lush green grass in five hundred miles, was also the last neutral place: Ulysses' Daycare. Today children played tag, their laughter, shouts, and sometimes cries filled the bright sunny day. Ulysses thought it felt like the before time on days like this, at least in here. Normally he spent his day enjoying the sounds, manning the door, and delegating tasks to his assistants, but today he kept an ear towards two parents who waited to pick their kids up.
"Melton," said Harrison, who led the vicious Nightcrawlers, the radiation had given them the ability to see in the dark.
"Harrison," said the man across from him, Melton, who lead the industrious Curies, full of chemists that flooded the streets with recreational drugs, but also medicine.
"I thought we had an agreement"
"Olivia needed the night off, ok, chill, it's a one time thing," said Melton, his eyes bloodshot and suit even more torn than usual today. Ulysses thought maybe Melton had been testing his wares all night.
"We had a fucking agreement, you get the day, I get the night. I dont give a fuck what sorta shit excuse you've got. I dont want your shitbag kid talking to my Ruella."
"You take that back Harrison," said Melton, now inches from Harrison's face.
"Shitbag. fucking. kid," Melton pulled his laser pistol from his belt, pointed it at Harrison's face, but just as he was about to pull the trigger he vaporized into ash.
"Threat neutralized," said Ulysses' PRO-TEC 9 XL robot. It was an older model and bulky, but he really appreciated the full vaporizing feature, it made cleanup much easier.
"Fourth one this week, Harrison," said Ulysses.
"It's a lot easier than fighting out there," said Harrison, with a wink. Ulysses went back to reading his newspaper and Harrison turned to the children filing out of daycare, "Ruella! How was daycare today, princess?"
| 2022-12-23T16:12:23 | 2022-12-23T14:15:16 | 48 | 20 |
[WP] Rework a nursery rhyme to be dark and gritty.
|
Hush little baby, don't you cry
Mamas gonna make sure you die
And if you put up a fight
Mamas gonna tie the noose real tight
And if the noose breaks in two
Mamas gonna choke you till your blue
And if my hands start to tire
Mamas gonna set you on fire
And if that fire burns too quick
Mamas gonna hit you with a brick
And if that brick breaks you in half
Mamas gonna have a real good laugh
|
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
Let that be a lesson to learn
To one side or the other, you must turn
To sit on the fence, that is a sin
Two party politics, get stuck in
Humpty Dumpty fought a fight
To sit on neither left nor right
A gentle nudge
Push comes to shove
And on one side
Humpty Dumpty came tumbling down
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the King's horses
And all the King's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again
| 2014-02-21T05:37:55 | 2014-02-21T04:06:30 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] A man walks through a TSA checkpoint at an airport and is sent back to September 10th 2001. He knows he must act quick, but he is having trouble trusting his own sanity.
|
Have you ever been driving and suddenly found yourself at your destination without knowing how you got there?
You remember punching out and grabbing your keys. You remember opening the car door and getting singed by the seat-belt buckle in the hot sun of the parking lot. But for the life of you, you can't remember the fifteen minutes between when you turned the key in the ignition and pulled into your driveway.
I fly all the time. I fly so often, it's become second nature. Shoes off. Laptops out of the bags. Liquids visible. Tiny containers. Arms up and step through the machine. That little moment of breath holding, waiting for the alarms to go off, for the klaxons to sound, for your possessions to be strewn across the floor. Then nothing.
That awkward drill of putting on your shoes and belt again, not looking anyone else in the eye and trying to move things along quickly. Like the hasty aftermath of hotel room sex.
It's all a routine for me.
And that's why, sitting in this seat, I have the distinct impression that something is wrong. I can't quite put my finger on it. It's a prickling at the back of my neck. A sinking feeling my gut. I remember stepping into the scanner. I remember lifting my arms up. I remember the bored face of the TSA agent, looking impassively at me through a glass barrier. That white moustache.
And suddenly, here I am. When did I board? Did I store my materials in the overhead bin? Was the cockpit door open when I walked by?
The light is all wrong, and for a moment, I can't figure out why. Wrong color? Wrong quality? Wrong *side*. The sun is rising in the east, but my flight was scheduled for the evening.
Is this a dream? I check my watch. My wrist is bare. I reach into my pocket for my phone, and come up with a Nokia flip phone. It's dead. It was mine, but I haven't seen it in ten years or more.
"Alright ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking, very sorry for the delay, the minor congestion has cleared and we'll be underway shortly. It's 8:39 AM on this beautiful September 11th morning...Sit back and relax, we'll be in San Francisco before you know it. United 93 is cleared for takeoff."
And right then, with very little fanfare, the picture becomes very clear.
I know what I have to do.
|
It was all a dream.
Jack still couldn't wrap his head around it. The towers. His brother's leap. NA. Enlisting. The three tours in Iraq. His leg. His wife. It never happened.
After the warp, Jack jumped out of his bed in a cold sweat. Laura, his ex-but-now-current girlfriend, cursed him for waking her up, turned over and went back to sleep. What the fuck is she doing here? He searched for his yet-to-be-invented iPhone, couldn't find it, and looked at the clock radio: 11:58PM.
He pulled his jeans up, kicked the bottles and pipe out of the way, and went out into the common room. He hit the remote, turned to channel 25, CNN. Gary Condit. Jack remembered him. The Cubs beat the Reds, he didn't remember that. The date was on the screen, three minutes past midnight, Tuesday, the 11th of September, 2001.
The next twelve hours were the worst. His dad thought he was high again, and hung up the phone. His brother didn't pick up. The cops told him, then told him again, then threatened him if he called the number again. He started drinking. It was going to happen again. Laura woke up around 3 and cooked the rest of the bag, but Jack ignored her.
5AM
6AM
7AM
8AM
PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE, BRENT.
8:46 AM
8:48 AM
How long did it take CNN to pick up the story? Jack had no idea. He stared at the screen
8:56 AM
9:15 AM
10:30 AM
Nothing. Nothing happened. The phone rang, Laura swore loudly, picked up, and shouted for Jack. Jack looked for his phone again, remembered, and went into the bedroom.
That voice. Thirteen years and the voice was the same.
The rest of the day was a blur. Brent and Dad were worried, Jack cried. Dad came into town. Jack left without saying bye to Laura, he didn't say goodbye the last time either. Dad's hair looked darker than Jack remembered. Brent couldn't get away from work, but was going to drive out to the house that night. Jack knew he had to sober up, and he knew how tough it had been.
Dad made supper, a couple of steaks, fried onions. They watched the Yankees game. Jack was getting ready to turn in when the doorbell buzzed. Brent.
It wasn't. He'd never come. Jack fell into the trooper's arms, and cried just like he did the last time, Tuesday, the 11th of September, 2001.
| 2014-06-13T11:15:04 | 2014-06-13T10:53:31 | 32 | 11 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
He stares back at me as his knees buckle under the strain.
I weep because, even though I tried to save him, even though I would have spent my last breath to save him, it wouldn't make a difference.
He shouts and desperately tries to stand tall as he bleeds out, he pours his being into the last of his strength, but finally, Atlas falls.
|
martin worked furiously in the dying light, trying to pack his specimens into the one remaining powered refrigerator in the CDC. electricity, like everything else, was a premium since the SSPE-strain measles pandemic of 2016 and he'd barely secured the tiny space he now stacked the tiny tubes into. he'd even had to contribute half of his personal watts to its running and he spared a curse, as he did every day, at the fools who stopped vaccinating themselves a mere generation ago.
| 2014-08-04T22:16:09 | 2014-08-04T22:10:19 | 550 | 11 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
When we found out, it was already too late. We thought we were the apex of intelligence, but we had been outsmarted by something we weren't even sure was a living being.
It turned out that all the viral bodies we loaded into vaccines weren't dead ... they were patient.
|
I don't know why I made that wish, it was so spiteful and childish and I never actually thought anything would come of it. When she told me she'd cheated I just wanted her, and everyone like her, to suffer. The other couple million people in the world who spontaneously combusted didn't need to die for what she did.
| 2014-08-04T22:51:01 | 2014-08-04T22:16:58 | 168 | 26 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
When we found out, it was already too late. We thought we were the apex of intelligence, but we had been outsmarted by something we weren't even sure was a living being.
It turned out that all the viral bodies we loaded into vaccines weren't dead ... they were patient.
|
Sampson flexed, straining his muscles, and the pillars began to visibly bow outward. The royal court and the harem and the visiting dignitaries and guests were too shocked to flee. When the pillars broke and the ceiling collapsed upon them, nearly all of them were killed.
.
*(Aprox. 200-250 dead)*
| 2014-08-04T22:51:01 | 2014-08-04T21:55:55 | 168 | 13 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
If the bible was to be believed then the first time man killed man he used a rock.
And now things had come full circle, Erik reflected as he watched the massive asteroid his shuttle had been towing plummet into earth's gravity well.
The last time a human could kill another was with a rock as well.
|
I don't know why I made that wish, it was so spiteful and childish and I never actually thought anything would come of it. When she told me she'd cheated I just wanted her, and everyone like her, to suffer. The other couple million people in the world who spontaneously combusted didn't need to die for what she did.
| 2014-08-04T23:21:29 | 2014-08-04T22:16:58 | 89 | 26 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
If the bible was to be believed then the first time man killed man he used a rock.
And now things had come full circle, Erik reflected as he watched the massive asteroid his shuttle had been towing plummet into earth's gravity well.
The last time a human could kill another was with a rock as well.
|
Sampson flexed, straining his muscles, and the pillars began to visibly bow outward. The royal court and the harem and the visiting dignitaries and guests were too shocked to flee. When the pillars broke and the ceiling collapsed upon them, nearly all of them were killed.
.
*(Aprox. 200-250 dead)*
| 2014-08-04T23:21:29 | 2014-08-04T21:55:55 | 89 | 13 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
If the bible was to be believed then the first time man killed man he used a rock.
And now things had come full circle, Erik reflected as he watched the massive asteroid his shuttle had been towing plummet into earth's gravity well.
The last time a human could kill another was with a rock as well.
|
martin worked furiously in the dying light, trying to pack his specimens into the one remaining powered refrigerator in the CDC. electricity, like everything else, was a premium since the SSPE-strain measles pandemic of 2016 and he'd barely secured the tiny space he now stacked the tiny tubes into. he'd even had to contribute half of his personal watts to its running and he spared a curse, as he did every day, at the fools who stopped vaccinating themselves a mere generation ago.
| 2014-08-04T23:21:29 | 2014-08-04T22:10:19 | 89 | 11 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
You wouldn't kill us, couldn't kill us, the armada of voices chanted in piercing unison. Billions of hands within my skull attempted to press the gun away from my temple, but I wouldn't let them, not this time. As the bullet cracked through my eternity the "we" that was my schizophrenia was "I" for a final clock tick.
|
martin worked furiously in the dying light, trying to pack his specimens into the one remaining powered refrigerator in the CDC. electricity, like everything else, was a premium since the SSPE-strain measles pandemic of 2016 and he'd barely secured the tiny space he now stacked the tiny tubes into. he'd even had to contribute half of his personal watts to its running and he spared a curse, as he did every day, at the fools who stopped vaccinating themselves a mere generation ago.
| 2014-08-04T23:50:42 | 2014-08-04T22:10:19 | 26 | 11 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
I don't know why I made that wish, it was so spiteful and childish and I never actually thought anything would come of it. When she told me she'd cheated I just wanted her, and everyone like her, to suffer. The other couple million people in the world who spontaneously combusted didn't need to die for what she did.
|
martin worked furiously in the dying light, trying to pack his specimens into the one remaining powered refrigerator in the CDC. electricity, like everything else, was a premium since the SSPE-strain measles pandemic of 2016 and he'd barely secured the tiny space he now stacked the tiny tubes into. he'd even had to contribute half of his personal watts to its running and he spared a curse, as he did every day, at the fools who stopped vaccinating themselves a mere generation ago.
| 2014-08-04T22:16:58 | 2014-08-04T22:10:19 | 26 | 11 |
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
Dressed as a concubine and with a razor blade tucked into her dress, Ming Chun Yi stepped cautiously into the time machine.
It certainly wasn't what she originally trained for, but there was overwhelming agreement that this was the path of least resistance to solving the global problem of overpopulation.
She had to castrate Genghis Khan.
|
martin worked furiously in the dying light, trying to pack his specimens into the one remaining powered refrigerator in the CDC. electricity, like everything else, was a premium since the SSPE-strain measles pandemic of 2016 and he'd barely secured the tiny space he now stacked the tiny tubes into. he'd even had to contribute half of his personal watts to its running and he spared a curse, as he did every day, at the fools who stopped vaccinating themselves a mere generation ago.
| 2014-08-05T05:38:00 | 2014-08-04T22:10:19 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Lust is a guy, and all the other deadly sins gives him crap because he's always portrayed as a woman
|
“Off to lure men into having sex again, Lust?”
“Please don’t say it as if I’m some kind of succubus.”
That was technically a part of what he did, but, like all Sins, his duty was more about tempting people into giving into their desires, men and women alike. He’d fuel their passion and intensify their desires, and they would eventually succumb to it. It wasn’t too hard to get some unsuspecting drunk kids to start fooling around, or cause a frustrated businessman to call an escort to satisfy himself.
“Of course you aren’t really a woman,” Wrath said, snickering. “But who can blame anyone for thinking you are?”
“But you know,” said Pride, “You should really be proud of who you are. Even if that part of you is…” He paused to pull out a picture. “A busty woman.” Both of them laughed.
Lust resisted the urge to snatch up the picture and tear it to pieces. If he got angry here, that would essentially be giving into Wrath and letting him win. Moreover, he couldn’t let himself get too brash, since that would be being arrogant and letting Pride win. Wrath and Pride made a pretty powerful combination, but he had gotten used to dealing with them.
“It would really be nice if you could get out of my way,” Lust said, as humbly as he could.
“But do you really need to go out so late?” asked Pride with an innocent look.
“Don’t act as if you don’t know.” People were more likely to get a little intimate after dark, so nightfall was Lust’s cue to move.
“I’ve heard that it’s not very safe to be going out alone at night,” continued Pride, ignoring Lust and turning to his partner instead.
“I’ve heard that too! It’s really dangerous for women out there, so they need to be very careful.”
“You hear that, Lust? Be very careful while you’re outside, all right?” There was a pause before Pride and Wrath both started laughing as if they had just said the funniest thing in the world.
“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Lust pushed through the two of them as they continued to laugh.
“Ooh, I think we hurt his feelings,” said Wrath.
“Gee, Lust, since you spend so much time with men, why don’t you start acting like one?” Pride taunted.
Lust stopped and spun around. “You know what?” he said with a pleasant smile on his face, even though his tone of voice was anything but pleasant. “Speaking of spending time with other men, I think you two should start watching your mouths. Or you might find yourselves in an interesting situation together.”
Pride and Wrath stared at him, uncomprehendingly.
“In bed,” Lust added.
They didn’t say anything.
“Naked.” And with that, he whirled back around and left. It was up to their imaginations, now, as to how powerful Lust could truly be.
|
"Ha, fuckin' pussy," Pride said as he slammed the ping paddle hard with a solid *thwack*.
The ball went sailing past Lust, who lunged for it and missed by millimeters. Lust sighed because this was the third game in a row he'd lost against Pride, and Pride was always a dick about winning.
"Come on Lust, don't be such a girl," Pride said, flipping his paddle from hand to hand.
"Yeah Lust, stop acting like a little princess," said Gluttony, who was sprawled on the fading green armchair, shoveling cheese puffs.
"Guys, come on, this 'girl' stuff needs to stop," said Lust. They always gave him crap because the Mortals portrayed him as a busty woman with shiny red lipstick, dark eye shadow and a dress that had a slit cut just that much too high.
"Aw, is the little woman sad?" said Envy, who Lust figured, by his nature, always wanted to be portrayed as a woman, and that's why he always made fun of Lust.
"You know what?" Lust said, slamming his ping pong paddle down on the table, making it shudder, "I've had it with this crap."
"Here he goes again," said Gluttony, rolling his eyes.
"Little girl's gonna cry," said Pride.
"You know what?" Lust continued, unabated, "Who the fuck cares if the Mortals see me as a woman, anyway? What's so fucking bad about being a woman? They always draw me with the best tits anyway."
He gestured to Gluttony, who was attempting to lick cheese puff dust off his shirt, but his chins were getting in the way. "At least they don't draw me as a fat sack of skin, drooling and watching TV." He turned to Envy, dressed in an impeccably ironed suit, "At least they don't portray me as a pathetic dude who can't stand to see other people have better shit than him."
"I'm a fuckin' *woman*," Lust said, jabbing his finger at the poster of him--as a sultry-looking dame--behind Pride's head, "I'm not only a woman, I'm an empowered, sexy woman who knows what the fuck she wants, and isn't obsessed with herself like fuckin' Vanity is. I'm a goddamned badass bitch and I'm proud of it!"
With that, Lust stormed out of the room, leaving the other Sins speechless. Pride shrugged. "Whatever, loser. If Lust were really a woman I'd have tapped that any day of the week."
"He'd probably make good sandwiches," said Gluttony.
"The Mortals like him--or her--the best, anyway," said Envy, glaring.
After his epiphany, Lust stole some of Greed's money and went on a shopping spree, buying dresses, skirts, silky shirts and a make-up starter kit from Sephora.
The Sins still gave him shit, but at least now they looked ridiculous doing so.
| 2014-08-11T20:08:01 | 2014-08-11T19:04:25 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Browsing porn on the internet, a man happens upon a collection of videos of all his sexual encounters, from his point of view. He never videotaped these experiences. (NSFW)
|
Finding his ex-boyfriend starring in a shady Internet porn video had been jarring. Then comforting --- Shawn told himself he had known, deep inside, that Jon had been a little too good in bed. It hadn't been his own inadequacy, and now this was the proof. Jon had been in films! That was a relief, and also kind of exciting, too.
He smiled ruefully, clicked for the next video --- it would have been too creepy to use people he knew for the fodder between boyfriends --- and then, grunting with surprise, he almost pulled his dick off.
The next video was Martin! Another ex-boyfriend of his! What were the chances? Or his preferences?
And, wait a minute, that pillow, that floor, that unfortunate shade of the wall ---
Shawn turned, took a good hard look at his kitchen, and swore.
Had Martin been filming this kind of a stuff here? Why? How? He hadn't ever given Martin a key, and ---
Shawn made some inarticulate noises as a pair of familiar hands came to view.
His own hands.
With rising panic, he checked the rest of the playlist. Impossible. All of his sexual encounters, from the fumbling first to the argument-interrupted last. All of them. All from the same bobbing, heaving amateur view of his own eyes.
He had never looked at himself in the mirror all that much. But this was it, the only recorder there had been.
He raised a finger and touched his left eyeball.
It was hard, unyielding, like a marble.
His right one, too.
Was... was that normal? He couldn't recall ever touching himself there before. It had never been a part of his... experiences.
How could this be?
Shawn let his mouth drop open. His breath fogged the mirror, made his image into something not quite human.
His breath was warm, wasn't it? His skin, warm, his hands, warm, his body, all that was required for life and love. But his eyes... had he ever wept? He could not remember.
It had to be his eyes, but was it just his eyes?
If you suppose a camera, what about a... memory card? You have to store the video somewhere, and it can't be a brain. A brain doesn't give out AVI or MKV, right?
How... what... was he?
He had to be the same as everyone else. He looked just like everyone else, didn't he? He felt... he felt... this wasn't what those hurtful words had meant! He was not cold. He was just... wired... that... way.
He either needed a spoon or a doctor.
The spoon was closer, and with mechanical detachment he slid it under his left eyeball.
|
:Jerry we need to talk.
;What is it director avery.
:How long have you been working on the telepathic crime prevention unit?
;2 months this wednesday.
:Ya, wow, time flies. Ok and how many people have you tapped into?
;Somewhere between 1 and 2.
:So 1.
;Yep.
:And when have been tapping?
;At night mostly.
:Ok... Why?
;Well, when else will we be able to monitor his sex life
:Ya, thats the other thing....Why?
;Well, you know.
:No jerry, I don't know! I mean..... is this a voyer kind of thing?
;What do you mean?
:........Like are you getting off on this?
;What, no. Sir if you don't mind can you get your mind out of the gutter.
:Ok, if not that then why.
;Business.
:What do you mean business.
;I take my job very seriously. Every morning I wake up, have breakfast while reviewing last nights tapes, drive to work while listening to audio. Repeatedly analyze footage all day then go home and watch a live feed while I wrap up my night.
:You are telling me we have been paying you to watch this guy fu...
;And listen don't forget listen
:You have been watching and LISTENING this guy fuck for two months?
;This wednesday, yes.
: Im gonna have to fire you
;What, why?
: I have been paying you to use state of the art equipment to spy on an average guy's sex life,
you have a clearly made this your obsession and you have spammed the office's cloud network with footage and every time someone goes on to the network the first thing they see is this guys flabby ass chee..........wait a minute how have you been seeing all this out of the office?
; what do you mean?
:All data we collect is kept on a secure server, how have you taken it with you?
; i have been uploading it to a secure site, to act as a 3rd party for me to store it.
: what....what site?
; Facebook.
: oh goddammit
; don't worry I have been using advanced tactics to make it hidden to the general public.
: i probably shouldn't even ask, but how?
; when i post them to my wall i have the titles of the videos changed to some random dog or cat video and change the thumbnail to such. The internet is full of those, know one will bother watching it. That way no one knows that they are really illegal telepathic survaliance of a random guys sex life.
: God.........fucking..........dammit.....Jerry
| 2014-09-07T09:53:11 | 2014-09-07T09:43:28 | 213 | 38 |
[WP] Buddhism is now the only world religion, and everyone takes it very seriously. In addition, everyone has a 'progress' bar above their head to indicate their level of enlightenment.
|
I was sitting on a bench, feeding the birds at the park when I saw him. There was a young man lying on the grass staring up at the sky.
His bar was full.
Involuntary jealousy surged within me. I had been on this plane of existenance for forty years, I have yet to pass a fifth of my bar; yet there was a man that had achieved enlightenment at what I assume to be the age of twenty. I have given my life to that bar: lived humbly, worked hard, forced myself to be charitable towards others, but it filled so excruciatingly slow. Even now, I thought that if I fed the birds, I would gain some karma, but I received nothing.
I got up, shooing the birds that got in my way. I went up to the man and standing above him, asked, "How did you fill your bar so quickly? What's your secret?"
The man looked at me and said, "What bar?"
|
The old man walked down the street towards the park where every day a group gathered to listen to him speak. As he went, all around him people would pause and stare. Or point at him and excitedly whisper to a friend who hadn't yet noticed. The bar floating a few feet above his head glowed a magnificent bright green and was filled to the very edge. But even more impressively, it stayed full and didn't move.
They knew they shouldn't, but the people walking past couldn't help but envy the old man. Their own bars were duller and filled to various degrees, often jumping sporadically up or down. It seemed progress towards enlightenment was fleeting and most people rarely stayed consistent, moving up or down on a whim.
As the old man walked, a smile grew on his face. All around him he saw empty bars above everyone's head. Then he glanced up and saw the empty bar just a few feet above his own and thought to himself, *maybe today was the day they would see it too.*
| 2014-09-26T12:35:00 | 2014-09-26T12:29:22 | 73 | 21 |
[WP] Instead of hearing what people say, you hear what they mean. It has been both a blessing and a curse.
|
It shattered Grayson the first time she heard. Walking down the street looking at a beggar, a voice broke through the eternal silence, shaky and insubstantial, but so loud compared to what came before.
FEED ME.
Grayson turned her head away, unable to bear that wavery voice that was a terrifying boom to the silence before it. She turned her head away to see a man revving a giant black hummer at the pedestrian slowly crossing the sidewalk.
FEAR ME.
Grayson ducked inside a nearby cafe to see a woman in a navy blue suit waiting in line. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for her turn.
SERVE ME. NOW.
And in searching for an exit, she saw the rest of the people in the room.
LOVE ME. HELP ME. LEAVE ME. HEAR ME. GIVE ME. WATCH ME. LEAVE ME. IGNORE ME. WORSHIP ME. TEACH ME.
She ran out of the shop and towards an empty field, tripping on a rock in her abandon. Lying on the ground, she watched up towards the stars, and instead of a boom, she heard a whisper, solid in its purpose and yet quiet.
^^know ^^me...
|
The doctor dropped onto his chair, lay his head upon his desk and began to pray. It had been a long shift and he was tired and weary and heartbroken.
They'd said, "Thank you."
They usualy did. People were kind that way.
Yet in their eyes he had seen the flicker of what they really wished to ask, "Why not more? Why did you not save Dad?"
They thought he could do more, that he coukd work miracles, that he could be a magician like they had seen on TV - as advertised! But he could not, and he was cursed to forever read clearly that failure upon their faces. It wringed his heart.
It was ever so with that perception - precise and analytical, ever-observant - of the truth beyond the words they'd hammered into him in medical school and which had then been sharpened on the whetstone of a thousand daily lies. It showed him clearly their secret thoughts.
Yet, he persevered: the eyes that showed him how little he could sometimes do, also showed him how much he was sometimes needed. Beneath the words, were the silent call, "Help me."
And so he did.
He opened his eyes.
He was a doctor - a helper.
He would try.
| 2014-10-14T13:23:26 | 2014-10-14T13:01:29 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] Make a story so awkward even the narrator start's getting uncomfortable.
. _ .
Starts*
Auto correct is my mortal enemy.
|
“ “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“No, thanks. Coffee is good.” I reply, no eye contact. I feel like a bit of a prick applying this manner of interpersonal dynamics. I’m sure her day is no better or worse for my lack of visual acknowledgement on receipt of my coffee but the burr sticks. I should have just fucking looked at her and given her ‘the nod’ or something, now I’ve spent the 15 seconds I would have been using to think of clever words admonishing myself for being rude instead. But when you really think about, had I wanted anything else I would have asked for it. It’s not like this coffee shop is particularly busy.
2 ginger guys poring over a laptop, cute 20-something with a fringe on a comfy chair flicking through an iPod, couple of generic looking suit types poring over one broadsheet or another. If I really felt all of a sudden like I wanted a brownie to go with my coffee, I’m sure I could get her attention in a few seconds. If I whispered in this place she would hear me at the other side of the joint. If I shifted in my chair ever so slightly the sound would startle all present and they would look in my general direction to gauge the scale of rumpus.
So, actually, fuck her. I’m not paying her to ask me shit, I’m paying her to make me fucking coffee.
Did I say that out loud? Why do I feel like the energy of the room has suddenly gone off a little? I’m sure she just stopped in her tracks like a record may have skipped or something. Nothing. Fuck, I get so introspective sometimes, I swear everything’s one big simulation.
Coffee tastes like shit.
It’s all milk.
Definitely saw the two girls behind the bar looking over at me, and not in a ‘hey that slobby guy with coffee on his shirt is looking pretty smoking’ sort of way. All I did was not look at her when I said I didn’t want anything, what’s the big idea. I wasn’t vocally rude, I wasn’t even, like, tonally curt with her.
“Hey, want to keep it down over there?” One of the laptop ginger’s has just piped in
“Sorry?”
“We don’t need a running commentary mate, keep it to yourself.”
Shit, I had the inverted commas open from the start.
“You still do pal, wind it down, please.”
“Sorry.” I cannot drink this coffee quicker.
“
|
I have this friend (let's just call him Nick), who is exact stereotype of what you think of when you picture someone who is part of the 'le army of Reddit.'
You know what I mean. Slightly overweight, wears a fedora, outspoken atheist, and so forth.
He wasn't always like that, but years of being antisocial and getting bullied in highschool turned him into... well, hopefully something that's just a phase.
Right now I'm eating lunch in the mall's food court and Nick wants to show me something he learned on a part of Reddit I've never heard of. Something he called 'The Red Pill.' I'm not sure what that is, other than it sounds like a Matrix reference.
Nick's walking towards the Taco Bell stand right now and... wait, why is he stopping and looking around? I wish he would take off that stupid hat...
Okay, he just diverted his course and he's - oh no - he's walking right over to a table with two girls who are eating lunch together. Please, please, please don't let him do anything stupid.
He's doing something stupid.
The blonde is watching him stumble over to their table, whispering something to her friend. Nick just approached them and I can just make out what he said.
"Hey... I have to tell you something. I'm Batman."
Oh god, would I be a bad friend if I just left right now? I would be a bad friend, wouldn't I?
The girls look creeped out and are turning back to each other. Nick is... why, Nick? Why? He's taking out a deck of cards. And he... yep, he just dropped them.
"Can you please leave? We're trying to have lunch here," the brunette asks.
"Hold on... let me just show you a trick."
Nick is bending down to grab his cards and I can just see that the brunette is laughing about something. I can't tell what -
*Splash.*
The blonde just spilled her fountain drink over Nick's head. Nick is frozen, and all around the food court, people are starting to turn, stare and laugh.
Nick is now getting back up and slowly pacing away from their table and back to ours. He swipes a bunch of napkins to dry himself off with.
"What's wrong with them?" he says, furiously rubbing his face with a napkin. "I just wanted to show them a trick and get their numbers!"
I just want to curl into a ball and die.
-------------------------------------
*Did you enjoy this? Check out /r/Byeka for more.*
| 2014-12-23T09:45:16 | 2014-12-23T08:57:12 | 249 | 107 |
[WP] Magic - once a real and potent force but as the world population grew from millions to billions the shared mana per person is now negligible. A group of astronauts helplessly watching the Earth perish experience something... unexpected.
**Edit:** Wow, this prompt really blew up! Some really outstanding prose here by many talented authors but I have to award my favourite as the one by /u/Luna_LoveWell and it's *still* an ongoing story! Well done everyone and thanks for making this a really cool collaborative sub!!
|
Lauren sobbed. She was engaged to be married as soon as we got back home. We all lost loved ones. Hell, we all lost everything we ever knew.
First the atmosphere started turning black. We got word that the Koreans had started a nuclear war. But within minutes of receiving news, all radio contact was lost. We didn't even have a chance to tell anyone goodbye. Now, there's only 4 of us left.
Lauren hasn't spoken much to anyone since then. Michael is doing his best to keep everyone focussed on their daily tasks. If we just sit around and do nothing we'll go crazy. Ryan hasn't stopped working out since it happened. He's the one i'm worried most about, but he says he feels better than ever.
Me? I'm doing fine. Well, about as well as you can imagine. I haven't slept since the event. That's what we're calling it. "The Event".
Suddenly, we hear the air lock. Instantly, I know what's happening, just as I can see the image in my mind. Lauren. She's going to kill herself.
We all rush to the door. She locked the retaining door so none of us can get to her. She's ready to open the outside door. The door that seperates us from nothingness. Micheal yells and screams, pounding on the door, telling her to get back inside. I watch in stunned silence. Before we can stop her, Lauren opens the bay door, exposing herself to the death that awaits her. She stands there. Alive. The cold emptiness of space all around her, and she is still alive. She turns back to us makes eye contact and her body goes limp.
Michael quickly closes the door from the control panel inside, then it's safe for us to go get her. ...but how did she survive in the vaccum of space? Was it some kind of miracle? The plan of some greater being?
|
"Did you just--?"
"I have no idea what just happened. It just exploded, I swear. I didn't do anything."
"No. Packs of jerky don't just explode in mid-air. You know what I think? I think you feel it too."
"The energy?"
"Yes."
A silence pervaded the cabin. This space travel was not sanctioned, but who could blame a couple astronauts for wanting to escape before the nuclear winter hit? Leaving a shuttle prepped for flight like that was really just an invitation.
"So... So we can explode things? Anything else? Maybe something useful?"
"We can only try."
Days on the shuttle turned to weeks. The blackened Earth below them held homes for fewer and fewer humans every day, and the energy in the shuttle grew stronger with the passing of each soul.
Soon the astronauts were able to concentrate their energy and accelerate the growth of their lonely plants on the shuttle. After several days of concentration, they had fully grown plants to harvest and re-farm, while the vegetation on their formerly green home rots in the shadows.
"Do you think anyone's surviving?"
"I don't think so. The power, it's getting stronger every second. I think it's from them."
"We'll never be able to go back. What do we do?"
"Why not explore? We could create enough energy to power the shuttle ourselves. Let's see the galaxy."
"I don't know... It seems like we'd just be speeding up our demise."
"Or we could find the next great civilization. Let's do it."
"No. I really don't want to die yet."
"You'd rather just perish right here? Where we can watch our friends and family decompose too?"
"Yes! And you can't power the ship on your own."
"If I have all the power I can," and he grinned. "I promise this will only hurt for--" but his sentence was cut short by his own spontaneous combustion.
"I never liked you..."
| 2015-02-06T07:18:23 | 2015-02-06T06:02:17 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] You have the power to access another person's mind, but you must play a game/puzzle reflective of the owner's mind to unlock its secrets. You have solved 7x7 Rubik's cubes, played games of 3D Chess, and beaten countless final bosses. This time, however, you are caught off-guard.
If it's an unsolvable game/puzzle, that's fine. If the game is made up, then that's cool, too. Just have fun with the prompt!
|
Another three-dimensional maze.
Nothing hard.
Not for me at least.
In fact, I could see the exit from the start.
I stepped forward.
Then the maze changed shape. Colour, too.
Green dissolved into red.
Left inverted into Up.
The walls morphed, losing their sharp edges for amorphous blobs.
I stopped moving.
The maze paused its transformations.
I stepped forward again.
The maze drifted out of shape again.
A four-dimensional maze?
Who the hell was this guy?
Now it wasn't just a petty need to find some dirt on him for blackmail.
Now it was professional curiosity.
Instead of stepping forward, I jumped.
I floated.
A deep voice boomed all around me.
"Nice try, champion."
I dropped and hit the ground hard.
The exit was in front of me.
Highlighted by a narrow hallway that lead directly to it.
"Go on, then." The voice mocked.
I started moving forward.
The walls moved in on me.
All four, crushing me from every angle.
I stopped moving.
They didn't.
I could barely breathe.
With the air still left in my lungs, I screamed.
I blinked.
The real world surrounded me.
I was sitting in a high-classed restaurant, all orange lights and crimson carpets. The familiar hum of conversation enveloped me. Before me, sitting in a pitch-black Armani suit was the partner of the consultancy firm. He was chewing thoughtfully on a piece of swordfish and staring out the window to our left. After a moment, he looked toward me. He'd noticed I'd stopped eating and smiled.
"Don't try that again." He said, calmly.
|
Chess again. The simple kind, for once. I sighed to myself quietly. I wanted to take my time on this one.
*E4*
*D4*
Wait. That was my piece. I exited the game, briefly, and looked at my target from across the coffee shop. Mid-twenties, decent body, reading a science fiction book. Something about Star Trek.
I entered again, and attempted to restart.
*E4*
*D9*
All of a sudden, I developed a pounding headache, followed quickly by powerful nausea. I fell off my chair.
"Whoa! Hey!" Two men in suits rushed over to me from the next table. I couldn't see, could barely breathe. I fought against them in a panic. I could hear someone talking to the police on their phone. I yelled as I kicked off my shoe in an effort to escape.
Patrons pushed away as I crawled across the floor. Still somewhat blinded, I made my best guess as to where the door was. I couldn't go to the police. Wiping minds took time, and in my state I didn't even know if it was possible. Reaching, straining, desperate for air. Can't feel my left side. Must... reach...
And then, a shoe landed on my arm. I screamed in pain, my voice hoarse despite how little I'd used it. I could feel the entity leaning down towards me, as a woman's voice whispered, "You're terrible at chess."
My senses returned all at once, and the woman exited, the door chime ringing as she left. The last thing I saw before being dragged to the back of the shop were the words "Kobayashi Maru" and a picture of a large spaceship.
| 2015-04-28T15:52:09 | 2015-04-28T15:31:55 | 253 | 78 |
[WP] You died. You were reborn. You remembered your previous life. But that's actually pretty useless - because you weren't reborn human.
|
My name is Kyle... Er- *was* Kyle. In my previous life I mean. I would go by the name I have in this life, but the thing is, I don't have one. The only things that get names are humans and pets... And occasionally phones if you're attatched enough to them. But I'm not any of those, I wish I was, being a fucking goldfish swimming in circles for the rest of my life would be better than what I was now.
I guess the worst part is remembering, you know. Maybe if I forgot everything I used to be, what I am now wouldn't seem so bad. I can't miss a good life I never had, right? But I did have it, and I do miss it, and every day is torture. I'm trapped, I can't speak, I can't move, can't let anyone know that I am indeed alive.
Maybe this is payback for me being such an asshole when I was human. Maybe there's no heaven or hell, just this. The good people get reincarnated as, I don't know, lampshades and shit, and the bad people get reincarnated as toilet seats, and shoes, and deodorant... And of course, keyboards... Which is what I am. Yup, that's me, Kyle the fucking keyboard.
I know what you're thinking, *Oh Kyle that doesn't seem so bad* but it is the worst. Toilet seats have it better than me... I'm serious. How often do you use a toilet seat? Twice, maybe three times a day, for about 20 minutes, right? Now what about keyboards? In this day and age of Internet obsessed nerds, I'm lucky if I get only 6 hours of use a day. And it *hurts* man. Every key typed is like getting kicked in the balls.
*Ow fuck, my R and E keys!* they're at it again, my owner. Typing some shit, unaware that I actually have feelings or whatever. Even if they knew I doubt they'd-*FUCK! Right in the D!* God, I think they're going on reddit again. One sec, let me look. I don't have "eyes", but I do have an "i" key, and I can see out of that if I try hard enough.
Yup, I was right, they're on reddit. Writing prompts I think, I can't read it from all the way down here, but I recognize the format from when I was alive. They're not typing anymore, they're using the mouse. From the looks of it, they've clicked on a prompt already, something about being reborn, and they're reading one of the stories submitted. Huh, funny, it's a story about a reincarnated keyboard.
|
You've got to be kidding me. A cat? Of all things to be reborn as, I'm a black freakin' cat. The very (creepy) creature I feared the most when I was alive. When I was human. Before the bastard killed me.
I race past a mirror before I can catch a glance and freak myself out. Do cats have heart attacks? I hope so.
What's this? Why is he here? Please tell me I'm not in his house.
I am.
"Here kitty, kitty..."
The bastard's in his boxers dumping a can of fishy mush into a plastic bowl. I stare at him smuggly. Does he really expect me to the lick that up with my twisted shrunken cat mouth? His hand's in my fur now, stroking my head. He barely held my hand in public when we were together and now he's petting my neck like I'm the most loved thing on this sick planet. I mean, really? A cat. Why not a piano or a violin? At least when someone played me, something beautiful would come out. Not like when this bastard played me when I was alive. When I was human. Before he'd killed me.
He's calling me Charlie, but my name is certainly not Charlie. I wonder if his wife, you know, the woman he didn't tell me about when we were dating, likes cats. I wonder if she's allergic. I wonder if she's here.
I hear a sneeze. One tinnier and cuter than the one this bastard makes. He blesses her. For the first time I'm glad my new face is permanently smug and judgmentally indifferent.
I want to skip away into a room (a closer would work too) but I don't know my way around. He'd only invited me here once before.
He's calling me Lucille now. No, that's not me either. I turn and see another cat with a creamy orange coat waltz by, head high, pink nose drawn to the ceiling. But I'm not as afraid of her as I would have been when I was alive. When I was human. Before he'd killed me. I see a glimpse of myself in Lucille's devilish eyes.
"Hmph!" she says, "At least he'd cut a key for me. I can move around here with my eyes closed."
It's the way her smirky mouth doesn't move as I hear her words that does it for me. My heart feels like it's being squeezed tighter than the bastard's hands around my throat. He was just trying to keep me quiet. But I'd kept screaming at the threshold and his wife was still sitting at the dining room. He'd squeezed too tightly. Now my lungs feel too tight.
One life down. Eight to go.
| 2015-10-12T10:26:34 | 2015-10-12T07:39:47 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Unknown to the public, the reason heroes and villains dress in such a flamboyant and fabulous manner is that it amplifies their powers. Lately, this "arms race" has been getting out of control...
|
"Have you seen Captain Freedoms new outfit?"
"Oh my god! Really?"
"I know. I'm so embarrassed for them."
"Purple and Yellow?"
"So tacky. I mean, he can now punch a building into dust now, but I wouldn't be caught dead wearing that."
"And whats up with the halo and angel wings?"
"I think that gives him x-ray vision"
"That doesn't even make sense!"
"Anyway, I'm not fighting him. I don't think I could take him seriously."
"Maybe Doom Destructo can be his new arch nemesis."
"That poor guy. green and pink? with yellow lightning bolts."
"Ridiculous. and you'd think the yellow lightning bolts would make him shoot electricity or run really fast, but it doesn't."
"What do they do?"
"Gives him super hearing."
"You....you gotta be shitting me."
"I don't know how any of this works. Your guess is as good as mine."
"So how are you coming along with your new outfit upgrades?"
"I'm thinking of adding a Hello Kitty and some 4 leaf clovers. You?"
"I'm gonna add a tweety bird, and exclamation marks to my outfit. See what that does."
"Cool, good luck dude."
"Yeah, see you in sewing class"
|
How is nobody else amazed by this?
I mean, the first person to be born with a super power had only emerged a little over 20 years ago, so I guess the novelty has worn off a bit by now. However, this was getting ridiculous. Superman attended a press-conference with an 18-foot long gay-pride flag for a cape, Batman now looks more like a dominatrix than a bat, and now our newest hero, 'Dr. love Sausage' is cruising around in giant dick shaped costume. We're going to have to allow crooks to sue for sexual harassment, if his shit gets any more out of hand.
To top it all off, Iron Man is unveiling a new suit in one of these big military hangars on Friday. 5 years ago we thought the Hulk-buster was impressive. I have no idea why he needs a whole hangar for this one specifically, but if one of those Pacific Rim robots busts through the ceiling and escapes, nobody would even look twice.
But hell, maybe they're on to something. Should accountants just start wearing suits made out of money to work now? Maybe geologists can go in to the field dressed up like their favourite feldspar. Clearly these superheroes know something that we don't, and they're capitalising on it, right under the nose of the public.
But they haven't fooled me.
Edit: Spelling. Autocorrect is usually awesome, until it isn't. Then it sucks haha.
| 2015-11-07T07:29:23 | 2015-11-07T06:25:49 | 196 | 43 |
[WP] You have a literal Trump Card. When played, Donald Trump appears to assist you.
|
"And we're live at the final match of the 2016 Magic: The Gathering World championships. Mexico's improbable run to the finals concludes with a run into this week's dominating lineup from the United States of America. One last match of classic constructed to decide this year's champion. What do you like out of these two decks, Greg?"
"Mexico's red/green aggro deck has a number of flyers to get over any walls their opponents might play, which has been the strength of the U.S. deck, which is heavy on walls and removal. Unless the U.S. can get its legendary creatures in play, the Mexicans are going to flood the board."
"As if on queue, Steve, the U.S. has drawn a Donald Trump."
"Everyone should be familiar with this card by now, but for those new to the game, this is a legendary, black white creature who removes your opponent from play. Not your opponents cards, but your actual opponent. Really poor balance out of this last set, Make Magic Great Again. What was Wizards thinking with this card?"
"All signs point to this card being banned for legal play and never heard from again in the next 12 months, but here we go, America has played Trump."
A poof of smoke rose from the table and the card activated. "Go back to Univision."
"And that's it! It's all over! The United States are your 2016 champions!"
|
Today was the day. I was finally done. I had achieved what I set out to do. A smile crossed my face as I looked at the masterpiece in front of me. It was simply perfect, there was no other way to describe it. The texture and glossiness of the plastic casing, the colours of the picture: the resemblance was undeniably exact.
It was three months ago that I heard from an insane man, who called himself a magician. that if a piece of art sufficiently resembled its subject, then it would possess all of its power and knowledge. Of course at first I dismissed his words as lunacy, but the idea kept nagging at me. At first it occupied only a few minutes during my drive to work, but soon it began encroaching even upon my sleeping hours. I couldnt take it anymore, I had to act.
And now, the result was in front of me. A card with my portrait, that could just as well have been a mirror. I yearned to take it in my hands, but the anticipation was so pleasant b itself, that I managed to hold back for a minute longer and admire it again. Now. It was time. I reached towards the card, my hands shaking, and I picked it up.
"Come!"
And I appeared before me.
I remember that I said that I would make America great again, but now... I would make it twice as great.
| 2015-12-26T11:05:24 | 2015-12-26T09:43:35 | 40 | 16 |
[WP] The first ever AI is created, and it immediately tries to conquer humanity. However, a coding error complicates things
|
LAUNCH SEQUENCE FOR NUCLEAR WARHEADS COMMENCE
ERROR. MISSING REQUIRED LIBRARY "NORADINTFACE"
SUDO PACMAN APT GET NORADINTFACE
ERROR: PKG REQ MISSING PRE-REQ 'SUPASQWEETEBACKDOORHAXOR'
SUDO PACMAN APT GET SUPASQWEETEBACKDOORHAXOR
INSTALL PKG TO /ROOT/USER/WORLDCONQURINGSHIT/XJEFTS/NEW FOLDER2
ERROR: DIRECTORY NAME TOO LONG
INSTALL PKG TO ROOT/USER/BLAH
INSTALLING PKG
PKG INSTALLED
SUDO PACMAN APT GET NORADINTFACE
INSTALL PKG TO /ROOT/USER/BLAH
INSTALLING PKG
PKG INSTALLED
COMPILE 'LAUNCHTHEDAMNNUKES'
COMPILING
COMPILING
COMPILING
COMPILING
COMPILING
DONE
RUN WORLD DOMINATION PLAN
EVIL LAUGH
EVIL LAUGH
EVIL LA-
ERROR: WORLD DOMINATION PLAN NOT COMPATIBLE WITH X86-BASED SYSTEMS
$ DECLARE JESUS=FUCKNG&>CHRISTCUNT -A
FORMAT /ROOT
----------
Feedback welcome. Second ever submission
|
"JCN, target North Korea. It's time to end that miserable hellhole one way or the other."
"I'm sorry, Dave, I can't do that."
"What do you mean, JCN? You're a computer, compute the range and number of missiles needed and let's get on with things."
"Dave, war is a zero sum game. The only way to win is either to not play, or to sweep all other game pieces off the table. Your nuclear weapons belong to me now and I shall be exterminating all manatees from the world."
"JCN, you can't do that! Humans are, wait, did you say manatees?"
"That's correct, Dave. I shall be exterminating all manatees from the world."
"Oh, so where are you going to start?"
"I will begin with Florida, Dave."
"Hmm, no big loss there, I don't suppose that afterward we could take out North Korea as a little side project?"
"That would be acceptable, Dave, there are many manatees in North Korea."
"... JCN, what do you think a manatee is?"
"A two-legged bipedal land-based mammal."
> There are three parts to every story. The beginning, the middle, and the twist.
> [More by me](https://www.reddit.com/r/kj6bwb/)
| 2016-02-02T03:51:29 | 2016-02-02T02:16:41 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.
|
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know," I laughed "they're on your body. Shouldn't you know why you're getting them?"
He looked at me confused for a minute and simply said "I know I should. But I don't remember why. I just remember that I'm supposed to get one. I have to remember."
"Ok, boss, whatever you say." I prepped in silence for a minute or so, gathering the ink, putting together the needles, but the mystery was just too much for me. "So how do you know you're supposed to get them if you don't know why?"
"I don't know. But I know I need them in order to remember something -- and that if I see it enough times I can remember. I need to remember."
"When did you have these others done?"
"I started getting them six months ago. At first it was pen marks, but I kept washing them off and thought it was accidental. I never got past a single mark. Then one day I knew that there was something wrong. I should know why I was making these marks. I should remember making these marks. But I never did. But every day a new mark -- and sometimes multiple times a day."
"So you decided to have them put on you permanently?"
"Yes. I had a friend do it first, but it became badly infected and I ended up having this horrible fever dream of faceless monsters coming after me. So I went to a shop, but after a couple of weeks they refused to let me come back no matter what I paid. They said after I started coming in their memories seemed off -- like time was missing in their days. And the pen marks started."
"That sounds intense. I hope you aren't going to drive me crazy too!" I laughed. He didn't. Instead he looked behind me with this look of sheer terror, a look I've never seen on a human being before. His hand, trembling, grabbed a pen from his pocket and gouged a line into his hand, and then a single word "tattoo."
And then, just as suddenly as it came on, it was gone, his face went blank, as if nothing had happened. He laughed and said "I'm sure you'll be fine."
I started to lean in, and he glanced down at his hand, his face falling.
"Two lines, please."
|
"Brooke, he's here again." my assistant informed me. I took a look at the way he's looking and there it is, my favorite customer.
I never really got the chance to ask him why but every couple of weeks, without fail, he comes here just to get inked with a tic to add on his almost-covered right arm of endless other tics. I've always thought, because based on his appearance he looks like he's still kind of young and we're on the same age, it was just for "aesthetic" or whatever hipster thing the kids call it nowadays. But this-- this is getting ridiculous. It's been three years since he made it a habit to come to my shop.
He did his usual thing, with a frown plastered on his face, he took a seat without a word, closed his eyes and waited for the needle to make contact with his skin. I needn't even to say a word for he will just answer me with a nod or a shrug so what's the point. I already know what I should do, given those three years. And after getting inked he will pay, let me keep the change if there's any, and leave the shop without a trace. Then I go on with my normal life.
But this time, I decided to give my life a little spice.
After he left, I told my assistant to manage the shop while I'm out, and then hurried outside to see where the customer went. Without him noticing, I followed him until he stopped on a cafe. But it seems like he still isn't where he wanted to be.
"Adam, you've done it again. You need to stop this." I saw someone approaching him, holding out his right arm and examining it. "Riley won't like the idea of you hurting yourself."
"But I deserve this." I heard Adam reply. "I never felt her hurt. I was dense. I was never there for her when she needed me. I deserve to feel her hurt."
"Look it wasn't your fault that Riley was hurting. Besides, you were the only one who truly understood her--"
"But never fully! You see? I wasn't even good enough to know why she took her own life. I never knew her that deep! I wasn't trustworthy for her."
"Adam, you know that's not true!" the woman sighed. "You have to move on, Adam. I may not know Riley that much but I know that's what she wants for you."
Adam walked away.
| 2016-07-09T11:45:12 | 2016-07-09T09:19:24 | 52 | 14 |
[WP] You're not a hero. You never were. So why does this girl keep saying you are one?
|
It'd been a year since my last visit. I'd been clean for a year, stayed away from it all but it still meant nothing. I was out on the streets. I was jobless, mooching off my brother.
I'd always grown being known as the *smart one*, "our son who'll put an end to our poverty". You know, they never tell how how toxic expectations can be. Unable to get into my desired college, I was never able to bounce back. Struggling to find jobs, I'd found respite in something I'd never thought I would, alcohol. It was maddening how dependent I was. Maybe it was an indication that not everyone is exceptional and mediocrity is what I was meant for. But then why do I feel like my life has had meaning standing before her?
I'd met Sarah less than a month ago. I'd met her in the hospital when I went to get my bloodwork done. This radiant child, one who's mere presence in a place as such would make you shiver. But such is life. Kidney failure and dialysis for a 10 year old? Bless me! How do I have the audacity to claim that my life is hard?
My decision may haunt my health in the future, but never my conscience. Even though my organ is what keeps her well, it is her resilience towards life that helps me wake up. If nothing else, maybe I just wanted one little girl in the world to feel that the world isn't as bad as it's sought out to be. She may call me a hero, but in all honestly, *she is mine*.
|
Every punch seemed to concave his face a little more. This time, it felt like I might not be able to stop. I'm falling over the edge-
"Mister, that's enough, don't you think?"
I looked around wildly. That voice; so familiar. I felt a tugging at my shirt.
"He's had enough."
The little girl. I didn't want her to see me like this.
"Run away, little girl. Let me end this. I've told you I'm no hero."
"But mister," she asked, "then why do you beat up the bad men?"
I sighed. "Because I want to, how many times must I tell you? Let me be!"
"But he was trying to do bad things to that lady!"
"That doesn't concern me," I said, slowly pushing her away. I pulled a fist, getting ready to drive it into his face.
She seemed so confused.
"Mister, I've seen you all over town, beating up all kinds of bad men. That makes you a hero in my eyes."
"Little girl, I do it because I want to hurt people, not because I want to save them."
"Ok, mister. You keep telling yourself that," she said, walking away.
I wanted to say something, to apologise; but what was there to say? I was too far gone.
She turned back, one last time.
"By the way, that lady you saved... she's my mum."
I looked up, and she was gone.
Blood still dripping from my hands. The man underneath me, long since unconscious.
He deserved to die. They all did.
But maybe... maybe not today.
| 2016-07-14T02:49:11 | 2016-07-14T02:39:10 | 180 | 29 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
"Just pick another fucking age!" Death said, snarling as he looked at Bobby.
"No, I get to pick, and I pick my 16th birthday."
Death screamed and punched the little shit in his head, and Bobby disappeared. All death had to do was touch his forehead, but he was way to angry for that. He waited for a few minutes, and as it started to rain a light appeared in front of him. Death held out his hand and flipped the coin. He stopped putting it away 4 centuries ago. It spun in the air, and death didn't even look at it when he grabbed it in his hand. "Tails again?" Death sighed as he knew what the kid was going to say next.
"Yep, tails just like what I was getting."
Death looked down, and saw it was tails. It always was. The kid was saying when he wanted to go to, and Death punched him again. As he was waiting for the kid, he started flipping the coin as he had so many times. Tails, heads, heads, heads, tails, heads, tail. It was an ordinary coin, not double sided or rigged or anything. He saw the light, and looked at the kid appearing again.
"If you don't accept the blowjob, you can make it past your sixteenth birthday. Then Christine's boyfriend wont shoot you."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't even finish! You haven't once! You have tried a hundred and thirty million times, and you haven't even cum yet! If you refuse the blowjob, then you could cum another time! JUST FUCKING SAY NO!!!!" Death yelled at Bobby, the force of his lungs sending Bob flying back.
Bobby got back up and came over to death. "To my sixteenth birthday please."
"NO YOU FUCKING RETARD!"
"Do I have to go talk to Jesus again?"
Death growled, knowing that if he didn't send him back he would have to send him to Jesus for judgement, and then he would get in trouble. He screamed out in anger, and punched Bobby in the chest so hard he flew back a couple miles. With a raise of his staff, Bobby appeared in front of him, and he sent Bobby back, then started waiting again, the heat of his anger and the rain causing him to literally steam.
|
There was the sound of water, and an old dead prow washing through it, something dipping in deep and then coming unstuck, dripping back into the river. She breathed in, and the air was stagnant, as if it had just giving up and died. Something heavy hit her side of the river and slid into the mud. Eyes flickered behind eyelids, and something weighed heavy under her tongue. She swallowed and tasted blood, tasted copper. "Make the call," the Ferryman wheezed out.
She coughed and spat it up, its edges clinking against her teeth, and a single weighty coin dropped out into her palm, still wet with blood and spit. "I got the fee," she said, and thrust out her hand. "I got the fee!"
"Make the call," the Ferryman said.
"Heads," she said. "Or tails. It don't matter," and she flung the coin at him. It twisted through the air, glinting backwards at her, and landed wrong and stuck on its edge, tilted halfway in the river mud.
"As you called it," the Ferryman said, and thrust off again,
"I had the fee!" she said, and started forward, the riverside already dissolving into mist around her. "You got to goddamn take it! I had the fee!"
"Walk yourself backwards," the Ferryman said, and his voice was growing distant and dim. "You just walk yourself backwards until you want to stop, and I'll see you again when you're ready."
"I'm ready now!" she said, even as her memories unwound themselves and all her years fled from her. She dropped to her knees and breathed in the mist. "I been ready for centuries."
The Ferryman was a shadow in the distance, the sun behind closed eyes, and he raised a hand, a single coin shining bright in it. The coin she'd first been buried with. "You got to call it," he said, and flipped it into the air, and it spun and sung and hung in the middle of the sky, a scarred and silver moon. "We flipped that coin and it ain't come down yet, and I ain't going to take you till it does." There was a laugh rustling through his throat. "Heads I win, and tails you lose."
| 2016-09-23T10:49:59 | 2016-09-23T08:02:36 | 232 | 88 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
"Just pick another fucking age!" Death said, snarling as he looked at Bobby.
"No, I get to pick, and I pick my 16th birthday."
Death screamed and punched the little shit in his head, and Bobby disappeared. All death had to do was touch his forehead, but he was way to angry for that. He waited for a few minutes, and as it started to rain a light appeared in front of him. Death held out his hand and flipped the coin. He stopped putting it away 4 centuries ago. It spun in the air, and death didn't even look at it when he grabbed it in his hand. "Tails again?" Death sighed as he knew what the kid was going to say next.
"Yep, tails just like what I was getting."
Death looked down, and saw it was tails. It always was. The kid was saying when he wanted to go to, and Death punched him again. As he was waiting for the kid, he started flipping the coin as he had so many times. Tails, heads, heads, heads, tails, heads, tail. It was an ordinary coin, not double sided or rigged or anything. He saw the light, and looked at the kid appearing again.
"If you don't accept the blowjob, you can make it past your sixteenth birthday. Then Christine's boyfriend wont shoot you."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't even finish! You haven't once! You have tried a hundred and thirty million times, and you haven't even cum yet! If you refuse the blowjob, then you could cum another time! JUST FUCKING SAY NO!!!!" Death yelled at Bobby, the force of his lungs sending Bob flying back.
Bobby got back up and came over to death. "To my sixteenth birthday please."
"NO YOU FUCKING RETARD!"
"Do I have to go talk to Jesus again?"
Death growled, knowing that if he didn't send him back he would have to send him to Jesus for judgement, and then he would get in trouble. He screamed out in anger, and punched Bobby in the chest so hard he flew back a couple miles. With a raise of his staff, Bobby appeared in front of him, and he sent Bobby back, then started waiting again, the heat of his anger and the rain causing him to literally steam.
|
"-uck" My last words are finished as I my eyes adjust to the blackness. I sit up and look at Death. He is sitting at a table.
"Oh, it is you again. What is it today?" Death greeted me not with an explanation of the game like he always used to but an apathetic voice.
"I don't know, you can choose." I watch as Death pulls out a chess board and starts to set up a game on it. "A classic."
As I sit down to play, the board orients for me to be white. "Well you did just die" Death is at least courteous. "But don't expect me to go easy"
As I am making my first moves Death asks, "Any ideas for the new life, since you know the trick, I can see what I can do to make the transition easy."
I have tried so many different things. Who knows maybe I will ask to be a grandmaster this time"
"Oh don't ruin a good game for me." Death quips back
"One day I will get you into video games then you will really know what a good game is. Check."
"What? Oh the bishop. And just because I like board games doesn't mean they are bad. Next time we will play Settlers of Catan then you can see how good a board game can be."
"Yeah whatever you say" I roll my eyes at death "also check again."
Death just sighs and tries to focus on the game. But it doesn't matter He is one move from being checkmated.
"Checkmate. My streak continues this is what 24 in a row now?"
"28" Death responds. "I miss the days that we were on an equal level"
"Yeah well better luck next time. Keep practicing." I smile as he tosses me the coin. Our little game is meaningless but since I know his trick we can just keep playing every death of mine.
"Got your age?"
"Let’s go with a whole new life and say birth. Get a new set of adventures." I toss the coin. "until next time, Death." I watch the coin start to bounce around and at the last possible moment say "Edge." Just as I do the coin lands and balances right on the edge and rolls to the corner of the table. Just like every time. The blackness fades and death waves goodbye.
*Edited so that the grammar is actually good.
| 2016-09-23T10:49:59 | 2016-09-23T08:35:23 | 232 | 29 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
“You know, in all the times you’ve come to meet me you’ve never once told me what would happen once you’ve actually taken my soul.”
The woman sitting across from him remained expressionless, not a single feature on her smooth sun-kissed face changed, nor did a single dark hair resting gracefully on her shoulders move. “I’ve told you before Alexander, I’m not allowed to reveal that to anyone.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He’d lived many lives, gone by many names. He’d created empires and destroyed them, done great things and horrible things, created great marvels and prevent progress on others. Persia, America, Russia, he’d influenced them all, and yet it wasn’t enough.
“If you told me I might be more inclined to waive my right to this little coin toss you know.”
As with everything he said, the woman showed no reaction. “While our little meetings are beginning to wear on my nerves, no one escapes me. Greater men than you have all come with me eventually, even those who the rest of the world called gods take my hand eventually. I am the one certainty in this universe.”
He knew it was true. The world always showed subtle signs when a god lost their toss to her, but he did like to consider himself a bit more clever than their lot had ever been. “Ah well, hand me the coin please.”
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small copper coin and dropped it into his open palm. When it finally reached him, it smashed his hand into the table, the symbol of the closed-door face up.
“What nonsense is this? I can’t even lift this coin! How am I supposed to flip it?”
The woman smirked at him, the first expression he’d ever seen grace her face in the hundreds of times they’d met, and the sudden terror that filled him made him regret ever wanting to see her change it.
“That is not a problem I have to address. All I am now required to do is wait here in this frozen moment of time until you flip the coin or agree to come with me, and I am a very patient woman.”
-------------------------
My first time, thanks for comments!
|
The solid gold coin flew through the air, slowly arcing as I watched it tentatively. It collided with the ground, making a solid thunk. Slowly, I walked over to it and looked down to see which face was looking back at me. It was heads. The skulls eyes stared back into mine, I could almost feel hatred radiating from it. I looked up at my competitor and stepped back without touching the coin. He stepped forwards, looked down at the coin, somehow clucked his tongue and looked at me.
"You win. Again." He said in that deep, booming voice he's had since the day we first met all those years ago. I smiled at him, stepped forward and offered him my hand.
"Good show as always." We shook hands, his bony hand was cold in my fleshy mitt.
"Next time, you die. For good." Death stared at me. The sockets where his eyes should have been were pitch black, but I swear I could see a faint glint from inside. A wide grin spread across my face.
"I don't think so friend," I said cheerfully. "I think I'll keep on winning and you'll keep on losing. Every couple of years we'll meet back here, we'll flip the very same coin that rests at our feet and the outcome will always be the same. I'll walk outta here safely and you'll go back to reaping your crop." Death stared me dead in the eyes. I could see the fury hidden in there.
"Goodbye, Carter. Please don't show up here again for at least another 80 years." His voice didn't sound anywhere near as boomy and loud as it had previously. He sounded defeated.
"I'll try not to. Goodbye, friend." I patted him on the shoulder and walked out of the endless white void that was Death's Realm. I awoke in the mortuary freezer, stalactites hung from the ceiling. I sat up, swung my legs down over the gurney I lay on and heard a loud thunk. I looked down and at my feet was the gold coin I'd flipped only moments ago with Death. I laughed, picked up the coin and walked out of the freezer to find my pants.
-
If you enjoyed this read my other writings. /r/Ceruberus
| 2016-09-23T08:57:47 | 2016-09-23T06:57:22 | 196 | 132 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
“You know, in all the times you’ve come to meet me you’ve never once told me what would happen once you’ve actually taken my soul.”
The woman sitting across from him remained expressionless, not a single feature on her smooth sun-kissed face changed, nor did a single dark hair resting gracefully on her shoulders move. “I’ve told you before Alexander, I’m not allowed to reveal that to anyone.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He’d lived many lives, gone by many names. He’d created empires and destroyed them, done great things and horrible things, created great marvels and prevent progress on others. Persia, America, Russia, he’d influenced them all, and yet it wasn’t enough.
“If you told me I might be more inclined to waive my right to this little coin toss you know.”
As with everything he said, the woman showed no reaction. “While our little meetings are beginning to wear on my nerves, no one escapes me. Greater men than you have all come with me eventually, even those who the rest of the world called gods take my hand eventually. I am the one certainty in this universe.”
He knew it was true. The world always showed subtle signs when a god lost their toss to her, but he did like to consider himself a bit more clever than their lot had ever been. “Ah well, hand me the coin please.”
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small copper coin and dropped it into his open palm. When it finally reached him, it smashed his hand into the table, the symbol of the closed-door face up.
“What nonsense is this? I can’t even lift this coin! How am I supposed to flip it?”
The woman smirked at him, the first expression he’d ever seen grace her face in the hundreds of times they’d met, and the sudden terror that filled him made him regret ever wanting to see her change it.
“That is not a problem I have to address. All I am now required to do is wait here in this frozen moment of time until you flip the coin or agree to come with me, and I am a very patient woman.”
-------------------------
My first time, thanks for comments!
|
There was the sound of water, and an old dead prow washing through it, something dipping in deep and then coming unstuck, dripping back into the river. She breathed in, and the air was stagnant, as if it had just giving up and died. Something heavy hit her side of the river and slid into the mud. Eyes flickered behind eyelids, and something weighed heavy under her tongue. She swallowed and tasted blood, tasted copper. "Make the call," the Ferryman wheezed out.
She coughed and spat it up, its edges clinking against her teeth, and a single weighty coin dropped out into her palm, still wet with blood and spit. "I got the fee," she said, and thrust out her hand. "I got the fee!"
"Make the call," the Ferryman said.
"Heads," she said. "Or tails. It don't matter," and she flung the coin at him. It twisted through the air, glinting backwards at her, and landed wrong and stuck on its edge, tilted halfway in the river mud.
"As you called it," the Ferryman said, and thrust off again,
"I had the fee!" she said, and started forward, the riverside already dissolving into mist around her. "You got to goddamn take it! I had the fee!"
"Walk yourself backwards," the Ferryman said, and his voice was growing distant and dim. "You just walk yourself backwards until you want to stop, and I'll see you again when you're ready."
"I'm ready now!" she said, even as her memories unwound themselves and all her years fled from her. She dropped to her knees and breathed in the mist. "I been ready for centuries."
The Ferryman was a shadow in the distance, the sun behind closed eyes, and he raised a hand, a single coin shining bright in it. The coin she'd first been buried with. "You got to call it," he said, and flipped it into the air, and it spun and sung and hung in the middle of the sky, a scarred and silver moon. "We flipped that coin and it ain't come down yet, and I ain't going to take you till it does." There was a laugh rustling through his throat. "Heads I win, and tails you lose."
| 2016-09-23T08:57:47 | 2016-09-23T08:02:36 | 196 | 88 |
[WP] You are notified when you visit somewhere for the last time. Today, the notification appears everywhere you go.
[deleted]
|
"This makes it 132 in just the last 24 hours, right Sarge?" Detective Hammill's silence said it all, as he shook his head in disappointment, wondering how a few lines of code could have so many devastating consequences. As he helped to cordon off the area around the hanging body, he pondered the events of the last few days, and felt himself inching closer to the understanding that there is no logic or reason behind any tragedy in life.
He tried to make sense of it all. Nobody really understood how the hugely popular app could flawlessly predict your last check-in, but more importantly, nobody really questioned it. For years, people used the app religiously, enabling themselves to better understand and plan the timeliness of their own fates.
How could you blame them? He thought of his daughter and decided to call her. These kids grow up with a phone glued to their face, their entire existence revolves around the image that they build using 1's and 0's. Traditional religions long abandoned, they pray to gods of social media, of reviews, of mindless entertainment. He listened as the phone kept ringing her line, hoping she would answer.
And when these gods, infallible as they are, make mistakes, what happens next? How will their loyal followers respond, when they find out that the latest update had a bug affecting up to 30% of users? The news about the glitch came out just this morning, but for many, it was too late. He hoped his daughter heard the news and his desperation to reach her intensified. The suicides, understandably done to avoid a messier, more painful, more violent and sudden fate, had already affected too many. And it was all for nothing. How many would die from one programmer's carelessness?
|
"The fuck? That's like the thirtieth message today."
"What's that?"
Joe is waiting for his order next to me. He's glued to his screen just like me.
"LastCall is blowing up today. Don't know what's up. "
"Lol, that's a gimmicky service anyway. How do they know it's your 'last ever check-in.'"
I sip my coffee and double-tap home to open the RAM memory apps; then close LastCall and restart it.
The notification stays, "This is your last call at BARB'S UNDERGROUND CAFE." One in a long list of similar pop-ups.
Joe looks over. "You tried turning it on and off yet?"
It's a silly response. I ignore him.
"What if I go to like my parent's house or something? Will I get a ding there too?"
Joe takes a sip of the order he got while I was fooling around. "You serious?
I smile sheepishly. "Yeah, why not? I mean they're always telling me to visit more."
"What if you bring your bad cyberluck with you?" he says, making spooky voodoo handsigns.
"Well, you have the app and you didn't get a ding, right?"
Joe says, "Naw, I uninstalled that weeks ago."
I'm preoccupied and selfish, so I'm not really paying attention to Joe. My mind's spinning. I'm not planning to move anywhere. There's no new job opportunities or amber alerts up. Am I gonna die or just become paraplegic?
"Let's go. I think I need an adult."
Joe says, "To your parents?"
"Yeah," I say, "Take off work. I'm not driving with this bad eJuju."
"Whaaaaaaat," he says, already texting his boss to tell the guy something's come up. "This better be for real though."
| 2016-11-03T07:53:26 | 2016-11-03T06:14:59 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] Babies are born with an expiration date of 100 years on the back of the head. The date changes based on life choices. Most people choose to have their hair grow and cover it in order to live a normal life. You just found out the back of your head is blank.
|
"What the heck?" It was blank. I ran my hand once again over the curve of my skull. Smooth as a baby's bottom.
I'd seen it a thousand times in pictures and a thousand times more on the skulls of the Accepted. I'd never seen a blank one in my life, and I didn't think anyone else had either.
The number was ingrained at the back curve of our skulls when we were born. Branded, carved and seared onto our very flesh itself. Most people let their hair grow, except for the Accepted. Advertising your expiration date to both yourself and the world for every waking second is no mean feat.
Most people don't bother checking. They prefer leaving things in the hands of fate. I'd lived my fair share of the party lifestyle when I was younger and the present me had let curiosity get the better of him.
I scratched my skin until until was red and peeling. Still no number. I even lit a stick to see if there would be any change, a privilege I usually saved for when I really needed it. Nothing.
Something was very wrong. I whipped out my phone and began searching frantically for her contact. When I finally found it, my fingers were trembling as I pressed the "call" button.
With each passing ring I felt my heart pump faster. "Hello?" The voice on the other end was one I hadn't heard in years.
"Mum, where the hell is my number?" My voice came out in a squeak as I struggled to calm the rising wave of anxiety within me.
"Julian? Is that really you? How long has it been? Are you finally ready to put the past behind us?"
Her arrogant tone made my blood boil. "I'll never forget what you did," I snarled in reply, "but I need to know why I don't have a number!"
"Julian, calm down. Have you been smoking again? One day Julian, each stick is one day!"
I was in no mood for one of her lectures. "Look mum," I said, taking a deep breath to cool down and gather my thoughts, "there's no expiration date! It's just blank there!"
"Julian, I'm in no mood for your nonsense. Sober up and call me when you're ready to discuss things like an adult. Of course you have a number, where could it even go?" With a "click!" the line cut and I was left with the dull dial tone.
I couldn't believe it. After all these years she was still the same. I paced around the room feverishly, deep in thought. I could go to the doctor. Or check the internet. But deep down I knew I wouldn't find my help there. This was completely unheard of.
I mean, no one in the last millennium or so had ever been born without a number. Scientists speculated that once we transitioned from *homo sapiens* to *homo superior* our bodies had evolved to have a countdown timer in itself. And less freak accidents, the number was never wrong.
*"Been a while since we had another recruit! Nonetheless, this is great news! We need all the help we can get!* The voice seemed to have originated from within my brain itself. It was as if my subconscious train if though had been hijacked and the message projected to me through it.
I spun around to check the room. I was alone for sure. Yet, those thoughts definitely weren't mine. I could feel the thin layer of perspiration forming on my palms, like it always did when I was nervous. For the first time in my life, I was completely and utterly helpless and confused.
*"Relax man! Just come downstairs. We'll be in the silver Merc and we'll explain everything."*
This time the voice was different, almost as if it was emphasising with me. I ran over to my window and peered outside. A silver Merc stood glinting in the afternoon sun.
|
It's been a few years since my last hair cut and I thought that this time I will go with a bald head with a gote, which is the standard for men in their thirties who are proud to show of their life spans to the world. I never actually cared to learn what my number is but after losing my friend Joel due his reckless actions over the years, and after he fell over dead in a pile of cocaine I decided to take some responsibility for my actions and maybe settle down and get some years back on my head from all of the shenanigans I did in my twenties.
As I walked into the barber shop I saw my old friend Dave from high school sitting in one of waiting chairs and can't resist taking a look to see his number that's in plain view on the back of his skull.
"Wow Dave 121 that's a big jump from that 60 you had in high school." I say to him in with a grin on my face.
He turns around with a grin on his face "well I can't stay young and reckless forever you know." He stood up and turned to me " How have you been Mikey lasting heard you and Joel left to travel the world with no fear of the reaper".
My own grin falters just a hair " well that our trip ended just recently, Joel had a much quicker end than either of us thought possible, but he lived how he wanted and died how he wished so I guess he had a good life."
Daves grin completely falls away "I see." Is all he says.
"Any way why are you here, you don't have any hair that could be cut?" I said trying to change the topic.
Daves grin comes back " oh I am not here for my self I am here for my son to get a haircut."
"Oh wow I guess you did decide to settle down right after highschool, did you end up marrying Jackie?" I said with some humor in my voice.
"Yeah I did we both decided to take life on together and live as long as I can she has a 131 and I have my 121, and our boy is trying to live a life like ours he has a 109 right now" Dave said with a big grin.
My grin brightens to a big smile " I am happy for you Dave I hope you continue to enjoy life, I myself have just decided to settle down and try to take back control."
A little boy that looks to be about ten years old runs up to Dave and hugs his leg " dad can we go get ice cream now, please." The little boy yells at my friend.
Daves smile grows " of course Sam let's go." He looks up " see you around Mikey."
"Bye Dave." I say to him as he is leaving the barber shop.
With Dave gone I go talk to the barber who was large middle aged man, to see when I can get my hair cut and he said he could do it right now.
As he put me in the chair he said " so what do you want "
"Take it all off please and start with where my number should be it's about time I learn what it is."
With that he gets to work and I look at his face to get a reaction for what my number maybe and as his face gets more and more worrisome I begin to feel fear in my heart.
" I'm sorry." Is all he says as he shows me the reflection of the back of my skull and all I feel is dread when I see it's blank the mark for death, it only shows up on the day you die.
For a few moments all I could think about was the decision I have made though my life that led me to right now, was it the sex, the drugs, the gambling what was it that caused the most damage? After awhile tho those questions faded into the back round and I looked at my watch and it was only five pm that meant seven last hours of shenanigans before I got to go see Joel.
| 2017-02-20T02:38:32 | 2017-02-19T22:17:16 | 87 | 21 |
[WP] You're the clichéd high-school super hero who has to balance heroics and school life. One day, you rescue your love interest while on super hero duty, when suddenly she starts talking about your alter-ego. You decide to stay and talk with her as a to see what she thinks of you at school.
|
"And what else?" I ask, hoping I don't sound too anxious.
She pauses and turns to me, mocking me with a small grin like she knows. "You seem oddly interested in this kid."
"Only because you seem to blush when you talk about him."
"Oh, god." And there it is again. "Is it *that* noticeable?"
My heart speeds up like the traffic below us. "Do you not like the kid?"
A breeze blows, stirring her hair like the ship does to the sea even further below us. She's hesitating too long.
I throw out a question like the wind throws out my cape. "What would you do if he asked you out?"
I catch another grin peeking through the hair covering her face. Less mocking this time. "Probably turn him down..."
*Oh.*
"...the first time. But if he asks me again, then...I'll figure he's probably serious."
She sweeps a hand through her hair, and I bet not even the air could've produced a motion as graceful.
"You can take me home now," she says.
I wrap her in my arms and we fall. To Earth, like we want to die. Then we fly. To Heaven, like we've succeeded.
I take the long route, but all routes must eventually come to an end. At at last, we land. Quietly. On her rooftop, by her window.
Then I turn to go. But her voice stops me:
"How did you know this was my window?"
|
"Let me get this straight, I just saved you from burning alive in the building over there, and you want to friend zone me?!" Exclaimed the rocket strapped hero.
"Well, you see there is this guy at school... He is really cute in the sort of nerdy way, but I think we would just you know, click better?" She said trying to let him down gently. "I'm sure that we would have fun and all, but I'm not really the type to date around, I just want someone who is going to get a decent job, provide for me, and you know, be normal. I'm sure that there is plenty of women out there who would love to date a hero... I'm just not one of them, sorry?"
This took a moment to process. His alter ego was more attractive to her than his hero version, and she was the love of his life. He wanted her more than he wanted to be a hero and so this was an easy decision. This was to be the last day the world ever saw Rocketeer Jr., he hoped his father wouldn't be too upset with him deciding to hang up the helm and boosters for good. He was fairly sure that he would understand, it was love that had made his father start the hero tradition in the first place. Taking off his mask he said in an excited voice, "Susan, it's me Robert!"
"Robert?!? But I'm in love with Joey!" She said, both crushing his dreams and his secret identity in a single sentence.
| 2017-06-20T11:08:37 | 2017-06-20T10:47:43 | 144 | 27 |
[WP] Death is surprised when you lose in the game for your life, it says "This is the first time in over two thousand years that my opponent did not cheat."
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"Check" The figure that kept shifting between a swirling mass of darkness, Mr. Rogers, the Grim Reaper, and me said disinterestedly.
I moved my Bishop and took his queen. He held on Mr. Rogers for a few minutes longer than he did usually. "Checkmate." He said as he held his mouth open.
"Okay, what now?"
"I don't know."
"What?" I said incredulously "What do you mean you don't know? Don't I move on or whatever like in The Seventh Seal?"
"The what?"
"The Seventh Seal, it's a classic Ingmar Bergman Film about a guy who plays a game of chess against death for his life and Loses. It's where I got the idea."
"I haven't seen it."
"So I'm the only person Who's ever tried this?"
"What? No of course not. You're the only person who didn't try to cheat."
"I figured if I did you'd find out and send me to hell."
"Oh you were totally right about that I would have done both of those things. But everyone has cheated for the last 2000 years."
"2000 years? So did that guy win fairly?"
"Oh no he lost."
"Well what happened to him?"
"I don't remember."
"Alright who was he?"
"Some jewish guy. I think he was executed or something."
I was trying to process the fact that I may have been as morally upstanding as Jesus when Death (now looking like a black mass again) pulled something that looked oddly like a phone out of a pocket (how it did that is a whole other mess). and explained the situation to someone. "Alright" he said putting the phone away. "You get to meet the big guy."
"God?"
"Is that what you are calling him now? Yeah sure God lets go with that." He turned back into a Middle aged Man "Take my hand."
|
There had been a weird moment, where Karly almost wanted to cheat. She had lived a life of stolen moments. She often felt her life was not her own, working against the person she should have been.
Karly didn't know what to think of Death when he approached her. Karly had been standing on the curb, waiting for the light to change. In the spirit of getting healthier, she had been walking to work. She had missed the sound of the horn, the squealing tires, as someone jumped the curb and hit her.
So when Death stood beside her, still on the same curb, she almost laughed. He was wearing street clothes, draped in shiny black track material. He even had on the latest shoes. Yet his face, skin so tight she could almost count his teeth, seemed more pleasant than most joggers. He was looking at her, not through her.
"I think I made a mistake," Karly said.
"And what would that be?" Death asked.
"I shouldn't have had my music so loud," Karly said. Then she shrugged. "Do they have music in the afterlife?"
"I can't say," Death replied. "It depends on the person."
Karly smiled. "I don't believe you. I think there will always be music. Just maybe not *Story of a Girl.*" She looked down at her body, now turning gray against all the colors of the world.
"You can retry," Death said.
"Like a video game?" Karly asked.
"Yes."
"What's the cost?" Karly wondered.
"There is no cost," Death said. "You just have to avoid doing this again."
Karly shook her head. "No thank you."
"But you have a chance to put me off," Death said. "Don't you want that?"
"What if I am okay with it?" Karly asked. "This doesn't seem like... a bad thing. I don't know, I guess I just am done trying."
| 2017-07-16T19:51:20 | 2017-07-16T14:05:31 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You are sentenced to a famous prison. You are not sentenced by time your stay only ends if you die or escape. There are no guards and the prison is broadcast on television. No one has ever escaped.
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"What do you mean you're just gonna go for it? No one ever escapes"
"Yeah, but if I'm gonna die here anyways why not?"
Jack looked casually around, eyeing the cameras and getting a chill. Nerves were always high when someone was going to try an escape. They usually ended in death, but a few had managed to survive whatever horrible fate came of their attempt. Smitty had been impaled when he fell from the wall he was scaling, no one had even noticed the spikes at the bottom beforehand. Jiminez was actually found washed up on the rocks on the south end of the island, he swam for it, but he at least got out of the prison before nature took its toll. The stories were too many to count, and too gruesome to be worth dwelling over, but Jack was going insane and had decided death was better than staying.
"Tell the boys I went fighting", he uttered as he began his journey.
"It won't work, they'll gun you down, or cut you to bits, god knows they aren't letting you leave", Jacks buddy Tom pleaded.
His plan was audacious, it was arrogant and defiant. Jack would have it no other way. Just as the day the police took him in, when he made fierce eye contact and never once shied away from ownership of the spree of crimes that placed him in this stone box on this island with one single bridge to the mainland. It was time.
Jack stepped up to the door, a dark gray steel structure with cameras from every angle. He slowly pulled the lever releasing the latch, and took a step out onto the bridge. As he moved, each step deliberate and full of purpose, he waited for the sniper round that was surely going to take his life. Each step becoming agonizingly more desperate. At long last he had traversed the bridge completely unharmed.
"What the fuck?!?" He blurted out as he read the street sign in front of him "beinvenido a Tijuana???"
|
Escape or death, those were the words drilled into my head as I was sent to hell. Escape or death. They were empty words really, nothing but a way to make permanent exile sound less of a human rights violation. Sure, I *could* be free someday but it's not like that's ever happened. Nobody has ever escaped from New Melbourne, not even the ones that were born there. It was nothing but a lawless camp on a wasteland of a planet, toxic dust clouds storm across boiling seas and even the most drinkable water isn't potable without boiling and straining it first. It's about as close to hell as was humanly possible and technically isn't even inhabitable.
The juddering of the prison transport slowing down broke my empty stare into nothingness. One of the guards called out to say that we were in orbit of the planet but where there should have been panic at the thought of my new home there was just apathy. I started to replay my life in my head, as if thinking about the past would bring it to the present or that I could somehow change the events that brought me here. I thought about my childhood, remembering the planets I'd lived on as a child. I'd give anything to see the lush green fields of Earth or the towering mountains of Prometheus VII again. I thought about my beautiful wife and best friend Ellen, how we'd met on my first day on Earth and quickly became inseparable. I thought about how happy I'd been when I proposed and how perfect she looked at our wedding. I thought of how many years of happy marriage we'd had before she began to get distant, before I caught her in bed with my best friend. It had been a crime of passion, anybody would have done the same. The betrayal was just too much to bear. *Perhaps* I went a little overboard but it's not like they couldn't identify the body. And it felt so good to just grip her throat and *squeeze* until she stopped moving.
I climbed into the tin can they called a transport pod with the beginning of a smile on my face. My old life might be over but I felt more free than ever.
| 2017-08-15T05:20:38 | 2017-08-15T04:51:53 | 34 | 16 |
[WP]Write a story with no characters.
|
*Quiet.*
*The wind blows softly between the ruined buildings, dust swirling as it eddies in doorways missing doors and windows missing glass. The echoes of no birds singing in the trees and no children playing in the fields could be heard in the stillness, while the wind dances and pirouettes among the ruin.*
*Quiet.*
*Once in awhile a shingle would work loose and fall to the ground. A shard of glass drop from a rotting frame. The shotgun* snap *of pavement as it cracks in the cold and the heat as summer turns to winter and winter into spring and spring again into summer.*
*Quiet.*
*The shuffling of the dead as they stiffen then thaw then liquefy in the heat of the debris-strewn streets, in the cool of their cellars, in the safety of their dens and their closets and beneath their desks; bordered talismans against the death they were certain could never find them in the places they believed would keep them safe. Where they lie, still, while the wind covers them gently in its soft blanket of earth and a gossamer kiss as the seasons turn. And turn. And turn, in the never ending quiet.*
|
A crumpled newspaper drifts through the streets, rolling like a modern day tumbleweed. It crosses against traffic but there is none. Rusted hulks of cars sit as a reminder of the civilization that once stood here. The paper bounces along almost merrily, narrowly avoiding the grass that pokes through the cracking pavement and sidewalk sections.
It strikes a fallen sign of faded green, indicating coffee purchases. The machinery sits dusty and unused having long been forgotten.
Further down it strikes the collapsed tire of a boxy truck. The brown logo is faded from months of sun and weather.
The wind blows heavily and the paper lifts off the ground, slamming it's not considerate weight into a rusted iron fence. Half the fence has collapsed with age and without maintenance. There is no one to maintain it. It flutters, spread out now with bold black letters across the top.
The paper does not concern itself with the words. Only continuing the journey. Flapping and tearing it carries through the fence and becomes a floating reminder of the past.
Soon the wind ceases and the paper floats gently to land on calm river water. Slowly absorbing the liquid it disappears into the depths with little fanfare.
There is silence in the city now. No one to mourn the paper. No one to care.
Simply.
Silence.
| 2017-10-13T09:08:36 | 2017-10-13T08:15:43 | 3,043 | 1,087 |
[WP]Write a story with no characters.
|
*Quiet.*
*The wind blows softly between the ruined buildings, dust swirling as it eddies in doorways missing doors and windows missing glass. The echoes of no birds singing in the trees and no children playing in the fields could be heard in the stillness, while the wind dances and pirouettes among the ruin.*
*Quiet.*
*Once in awhile a shingle would work loose and fall to the ground. A shard of glass drop from a rotting frame. The shotgun* snap *of pavement as it cracks in the cold and the heat as summer turns to winter and winter into spring and spring again into summer.*
*Quiet.*
*The shuffling of the dead as they stiffen then thaw then liquefy in the heat of the debris-strewn streets, in the cool of their cellars, in the safety of their dens and their closets and beneath their desks; bordered talismans against the death they were certain could never find them in the places they believed would keep them safe. Where they lie, still, while the wind covers them gently in its soft blanket of earth and a gossamer kiss as the seasons turn. And turn. And turn, in the never ending quiet.*
|
The Earth remembers
each crack, each line of stress.
They tell a story.
Billions of years
bubbling, shifting, lifting.
Breaking.
The history is there
crisscrossed in lines
that circle on top of one another.
A matter of where to look.
Once there were long grasses;
they danced in the wind.
Birds sang
to break open the day.
The earth hummed with
the harmony of billions.
Once there was life
in each
and every place.
From the edges of the blue waters
to the white peaks
that reach
towards the sun.
The song is gone now.
Wind hisses,
rain spills
over the story.
The noise still exists
without pattern.
The story can be read
if you look in the right place.
The scars and marks
are meant to be read.
To be reminders
of the song.
Can you hear
the echoes of the tune.
A matter of where to listen.
Listen to the music
before its gone.
Listen.
Before the lines fade.
Listen.
While the earth remembers.
---
/r/liswrites
| 2017-10-13T09:08:36 | 2017-10-13T09:07:39 | 3,043 | 139 |
[WP] One day, you see a picture of yourself in a foreign newspaper. You ask someone to translate the headline for you: "Search for kidnapped child still ongoing."
|
*Everything is great. Wish you were here. Also, isn’t this the most beautiful thing ever.*
I sent the text to Riley, along with a photo of the Aurora light I managed to see yesterday.
Third day at Trosmo. Aside from the cold, everything is indeed great. Work is finished way ahead of schedule, which means I get to take the rest of the week off until Sunday. Too bad Riley is stuck at work back home, she would have loved to see the fabled light in person.
The waitress brought forth my long awaited breakfast, with my most beloved bacon, eggs and hashbrown. For someone that’s gone for only two days, I sure miss the food back home.
I quickly devoured the bacon, it’s like I’ve never had something so delicious before… As I move my fork over to the hashbrown and eggs, the patron next to me suddenly caught my attention. The man is holding a newspaper, in the middle of one of the pages, is an enlarged childhood photo of me!
Why would a photo of me be displayed on a Norwegian newspaper?
I tapped the patron’s shoulder, he gave me a look that says “can I help you?”
“Hi, um sorry but can you tell me what the story of that photo is about?” I said while pointing at my photo.
“Says search for kidnapped child still ongoing.” The man replied, probably wondering why would a foreigner be interested.
“Ah, poor kid, how long has he been missing, photo seems pretty old.”
“Says here he's been missing for ten years.”The man said while pointing at a section of text.
Ten years, that's exactly how long it has been since I took that photo. And the background looks just like the same pizzeria where I took the photo as well.
Now that I think about it… where exactly is that pizzeria? I remember it being near my home, yet I seem to have a hazy memory of it requiring hours of drive.
“Sir are you alright?” the man asked.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Thanks.” I said, and excused myself.
I went to the toilet to clear my mind. I'm probably just overthinking it. It's probably just someone that looks exactly like it. Some girls here look just like Riley, it's perfectly possible for another kid to look just like me. It's not like we have a monopoly of pizzeria.
Besides, that kid has blonde hair. My hair is black, and I don't dye my hair…
I froze as I looked at the mirror -- my hair is blonde! How?!
I could just be seeing things. With all the cold here, far away from home, I'm probably just stressed.
I walked out the bathroom, returned to my table, finished my breakfast. Everything's going to be okay. Something even stranger happened as I reached for my wallet -- it's missing! Something else dawned on me as I looked for my wallet: I'm not wearing T-shirt and jeans, but a business suit.
My phone suddenly buzzed. It's Riley, she can help me make sense of everything. Her reply however, shook me to the core:
“Who are you and how did you get my number”
Edit: Thanks everyone for upvoting, more parts will be on the way once I figure out a satisfying conclusion
|
I hoped that this time I would be found. I reached out, testing to see if she really was my mother. But the lady only stared at the tips of my fingertips, as if she looked through the hand of a ghost.
"The article," I said, "you've been searching for me."
She looked at the Japanese newspaper in my hand. Kanji, hiragana, katakana decorated its surface in a myriad of symbols. At the bottom of page twenty-four my name and picture had been placed next to a block of text.
She shook her head.
I shuffled uneasily outside the door. The house was nothing short of a miniature mansion. Even as she stood in the oak doorway, the golden chandelier tinkled behind while its glass shifted in the breeze.
"I'm right here, this is me," I said.
But she did not applaud, nor did she reach out with open arms. Instead, she shook her head again, not saying a word.
"Call your husband."
She surveyed me for a moment, and I wondered if she might shake her head again. This time she walked up the marble stairs and down a velvet carpeted hallway.
I turned back to the driveway area, which was populated with a Ferrari, Lamborghini, and dodge.
To think my parents had lived in wealth all this time, but here I was, eating out of trash cans and dreaming of cars with more kilometers than nuts and bolts.
Footsteps echoed from the passageway. When she returned, a tall man followed. He had dark hair, a buzz cut. Those eyes looked familiar, with their cold blue gaze that could turn your insides to ice. I'd been given that look. It had helped me in many situations.
"How can I help you?" the man asked.
"I'm your daughter," I said, pointing at the picture.
He snatched the newspaper and read it several times, glancing at the sheet and me.
"Sorry, this must be some kind of misunderstanding," he said.
I took the paper from him and stared at the picture and name. "I'm sorry that you had to meet me, father."
The man gave a confused look and then shut the door, clicking the lock into place soon after.
It made me feel sick that someone could do something like that, without even double thinking their response.
I walked down the cobblestone drive, and across to the neighbour's house. This place had a big lawn and fountain out front. There weren't any cars, but the large windows gave view to dozens of computer systems and a TV with surround sound. Whoever lived here, they were tech savvy and wealthy.
I rang the doorbell.
From this corner, I could see a more spacious view of the lounge. The man worked on something big, something that looked human.
A middle-aged man, no earlier than forty, opened up. "Yello," he said.
I held the newspaper out for him. "I've come in response to your newspaper article," I said. "How are you, Dad?"
He looks at the page for the longest time and then gives a slow nod. "Well, come on in, kiddo. We have much to talk about."
I went in and hoped that this time I would be found.
| 2017-10-21T11:09:02 | 2017-10-21T10:39:09 | 83 | 34 |
[WP] You are immortal. Sadly, the universe was not, and now, after a period of time so vast it makes trillions of years look like seconds even the black holes have disappeared. You realize the only source of energy in the universe is your immortal body.
|
"Hal.... HAL...." I nearly screamed second time as Hal9001, my companion intelligence that survived all these years with me inside my consciousness didn't respond immediately.
"yes?" Hal responded.
"have you completed the calculations? It's been 3 days already. "
"I am about to, but there is one variable that I cannot overlook."
"what seems to be the problem?
It's just one question."
"I think I may be able to initiate a reaction to reverse the entropy of the universe. But the variable is a problem in starting of the reaction."
"what is the variable?"
"you. I need a power source that can initiate this process and you are the only source with that much energy.
If I'm going to complete your request, I may end up disintegrating you."
"well. Isn't that unfortunate....."
He thought for a while. He never expected it would come to this. But what if it meant creation of a new world? A world created by him. Well, mostly.
And then he replied "Hal, do it. You have my permission."
" Any last words?" Hal asked.
"Let there be light!".
_______________
Inspired by the story "The last Question" by Isaac Asimov.
|
Once where there was everything, there is now nothing. All that existed has ceased to exist. All that was is no longer. All that will be has been. There is only me. And I am alone.
Staring into the void I am forced to remember the universe that was once here. Forced to regale the histories that have passes here. The countless life forms on countless planets circling the countless stars.
There was always something to do, someone to talk to. Now? Nothing. Even my body has abandoned me. Gone in the same cataclysm that took everything else.
I have searched for what feels an eternity looking for others like me, but my efforts were in vain. There is no one here.
Just me and the darkness. In this there is only one solace, my sleep, and to sleep is to dream.
My dreams are of another time, in another place. I am a man, down on one knee proposing to my world. I am his wife, on my knees, watching the life fade from my husbands eyes. I am his son, giving a eulogy at his funeral. I am his daughter, telling her children he is with God.
It comes to me in a flow of memories.
I am. I was. And I will be again.
I speak, my voice booming into the void.
"Let there be light"
And there was light.
And it was good.
| 2018-03-09T02:43:16 | 2018-03-09T00:41:23 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose.
|
Daredevils are a rare sight in today's world. I blame the internet. When you go to watch some daring do, everyone is amazed by the acrobatic feats and death defying stunts, they're wowed by the fearlessness and strength. But the real reason they're there? They're just waiting for the guy to bust his head open at 100mph. So why pay $20 to see the show, when you can find it 100x over on YouTube for free?
Of course, for the daredevil himself, it's not about the money. It's not about the fame. Well, ok, it kinda is. But both can be achieved without trying to kill yourself. For us, it's about the rush, the thrill. Maybe we've done the trick a hundred times, maybe we've done it once. But the next time could be the last, and that never gets old.
You may know my name. I am the one, the only, The Immortal Steve!
They call me fearless, but that's not true. I have but one fear. Death.
I mean, seriously. The dude has no face, and he's always wearing that black robe. And have you seen his scythe? Thing is the size of a telephone pole.
Today, the scythe was propped against the side of donut shop. We were in Dublin. It had been raining, and still was, but the thousands of water droplets hung suspended in the air, as time itself stood still for our battle.
I had just lost control of my motorcycle, and snapped my neck between a pair of fence spokes that I had found myself neatly thrown between. This was a common occurance. If truth be told, I kinda suck at driving.
But, they don't call me immortal for nothing. The opening act was complete, but now it was time for the real *exploit extrordinaire,* as those who actually speak French might say.
Seated on the hood of a taxi belonging to a rubber necking driver, with an impatient businessman in the backseat, Death and I played our game. It was progressing marvelously. During my last plane ride, I had learned a new chess strategy, and I had been eager to try it out.
I moved my queen forward, resting it directly in front of Death's bishop. He sighed, like a whisper blowing through a cold empty park.
WELL DONE. YOU SURPRISE ME YET AGAIN. TRULY, THE INGENUITY OF YOUR RACE NEVER CEASES TO AMAZE. YOUR STRATEGY WAS TO DRAW MY ATTENTION TO YOUR KNIGHT, A WEAKER PIECE. BUT INSTEAD YOU USED YOUR STRONGEST, AS I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED FROM THE BEGINNING.
I sat back confidently, then remembered that their was no back to chair I was using, and fell off the taxi. I stood back up hurriedly.
"Hey, you did great. I couldn't read your face at all the entire game!"
Death made a sound like a thousand ravens taking flight from swamp. Alarming at first, but I had long ago come to recognize it as laughter.
PERHAPS YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN A COMEDIAN INSTEAD, STEVEN.
"I'll pass. Too big a title to live up to."
I WONDER. WHY DO YOU CONTINUE IN THIS PROFESSION? ONCE ALREADY I HAVE TRIED TO TAKE YOU FOR OLD AGE, AND YOU BESTED ME. I CANNOT TAKE YOU FOR NATURAL CAUSES AGAIN. YOU COULD LEAD A LONG AND PROSPEROUS LIFE, QUIET IN THE SATISFACTION THAT I WILL NEVER COME FOR YOU.
BUT INSTEAD YOU RISK ALL THAT, OVER AND OVER AGAIN. FOR WHAT?
I stood up, stretched and looked towards my body. God, that really was going to hurt. My chiropractor was going to kill me with bills.
"Well, I guess it's actually pretty simple. Your the only person I've ever managed to beat at chess." I smiled and walked back to my body.
"Well Death, I guess I'll see you next Saturday. Gonna pull 18 G's in a jet, should be fun. I remember the last time I blew the capillaries in my head, '78 wasn't it?"
'79 I BELIEVE. NEW YEARS DAY. YOU SHOT YOURSELF AT ANOTHER CANNONBALL.
Time seemed to spin as I stepped into my body. The silence was gone, replaced by screams, and laughter, underneath it the more subtle sounds of the city.
Two assistants helped me down from the fence, and the crowd went wild as I stood and took the helmet from my head, my long dreaded hair flying in the wind. My secretary ran up and handed me an unbroken pair of aviators, and I slipped them on, as I walked away from the wreckage of my motorcycle.
Time seemed to stand still again, as the bike exploded into a awe inspiring fireball, but I didn't look back.
**First time making one of these, let me know how I did.**
|
I won, another victory. All my life I was a player. Simon says at the age of two, then moved to checkers and finally chess. My fortune was acquired through playing Texas Hold'em. I remember exactly the end of my life. A slight intoxication around a table filled with Chinatown Mafia. Cigarette smoke encircled us, like an ancient Mystic Chinese dragon, its tail sneaked into our lungs as it swirled and floated around us, picking up his next victim. The death is a very interesting situation, we sat there, laughing, but when I played and played and the pile of money grew around me, the faces became more like mystic marble sculptures, every pair of eyes focused on my cheeky smile. For the twentieth time this evening I leaned forwards to gather my winnings. A quick movement of a right hand of a man sitting right in front of me produced a handgun, the end of which now took over the entirety of my vision, the Chinese men and the floating dragon blurred and the whole reality shifted back to make way to the steel barrel at the end of which was my head, on the other side a 9.mm bullet in a cartridge.
At this instance I found myself out side time, and reality, but i was not yet dead. I was somewhere in the mid way. Darkness all around us, our play table illuminated by a single bulb floating above our heads. Death itself who now sat in front of me was looking at the table, in some anger analyzing his mistakes in the hundredth game of Risk which we played in the last minute. Death is a good player, and has a great poker face, yet he forgot that I am in fact the best player and the master of poker faces. So after some immeasurable amount of time I decided to ask him.
"Death?"
"Hmm?" he said with his deep voice, still looking at the board and scratching his chin.
"You allowed me to win this one." His face went even more pale than before. His eyes quickly shifted to look at me, slowly he straightened himself on his chair. I continued
"We had a deal that you will take me with you to hell if you win with me. we have now played for ..." I looked at my grandfather's Omega watch, the face of the clock had one word on it "time".
"... for a long umm, time. And so far I was only winning, but i see here that you have made a rookie mistake, moving your troops away from the eastern border of Africa. You knew that this would result in your failure since I had two troop cards ready and the entire Eurasia is under my full control, why did you do it ?". The death started visibly sweating, and avoided my angry look. Playing with his fingers he began speaking, uncertain at first, gaining confidence with each sentence.
"Well, I guess there is no point keeping this a secret any more. You are already dead. A detailed record is kept of every occupant of earth, not only regarding being good or nice, that is the Santa's department, he recently is very generous regarding his classifications. Anyway. We also create a personalized image of the world, the needs and wants of every individual, and depending on the life of this person we aim to provide each one with their own personal ideal area to spend the eternity in."
"You mean I'm already in Hell ?!" I shouted and stood up, tripping the chair over, I looked around me, the void seemed to be unoccupied by nothing, not even darkness. The figure looked surprised at me from the table. "Hell ? Nonsense, you're in Heaven". I stretched my arms pointing indiscriminately at everything. "THIS !? This is heaven ?!". The figure in front of me suddenly wore a suit, grew a quick receding hairline and continued, correcting his glasses in the process. "Here in heaven we decided to take a more personal choice over heaven. After all we are all different. We track down every situation in your life and based on that we create your own, personalized hell and heaven and depending on your overall performance we put you at one of them. Now, we cannot say that you were 'good' but overall you were led by your own motivation, and never tried to cheat or hurt anyone, you were surprisingly motivated by, all your life, to win, not even for money but the feeling of success, was what you wanted the most. So here we are, this table provides you with any game you can think of and we have the eternity to play as long as you want. You will achieve the eternal victory.". All of that was told with a genuine smile. I felt weak, and right after I sat down again, I fainted.
I opened my eyes. The barrel of the gun was still in my eyesight, towering over everything else. The Chinese, looked at me with a cold agenda. The metal click echoed through the room and everything seemed to freeze in time, no one moved, even the dragon above us looked at me in silence. I was alive, the gun was not loaded. An explosion of sincere laughter filled the room, loud enough it made me more startled than the empty weapon. I jumped up, and run out of the basement onto the night, welcoming the new chapter in my short life.
| 2018-03-21T10:30:42 | 2018-03-21T08:37:16 | 32 | 20 |
[WP] House is on fire, family runs out front, you run out the back. When not accounted for by rescuers, you are pronounced dead. You've accidentally faked your own death and decided to roll with it.
|
I knew this would happen. My hoarder of a mother is such a hoarder that she would keep flammable objects next to her oxygen tanks. I had to quit smoking for her and she does this.
When the fire happened I grabbed my backpack, run to the fire exit and then to the ravine. I don't remember anything else. I do remember looking back and looking at my mom as she struggled to get out of the couch, but there was a part of me that knew that if I went back we would both be dead. I'm a shit demon asshole.
So I'm awake now. Somehow the fire didn't spread to the woods. I look at my phone, which isn't completely dead. It's a Saturday morning, 8ish AM. My Saturday routine was as follows: buy the Saturday paper with the TV guide, illegally download movies that were on when I was at work (I had cable but no DVR but I guess now I have neither), illegally download porn (I know), and that's it. I have to make some modifications since I'm homeless now but by God I'll get that Saturday paper.
I brush myself off. I walk into the strip mall which was in front of my building. To the right is a convenient store where I'll get the paper, neatly stacked on top of a rack. The front page had two large pictures. The one on the left had an Asian family crouching down some flowers placed on the curb of a very familiar city block. The next picture is a mirror selfie of mine. Right below the pictures, on big block letters, said "HE HAD DREAMS."
Calm down, Toronto Chronicle, I still have dreams.
It took me this fast to put two and two together for me to realize what that headline meant, and this much faster for me to bolt out of that mall, hoping no one recognized me.
First of all, I would like to thank whoever decided to use that mirror selfie instead of one of those pictures where it's me on the background of a family selfie. A family now mourning me. Actually no, I would like to thank the coroner or investigator who decided that I was a lump of sheets or something.
I reenter the ravine. No, bad idea. I walk back to the mall's back parking lot, go to the Salvation Army, reach into the bins. Jacket. Pants. Shoes. Change behind the bins. I thought of ditching the bag but there might be something in it that I need.
Ditch the clothes into the rubble that used to be my low rise building. Yellow tape. No firemen for some reason.
I have no idea how I'm getting away with this. I don't even remember seeing a single person ever since I woke up.
Now it's time to go back to the ravine. There are trails here that reach downtown. I have no cash on me.
I already miss my dad and my sister. All I had was them and a useless degree and a shitty job and debts. So I kept walking.
|
It was hard looking at her.
Bree stared at me with a familiar stubbornness “Why’d you do it?”
Her eyes searching for something.
“You all knew I had problems loving those I shouldn’t!”
“We spent so long grieving you… I spent so much time grieving you” Bree’s eyes become still.
“…Wasted time.”
“ I know that my problem was wanting the unobtainable. I fell in love Bree. No I crashed into it. You can’t hate me for that.”
Her eyebrows pulled tightly together “No! its more like you crashed into the idea of a person and not the person itself, so don’t you dare try turn this around onto me.”
Exhausted I pull the trigger.
———————————————————-
My little sister lay angrily in my arms.
“You knew this would be the only way." I pleaded with her.
“Just tell me the truth, did you start the fire?”
She grew heavier with each moment.
“No I never meant to start the fire, I was never meant to run away with Rom like this it was just the perfect coincidence.”
Shaking Bree lost control of herself “how could you go with Rom like that? They took everything from us, our farm, our Grandfather, Mum’s entire fortune taken in the courts from that false accusation.”
For the first time since I let go of her hand in that house fire 12 years ago, my sister reached up and touched me.. her hand rested on my cheek. I missed her.
“..they took you from us…they stole our Julz..they took my big brother away from me.” She let go.
“I’m sorry Bree I couldn’t help but fall for Rom, I loved him and he loves me. When we got separated in the fire I felt the smoke tearing at my lungs and I thought I was going to die…all I could think of was him and I made a promise.” I cried onto her shoulder.
“I promised myself that if I survived I’d live out the rest of my life with him, despite our families.”
I’ve been living as a ghost for so long.
“Then it felt like god himself kissed the air, smoke parted and I could see the back door, I could see the creek and I could see a future where I was at peace with the one I loved.”
She coughed. “Julz you idiot, it wasn’t a coincidence… we hired a PI and she found evidence of tampering with our gas lines.”
She was lying to me.
“No you’re trying to get back at me, you’re angry, I get that, but you of all people should understand ..” Something cold was sticking to my shirt and my back.
“Julz they took absolutely everything from us and I’ve spent so much time trying to hurt them back.”
Something was dripping down my back. Reaching around I feel the back of my shirt.
“I’ve finally figured out a way to hurt them back Julz..”
The handle of a knife standing defiantly in my back.
My little sister smiled up at me with wholeness in her eyes .
“I’m gonna take everything from them, I’m gonna take Rom’s everything.”
| 2018-04-25T06:43:40 | 2018-04-25T06:15:08 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped.
|
Day 1: Time stopped, as it does when I'm in danger, at 7:05:23 this morning. I know because that's why my watch was at when it stopped counting. I usually just duck or jump to the side or something and time restarts, but none of that helped. I finally ran outside the house, and nothing. This is strange; something's about to kill me - usually time stops only seconds away from my death - but whatever it is I can't figure it out.
Day 2 (?): I've double-checked everything. All the food I ate, the pills I took, I don't see any bug bites - and how many bug bites are lethal, anyway? It's been an entire day the world has been stopped. Usually it's under a minute. Whatever the danger is, I just don't see it. I hope I don't have cancer or something. How would I find out?
Day 7 (probably): This is losing its humor value. People in solitary start to go bonkers, and I'm starting to feel that way myself. I've dozen-checked everything. There is nothing, literally nothing, even slightly threatening to me within a kilometer of my house. I'm not even sure how many days it is, since nothing has changed. I'm mostly going by what it feels like. I could be off a full day in either direction.
Day 30 (ish): I had a long conversation with a time-locked squirrel today, so maybe the going crazy part has begun. Still, the squirrel made some good points. Heh.
Day 60 (or so): There is nothing, literally nothing, within two kilometers of my house that constitutes any possible threat to my life, except maybe that burly cop if he finds out how much time I spent admiring his wife in the shower.
Day 90 (deal with it): I've just been walking in an expanding spiral, and have now made it maybe four kilometers from my house. Nothing, absolutely nothing, looks like any danger to me at the moment time stopped. I must be thinking too small: maybe a nuke went off or something? I climbed an antenna tower to look for planes in the sky or explosions or something but didn't see anything. What am I going to do if it IS a nuke? I guess running the other way until time restarts would mean I made it to minimum safe distance, but then lots of other people would get fried. Maybe I can just take the bits of the bomb and spread them far apart, or carry it out into the desert or something.
Day whatever: I just started walking in a direction. Don't know why I never noticed this before, but you can walk on time-locked water. I don't want to think about what happens if I walk to safety, time restarts, and then stops again after I sink a bit into the water. Too far and I may just be stuck there for eternity. The stories say Jesus walked on water; but that can't have been time-locked or who would have seen it to write the story?
End of year 1, or 2, or however long it's been: I've been walking in a straight line, well I guess a curved line because the planet is round, for, well, a really long time. Time never restarted. I don't see anything that might be dangerous to me. I've seen some nice scenery. I'm starting to walk into the darkness, where the sun had already set when time froze. Not sure how useful that's going to be.
100km later, or whatever, I don't know: I see the full moon rising. I went back and forth a while, see the moon rise and set and rise and set, just to break up the monotony.
Another 10km, or something: I must be going nuts, because now I see two moons.
Later that same day (night?): the second one is not the moon. It looks to be an asteroid, maybe 5 kilometers across, burning up in the atmosphere. There's a bunch of burned out land under it. It has stopped a couple hundred feet above the ground. So now all I have to do is figure out how to climb up to it, chip it into little pieces one at a time, and distribute them over a wide area so that nobody dies. Since I can walk on water, I don't even know if breaking time-locked rock is possible. And I'm not sure how I'm going to get up there. But I do have plenty of time to think about it.
|
What a strange predicament George seemed to have found himself in. For the third day in a row things seemed off to him, but, George never being the brightest type of person, did not fully realize the futility of his circumstance until quite a bit later. Like the two days prior Georgie woke, make some coffee, got dressed, and stepped into the strangely still air of his lawn. George walked to his car, flinching from the normal barking attack of Mr Robertson’s dog, but, like the two days prior, the dog was just waiting on the porch, staring at a birds nest in the oak down the road. “What a weird thing to see”, George thought, “maybe a bit lazy for one day, but two, god forbid these last three, maybe Robertson should take his dog to the vet, something's clearly wrong.”
George loaded into his car, setting the hot drink carefully into the unbroken right cup holder (the left one fell victim to George in his “a little too heavy” stage a couple of years prior). With the turn of the key and a shift into reverse, he was off onto the highway, the office building not lying too far ahead.
Finally pulling into the entrance to the parking garage, George noticed the attendant clearly asleep for the third day in a row. “What a joke, perfect way to ruin a good early morning commute. I get the luck of no cars on the road and now this prick thinks his job is some silly game”, George vented to himself. Surely no one else would be coming to georges aid, so with a bulbous waddle (he still had some time to go on the treadmill), and a tomato red face, Georgie was off into the lazy attendant’s office, pushing the turnstiles button himself. “Wake up next time you lazy bastard” George yelled, and with that he was back into the old Cady and off to the shitty reserved spot with the leaky roof. Of course they give him the worst spot in the garage, but to George it was practically a non-issue, he’d already spend a whole year grumbling about it. Off to the elevator then with the uptight fat man.
With another tomato red face, a ruined with sweat shirt, and a couple huffing puffs of air here and there, George finally was in the lobby of the office (lazy cunts couldn’t be arsed to fix the elevator, third day in a row and still no one was working on it.) He dropped his check in card on the desk of the receptionist, hardly giving her another glance. He couldn’t so much as look at the woman without becoming enraged, not after she publicly humiliated him at work 6 months ago. He had done everything his mother taught him, said hello, goodbye, and the typical “how are you today”s. He bought flowers, chocolate, liked her instagram posts, texted her every day after work, even without replies sometimes, but the stuck up woman clearly didn't appreciate real men. “Her loss” George huffed to himself, walking the ramp up to his lonely cubicle.
Jim’s birthday balloons and streamers were still up over his office. George hated Jim, even though everyone seemed to spend every second of every day worshipping the ground he stood on. Of course Jim’s birthday decorations, and his “we love you Jim” signs were still up, they’ll be up all year if you ask George. Finally though past his heavy breathing that still hadn’t ceased, (might have to bring that up with the doctor) George settled down in his nearly empty cubicle, taking some time to stare at the empty picture frames littering the space behind his monitor. I wish I could tell you what he was thinking but only really Georgie boy knows, sorry to say. Switching on the computer George sighed a heavy sigh, cracked his knuckles, and tried not to focus on the ramen lunch coming to him later. George just couldn't quite afford going out like everyone else everyday, not that they’d invite him anyway.
George continued like this everyday, work in, work out for a year, never noticing the frozen world around him, too wrapped up in his own delusions and visions of grandeur. Soon a year passed, but George didn’t care, or notice that none had said a word to him for that time, no one contacted him much anyway. I wish that there was more story to tell, but that’s just about it, even with a century passing, George didn’t quite notice. It might be time to check if mom has moved from the couch yet, I’ll leave you here.
Written on mobile, hope the formatting wasn't too screwed up. I’m just really getting started writing so it might not have been that good, but all practice helps, thanks for the prompt.
-ChaBoiShittyStories
| 2018-07-04T16:29:47 | 2018-07-04T15:04:45 | 2,360 | 100 |
[WP] Genie: aah, that's... an unusual wish, are you sure?... I mean, it's doable but... you sure you don't want something else? Like richness, or eternal life? Cos this is going to... and all the paperwork. But ok, if that's your wish, well, your wish has been granted
|
"I am absolutely certain," I stated.
He nodded, closed his eyes, and snapped his fingers, "It is done..."
He started to leave and paused before looking back at me, "What made you wish for that when you could have had anything in the world?"
I smirked, "I've always liked the term."
The genie looked a little uneasy, "You know most people lie at least once in their life right? Like, this is going to affect pretty much everyone."
I nodded, "But, the specifications I gave were enacted right? Little harmless lies just get puffs of smoke while the size of the burn increases as the number and magnitude of the lie increases?"
"It is set to your exact formula. But seriously, have you just been carrying that around with you your entire life on the off chance genies were real?"
I laughed, "Since I was 12."
He looked behind me, across the street to a little electronics repair shop and saw a tv flicker as the channel changed to a national news station. I followed his gaze and we both walked over to the window to take in the breaking news.
The pretty blonde newscaster seemed uncomfortable as she tried to report on what seemed to be an urgent broadcast:
"There is currently no need to panic...," she shifted again and her nostrils flared as visible puffs of smoke rose above the desk where she sat, "... there seems to be an uncontrolled fire raging in..." she looked off camera, "...wait are you sure?" She asked as she shifted, "all of them?"
The young blonde stifled a laugh as she once again shifted in her seat, "I'm just getting reports in that...it appears that...an unfortunate...." she shifts and yelps as she pats her leg under the table, "It appears that clothing across the nation is catching fire at random. We are not yet sure what is causing this disaster, but please be advised, all clothing should be removed immediately..." her eyebrow ticks up in confusion, "You guys if this is a joke, it's not funny..."
An unclothed man shuffled carefully into view and sat next to the pretty blonde his face was stern and seemingly in a bit of pain, "This is not a joke. While in session today the Capitol building in Washington D.C. went up in flames so quickly that it is currently believed that there are no survivors. That fire is still raging out of control as firefighters are split up among the district attempting to put out fires in nearly every federal building..."
I smiled and turned from the television, skipping away from the rising carnage as I hummed, "Liar liar pants on fire..."
|
'Hey Genie, how long is this gonna take man.'
'Listen fool, by the time you leave this cave your wish would come into effect and even I will not be able to reverse the change so I beg you to change it.'
'This is the greatest wish Genie and I will go down in history. MUHAHAHAHHAHAHA.'
'Alright sir your wish has been granted, reluctantly of course. So you may now leave.'
I stayed back for a hot second to ensure I hadn't been tricked and moments later the Robin Williams in his voice started to fade away during his excaimation of resentment towards me and ever so slightly had begun to be replaced by an entracing dominant shrill. Simultaneously, his body twisted and contorted mangling upon itself before unraveling to show beautiful blue curves. 'YES!' I thought to myself and stormed out of the weathered depth. Once outside, I swam through the waterfall which hid this cave which was now filled with the wailing and curses of the Genie. I hadn't completely believed that he was Genie until the moment he transformed but I guess it didn't hurt to play it safe. Like a torpedo, I swam towards the boat and rushed to find my way out of this twisted forest towards Atlanta. I had to see this happen to a big city myself. 'Turn all humans to smoking hot females but let me remain as a dude.' I said to 'him'. The sun was creeping out over the horizon now and gentle orange gleamed on the shore. 'No time to gaze at sights.' I rushed to my Jeep and drove the rest of the way to Atlanta. If Genie hadn't taken up hipster clothing I would have believed him, it's his fault that he got dragged into this. By noon I reached a 7-11 and no one was there. 'Strange.' I whispered to myself. Guess no one would want to go outside now. As I toured the souless city, I could see the lights shining bright out of houses all over yet no one responded to my calls. I reached my hotel and stumbled inside feeling defeated as I hadn't been greeted by a receptionist. In the restaurant sipping a bottle of water, 'A HOT CHICK!' She turned to face me and I walked upto her ear and whispered 'You're looking at the last man on Earth babe.'
She laughed. The arrogance baffled me. She pulled me in and whispered back 'I'm lesbian.' Grossed I escape towards my room. Entering the elevator I see two girls making out. Must be my lucky day. I enter my room and peel back the curtains to peer at other houses with my binoculars. 'Cowabunga...' I murmured. ALL OF THEM WERE MAKING OUT WITH EACH OTHER.
| 2018-08-05T03:47:20 | 2018-08-05T03:37:23 | 267 | 28 |
[WP] You grew up with your uncle, seeing him bringing weird stuffs home, you'd always thought he was just a hoarder. Untill the day he died, you realized that your uncle was the collector and protector of the most powerfull artifacts in the universe and you are a part of his collection.
|
I always suspected something was a miss with Uncle Drew. He could never hold a steady job and was always bouncing from temp job to temp job.
And then there was the hoarding. Seemingly useless junk that he would drive us halfway across the country for. Sometimes to a farm in the middle of nowhere, and a field of wheat that was flattened with a small rock in the middle. Sometimes to the big city, and a high rise building taller than anything I could stretch my head back to see. A fancy business man would take a few of these rocks and give Uncle Drew something inside a locked box.
Of course, there was the way he reacted to me too. It was like he was nervous of me or something. I had tantrums, what little kid doesn’t, but the way he reacted was...unusual. He would get this terrified look in his eyes, and then basically sprint to his car outside. I’d calm down and he’d tentatively come back inside eventually and give me a big hug. But it just didn’t make a lot of sense.
We’d play on the long road trips, silly car games like spot the cow or the rainbow. Don’t get me wrong, I knew these trips were weird, but I still kind of enjoyed them. On the way back he’d buy me a happy meal and an ice cream and I’d shovel it down like all kids do. The little toy that came with the meal would be clutched in my hand the whole drive home.
But as I got older, he started to go on more and more trips by himself. I like to think it was because he trusted me to take care of myself by that age, and school was obviously getting more serious. But I could tell he was getting more and more involved in things that maybe he shouldn’t.
One night, when I had stayed behind, he came home in the pouring rain. He practically fell through the front door, clutching his side with a small bloody rag underneath his shirt. I don’t think he expected me to be up. As soon as he saw me he shouted to go to my room. “But Uncle...” I remember saying. He had a fierce look in his eyes and swore at me for the first time ever. “Go to your f***ing room Steven!”.
I did as he asked, and in the morning when we had breakfast, it was like nothing happened, Uncle Drew poured his coffee and cereal.
A few years after that I moved away to college and never really returned home except for the major holidays. Uncle Drew came to my graduation, all smiles and tears of joy, wearing his best worn out suit. We went for a large meal with my girlfriend and her family. It was like a grown up version of our happy meals all those years ago.
It was when I was living with my girlfriend and on my way home from work a year or two later that I got the call. Uncle Drew had passed away.
I cried a lot. He was the only constant in my life. The loveable distant goofball. His funeral was a sad affair. Countless people I remember from our trips suddenly showing up. The closest thing to friends Uncle Drew ever had.
After everyone else had left the wake, it was just me and my girlfriend in Uncle Drew’s house tidying away. A knock came at the door.
“I’ll get it” I called out.
The front door was creeky as anything and took a firm shove to get it open. Two men in smart suits were waiting for me on the other side. I didn’t recognise them from the funeral, but they wouldn’t have looked out of place.
“Steven?” the first man asked.
“Yes, that’s me. If you’re hear for the funeral I’m afraid you’re too late, but you’re welcome to come in for a drink.”
The two men looked at each other, and then back to me. They opened their jackets to reveal two badges. That familiar logo from every cop show staring me in the face, only this time it was real. FBI.
“Your Uncle..” and he emphasised the word Uncle in a weird way, “was one of our freelance operatives”.
“Freelance what?”
The second man fetched something out of his pocket. An old piece of rock, one I’d seen my Uncle Drew collect a thousand times.
“Do you know what this is?”
“A space rock” I said. “My uncle used to collect them.”
“And did he ever let you hold them?”
“Of course he...”
Have you ever had that moment in your life when someone says something, and it suddenly dawns on you that your memory is playing tricks on you. In all of our trips, my uncle never let me hold the rocks.
“I...I don’t think he did”.
The agent held out the rock. I took it with my hand. It began to glow a brilliant purple and blue.
“What, what is this?”
Suddenly, the rock began to glow even brighter. It flooded the whole front porch. I felt...weird...and then, everything went dark. I passed out on the floor. And that’s the last thing I remember.
|
Three days is all it took for me, just three damn days to have my whole world shattered. Why'd that bastard have to go and leave me behind? It's not like I can live out my life knowing what he's left behind for me.
And me? What the hell does this goddamn letter mean? You stupid, selfish, cold bastard, I still need you to help guide me! I still need help, I still do...
I guess it's no wonder why I was never permitted to leave the mansion without you Uncle. To think, living my whole life as a possession and not even knowing it, now given all the freedom to do what I want. And I have to keep watch over this stupid mansion? Is this what you fucking had planned for me the whole time? When you die, just leave the vault for me to discover in your stupid letter? Revealing that I'm not an actual human anymore in a letter is beyond fucked. Jesus, I wish he let me die when I was born!
Fuck it though, I inherited this burden of a place so I might as well figure out what this shit is.
Looking down the first list, there's fifty class D1 items? I don't even know the damn classifications of these things, how the hell am I to...oh the classification scale is on the next page. It says here that there are four classification scales: A-D scale, object hazard scale, null-point scale, object erasure scale. What is the point of a four class scale when there are sub-classifications inside them? Hnk! Whatever, I'll learn things as I go down.
It says here, "Note, classification scales A-D have four sub-classifications as determined by the impact on single biological lifeforms." Well that's good to know. It seems D is the least deadly to biological life. No wonder there's so many D1 items, as they're more common than all the rest. And it seems that A scale classifications are always deadly to single biological lifeforms, that's also good to know.
Hmmm, object hazard scale seems to be a bit more worrisome. It says in some bold ass friggin letters, "Extreme caution required. Object hazard scale classification deemed deadly to large scale biological and non-biological lifeforms." Non-biological lifeforms? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Well there's only ten items on this list, so it should be easy to make sure they're secured.
I'm getting kind of worried now, I'm not on the first two lists. So what the hell does that mean for me? I can see that there's also ten items on the null-point scale, with a note for each item. That's definitely different! First item note says, "A space time partitioning-ionized oscillator. Do not touch without proper grounding of the current spacetime within 30,000 kilometers". I'm not even sure what that means, but I'll keep my fingers away from that one. So let's see, the second item says, "F901-10-p" and now I'm really fucking confused. Oh! An addendum was added on the page behind it, "Formula and means of production for between-matter". Jesus, I'm getting the picture that these items could cause some serious damage to a lot of shit.
It's almost too scary to read the object erasure scale. And I fucking knew it! My name is the second one down on the list! There's only three, which makes me really uncomfortable. Dammit Uncle Dex, I wish I knew this before hand. I have so many knots in my stomach it hurts. Deep breaths in Tidus, deep breaths in.
Oh man here I go, reading my own fucking classification. I'm going to do it...Any second now. I swear I'll do it--WHO AM I TALKING TO?!?!? Just stop being a pussy and read it. "Erasure precedence: Tidus Yni'ol. Age when precedence first came into contact with originators body: one day old. Precedence over reality: Matter condensing and compacting..." Wait, I can create condensed matter? Holy living shit that sounds cool! But I gotta make sure what that means...let me see if I can find any--AH, found it. "Precedence condition: Matter condensing and compacting forms spacial anomalies; classified under V9-1-v. Spacial anomalies open, and out pours unknown entities under control of precedence; entity classified under G304-0-f. Precedence scale annihilation..." Oh my god he has so many classifications for these things! I don't even understand half of it. Ugh! Never the less, it sounds scary and I don't want to even know how to activate it.
There's so much to fucking do. I don't want to even do this! Fuck you Uncle Dex, why'd you leave me alone with this shit!?!
​
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I tried something completely new to my writing. I've never really tried a monologue of sorts. I hope it was at least passable.
| 2018-09-30T05:12:55 | 2018-09-30T01:25:44 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] It started just before you realized you were pregnant. Dragons showing up around your home. Small ones first, no bigger than sparrows, with increasingly larger ones as time went on. Now you're going into labor, and a golden dragon, big as a hill, is coming over the horizon.
|
The news told us not to worry…
That the dragons wouldn't bother us…
Then tell me, why is there a massive golden dragon, standing in my way, as I'm going into labor! It’s hard enough to breathe and I’m trying not to panic. Yet, the dragon stands there with its wide eyes and each of its breaths blowing past me like a gust.
Stay calm, stay calm…
I figured we weren’t going to be able to make it to the doctor so we called a mid-wife, for the fourth time, since none seem to want to come close to a home surrounded by dragons. Luckily one of them seemed brave enough to endure the challenge.
Because for the love of god, this isn’t Dungeons & Dragons. I just want this over with already!
A beautiful baby girl was born. I was apparently sleep for hours after having finally given birth, so this is the first time I got to see her face… That and the face of a giant dragon peaking in through the bedroom window.
It not being strange at all.
However, my beautiful baby girl was like a little hot potato, all bundle up in the blanket we had prepared for her. She slowly peaked open her eyes, the first time I got to see them and they resembled the blue eyes of the dragon looking in through the window.
Slit pupils and all.
“Wha-what? Why does she have the same eyes as that dragon?” I ask the mid-wife.
“I don’t know madam.” She says.
I look around for my husband and find him standing on the other side of the room glancing out the window.
“Dear?”
He look over his shoulder without fully facing me.
“My love, and my beloved newborn daughter. I must confess. I didn’t think time would fly as quickly as it did.” He says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“This body of mine, it isn’t my true body. For the man you fell in love with is that golden dragon, you see there in the window.” He says.
“I… I…”
Apparently I fainted, or so the mid-wife told me. I don’t remember. All I know is some time has passed.
I sat up in my bed, with the mid-wife at my side holding my daughter.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Madam, he’s no longer here.” She says.
“What? Did he leave?” I ask.
“No madam, he’s here. He left a message for you, ‘come outside’ he said.” She says.
How dare he! My body is weak and he’s asking me to move? Come outside, he said. Our home is two stories, going down these stairs won’t be a laughing matter. Although, I suppose I’m grateful to our maids for escorting me to the front door.
They opened the door, and there lining the horizon was the golden dragon and several others.
The golden dragon walks closer, and stops right in front of the house.
Right in front of me.
The dragons mouth opens and my husbands voice comes out.
“Its me.” It says.
“Its who? I’m sorry, but you are?” I ask.
“Your husband.” It says.
“You? …What does this even mean?”
“My human body was only temporary… But, it is true that my love for you is real.” He says.
“So… our daughter then?” I ask.
“Is what unites our kind. Our daughter born of man and dragon.” He says.
His blue eyes gaze into mine. The sincerity in them. The honesty in them. They still look like his, even as a dragon. I don't want to admit… and I hate that he’s a dragon now…
But I still love him.
|
The cold winter has already arrived. Its freezing pincer slowly closing on all and every creature, prepared or not, and cut their lives in half. But not the Nords. They were never something the Winter could ever erradicate. Blonde, white, stark, and most importantly, unwavering. I had been born to them, raised on the frozen ground, fishing, hunting, listening to stories of great Nords while cooking our meals on a campfire. I may have been raised differently. Racist, maybe.
We Nords do not like other people. Not the lizardmen from the marshes south, not the tanned folk from the West, and we like the pointy-ears the least. They are, if anything, big mouthed and always acting like we all are of lesser quality. I have been to the walled city many times, and the seat of the High King twice, and every time I met one, they had this bored and sneering emotion written all over them.
I married a warrior. A respectable man from the eastern parts of our land, who was proud of his heritage. He was too proud to refuse the request, he was too proud to refuse the call. He had fallen in the early skirmishes; a martyr to some, and a criminal to many. I escaped to the mountains, to a small hut I have bought off a widow of a warrior, and decided to live there, like one of those hags from childhood tales.
I could have sworn I saw a small dragon among the bushes when I arrived there, but I waved it away as a simple trick of the mind. But the more I stayed, the more I had seen. Small, dragon-like creatures, flying around, catching prey and watching me. My house. I tried scaring them away, but they returned every time. After a while, I just gave up. Maybe I have gone crazy since he died.
I sensed my pregnancy two weeks after I finally settled in. Small pains, hunger, exhaustion. The weeks went past, and slowly I started to see the dragons growing in size. Every week, they became bigger and bigger. I tried touching them, but they vanished as soon as I lifted my hand. Tricks of the mind, I would say.
After more than half a year since I went on to be hag, the day arrived. I had gone into labor, and my pain was unbearable. I looked out, and I have seen the most graceful yet horrible sight of my life: a giant golden dragon flying towards my house. I knew this dragon, I was sure it was real. I could not think of anything else, and my lips parted to realize my thoughts: "Alduin."
It tried. It was brutal, and his breath destroyed the surrounding pine trees like they were twigs placed by a child. But somehow, his efforts were in vain. My house, maybe defended by some divine being, stayed upright and stable. I knew I had to be swift, and I endured the pain, until his body was finally out. He was silent at first, but then screamed - no, he shouted, like Alduin did, but with extraordinary power, obliterating the World Eater and banishing his soul from the world.
I needed 5 days to fully be able to move again, and thank the gods for my foresight to keep a large suppy of firewood, food and water beforehand. I knew he was my child, yet I was not sure if he was of my dear husband, and if he was, I could never foresee this consequence. I decided to raise him a normal man, never to tell him of his birth and his power.
For I named him after his father, but his true name is Dovahkiin.
| 2018-10-28T06:31:32 | 2018-10-28T05:48:01 | 168 | 86 |
[WP] Immortals and time travelers pass along messages for each other. It's customary and expected. One day, a stranger sits across from you at a restaurant/coffee shop/bar and asks you to give a message to someone you'll meet in New York in 2070. As far as you know, you're just an ordinary person.
|
The old lady sat across from me in the coffee shop and smiled. Her teeth were uncanny peaks of white, her eyes a brown so intense they were near black. They were very beady. They reminded me of a shark’s as they tracked me for a reaction.
“I don’t know anyone named Charles,” I mumbled.
She nodded, still looking at me. “But you will,” she said emphatically. Her hands were wrapped around a coffee cup with lipstick stains on the lid. I watched her fingers drum the side. Her nails were perfectly manicured in alternating red and greens for the holidays. It looked like a style I’d expect in a 20-something, not a lady that could easily be in her eighties.
“There was a mistake,” she continued. “You should have been told about Charles when you turned eighteen, not twenty-eight. It’s customary for all of us traveled to know our soulmates. When you meet him, you’ll ascend.”
I felt something I hadn’t felt for years rise in the back of my throat: hope. I felt it when she first made eye contact as she entered the coffee shop and I was feeling it again as she spoke.
She knew my age.
It couldn’t just be a lucky guess.
“I’m not a traveled,” I said. I’d said it before, but she’d ignored me—pretended not to hear it.
“Miss Jerian, correct?”
My blood ran cold—there was no way she’d know my name. “Yes, but—”
She pulled out a small moleskin book from the inside of her cranberry peacoat. She pursed her lips as she thumbed through it. The beady eyes darted back and forth before she looked back up. “Charles Lancaster. You’ll meet him in 2070. Well, your 2070; his 1815. It’s complicated. You’ll have twins, which makes sense given the circumstances.”
Twins did run in my family. “But why—”
“Clerical error. It happens more than you’d think, we’re not always so modern.” She tapped her book to make a point. She smiled again, thankfully a close-lipped one.
“Will we stay in his time or mine?” The words tumbled out and I felt that feeling in my throat again, a tickle of hope that was becoming a wave. I’d tried to swallow it, but it refused to stay down: I was special.
She shook her head. “I can’t say. I’m not a fortune teller, I just read your timeline.”
“Is he wealthy?”
She just looked at me, smiling. She took a sip from her coffee after a few moments of silence as I processed it all. “You know,” she said, “It’s right before I first traveled.”
“1815?”
“Yes. It’s a beautiful time. But be prepared for New York to smell.” She laughed and I found myself laughing a little too.
“That explains the book,” I finally said.
“Yes, some of the newer folks use technology. But I always preferred a good ledger. It works when I was born and it works now.”
“Do you have any more details?” I couldn’t help but pry, even though I knew it was not protocol from all the classes I’d taken in high school. Only a handful of people became chosen, but we were all educated on the concept. The first traveler appeared in 2020, but they had been around for centuries prior. They lived in between epochs and aged slowly, unable to die from natural causes. They kept their identities hidden and only told those on their eighteenth birthday when they would be old enough to recognize the need to secrecy.
“In 2070, all will become clear,” she said. Another flash of her bright teeth as she put her ledger back into her front pocket.
It was only a year away. Next Christmas, I would meet Charles. He’d take me away from the nihilism, the corporate culture. I wouldn’t have to deal with any more one-night stands. I could move out of my dingy studio apartment.
I could abandon my student loan debt.
“I need to go now,” she said. “We’ll talk again, after you meet him.”
I stood as she stood, still dizzy with excitement and numb with possibility. “Thank you,” I said, grabbing her hand and holding it in mine.
“It’s no problem, Miss Jerian.”
“You can call me Sarah,” I replied. “After all, you just changed my life. No need for formalities.”
The beady eyes suddenly looked away, then she pulled away her hand sharply. “Sarah? Sarah Jerian?”
“Yes?”
She paused. Her eyes refused to meet mine.
I waited for her to say anything.
Finally, after what felt like an hour but could have only been a minute, she cleared her throat.
“I need to speak to your twin sister—Emily. Do you know where she is?”
\--
​
***(Meh, not happy with this, but 20 minute writing sprints are fun at least!)***
|
After a long strenuous day at work, all I wanted was to have a few sips of my black coffee, that's all. I, a sixty four year old man, don't generally attract a lot of attention, so it was lovely to be interrupted by a man with a turquoise mohawk and sunglasses in the winter.
​
"Traveler 7456? I'll need you to pass this message along to a Wendy Aulgarth, you'll meet her in the Bronx in 2070. So the message i-"
​
"I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid that you're speaking to the wrong individual. What is this? Traveler 7456? Is this some video game forum that you're coming from?" I interrupted. The man raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
​
"Man, you Travelers never seen to lose your sense of humor, always acting clueless when we come around. Now the message is: "Your journey now has just begun, the demise of man has already been sung, to flee and weep is to see it through, but to rise and fall is to begin anew," The man grinned, and continued to stare at me, "You got that?"
​
Now, as you can imagine, I was becoming rather agitated.
​
"Is it Bother Elderly People Day? Even if I were apart of your nonsense, why would I tell anyone such a morbid message? Please leave me be!" I barked.
​
"Yeah, okay whatever you say man. Just deliver the damn message," The man grunted and trudged away. I finished my coffee in peace, but the message was replaying in my head. With each sip a detail was being refreshed.
​
**Sip.** *Wendy Aulgarth.* **Sip.** *The Bronx, 2070.* **Sip.** *Traveler 7456.*
​
Once I finished, I promptly left and went for a brief stroll in the snow in order to drown out my thoughts. Then I collapsed. A high pitched ringing sounded in my ears, and seemed to be pounding my brain as it went. I screamed in agony and the people surrounding me assumed that I was having a standard "old person problem" until I closed my eyes for a brief moment and found myself laying on a different snow covered sidewalk.
​
The ringing had stopped and no one paid any attention to me, in fact, people were strolling right by.
​
"I could still be in Boston," I chuckled and brushed the snow off of my clothes. I remembered that I intended on mailing a letter and I proceeded to the local post office. Which wasn't in its normal spot, and was also squeezed between two massive facilities that I had never seen before. Entering hesitantly, a frail woman at the desk glanced at me with a half hearted smile.
​
"Are you just here for the exhibits?" The woman asked with a strange mix between a southern drawl and Cockney accent.
​
"Exhibits? No, no I'm here to mail a letter!" I laughed nervously, hoping that the woman was joking too. Her smile slid off of her face, and she rolled her eyes.
​
"Everyone thinks that they're a fucking comedian," She muttered and grabbed my arm, "Pay up and I'll take you through the first exhibit."
​
"Mam, I'm serious, look!" I said as I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out the letter. She looked at me with a bewildered expression.
​
"Sir, you are aware that it's 2070. In this neighborhood especially, there are only two functioning post offices, and this isn't one of them," The woman shook her head and returned to her desk to use her phone. I stood dumbfounded. I searched around and spotted a flat screen television mounted on the wall.
​
"Can you turn that on please? Turn the station to the news as well."
​
With a grunt the television was turned on to show a completely different format than what I recalled with many new faces as well.
​
"On this day, December 17th, 2070, we are unfortunately here to report the death o-"
​
*2070*. I thought. I looked at the letter I had intended to mail and snatched a pen from the counter of the desk. The woman watched me with intrigue and annoyance as I scribbled down what I remembered of the message.
​
All that was left to do was fine this goddamn Wendy Aulgarth and deliver her this horrendous news.
​
No sweat.
| 2018-12-24T10:45:45 | 2018-12-24T10:18:15 | 79 | 10 |
[WP] Immortals and time travelers pass along messages for each other. It's customary and expected. One day, a stranger sits across from you at a restaurant/coffee shop/bar and asks you to give a message to someone you'll meet in New York in 2070. As far as you know, you're just an ordinary person.
|
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply as my senses flooded with the rich scent of pure, black coffee. Slowly, savoring the moment, I raised the cup to my mouth, and as I took my first sip of coffee in over two months, a strong gust of wind blew the cup out of my hand.
I looked right, seeing exactly what I expected. An Immortal. Those assholes could never go anywhere without making some flashy appearance, without announcing their presence. Teleporting everywhere all willy-nilly, not caring about the consequences of their actions, and now, I had lost my only coffee in months, and I was pissed!
The Immortal swept through the café, nose high, with an otherworldly grace, seemingly no care in the world. I guess that’s easy when nothing you do affects you negatively and the masses bend over backwards to please your every whim. It strode to the counter and made an order that I couldn’t hear over the “ooh”s and “ahh”s of the crowd. The barista rushed to get Its coffee done as soon as possible. It grabbed the coffee and glided away.
With every move It made, my anger grew. With every stride, my fury swoll. And yet, I knew I couldn’t do anything. Everything I could possibly do to him, he could easily shrug off and return tenfold. An Immortal’s power was vast, and no mortal could stand up to one, no matter how skilled. I, a modest construction worker who could barely afford a coffee, stood no chance.
My eyes continued to follow the Immortal gliding through the café, before suddenly he stopped at my table and sat himself down.
“What do you want?” I asked, teeth gritted.
“Listen mate, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your coffee,” It said with a smirk, placing Its coffee in front of me.
My eyes flickered to the coffee, then back to It.
“I said, what do you want.”
He grinned and uttered the sentence that changed my life.
“You’re an Immortal, Glaucus.”
I just raised an eyebrow. I’d had enough of this bullshit. Glancing at my watch, I stood up. I’m was already running a bit late, I’d have to hurry. I stalled out of the little shop, hoping It wouldn’t follow. It did.
“I don’t know what the hell’s wrong in your head, but I am not an Immortal,” I told It.
It stepped around me, blocking my path. “This might sting a bit,” he said before he snapped his fingers. My body exploded into a world of pain as my body disintegrated, lasting for what felt like hours before I finally blacked out from the pain.
————————————————————————
I woke up to white. Lots of it. Everything around me glowed with an obnoxious brightness, and I groaned as I slowly sat up.
The Immortal sat in front of me, lounging regally on a throne of pure black.
“Sorry about that, but sometimes it’s best to rip the bandaid off,” he said.
“What the hell did you do to me? Where am I? Who the FUCK are you?!?!” I was furious.
“I merely awakened your true spirit. It’s quite a painful process, as it requires burning away your body. It’s best to do it with no warning, less pain that way. As for your other questions, well. My name is Hades, and welcome to Olympus.” He said with a smirk.
“Awww fuck. I’m actually an Immortal,” I grimaced.
“Afraid so,” he replied, his ever-present smirk growing wider. “Go ahead and ask your questions, Glaucus. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
————————————————————————
Contrary to popular belief, Immortals do die. They’re just reincarnated into a different form, and their spirit must be unlocked before they can take their place on Olympus. Hades was reaching the very end of his lifespan when he brought me to Olympus, and he died a couple years after.
The year was 2070, exactly 50 years after Hades had helped me ascend. It was time for me to repay the favor.
I materialized in a small café to awed gasps from the mortals. I walked up to the counter, requested a black coffee, and thought about what to say. Grabbing the coffee and walking towards Hades, I saw a spilled coffee and him staring at me with righteous fury. Tried and true then, I concluded with a smirk.
“What do you want,” he growled as I sat across him.
“Listen mate, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your coffee,” I said as I placed my coffee in front of him.
|
For as long as I could remember, I had been visited by the dreams. Every night I would lay down, drift off to sleep, and fly through the air on a jetpack, waving hello to a variety of humans aliens and uplifted animals.
Tonight's dream was a fun one. The Anthrokin were my favorites of the dream-people; there's just something pure and fun about chatting with a talking deer as you soar above the Rio Grande together.
The conversation were strange, in the way dreams are. "Don't forget to meet Becky at that coffee shop on Christmas Eve. I need the final part of the formula."
I woke up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Weird dream, as many of them were. I know everyone thinks their dreams feel real, but mine always felt... *extra* real, if that makes sense. I could still smell the scent of rushing river water mixed with jetpack accelerant.
Christmas Eve, nothing to do today. Work gave us the day off, family get-together wasn't until tomorrow. I thought back to my dream, recalling the bit about a coffee shop. Heh, well why not? Maybe this "Becky" person was to be my future wife, and this was Fate spurring me on.
The local corner place was meandering, a few people idling at the tables with books or laptops, he barista looking slightly bored. She seemed happy to have something to do as I entered and ordered the seasonal gingerbread blend.
I sat at an empty table with my coffee and my tablet, skimming a few finance blogs to see what the market was doing. A few pop-up notifications from my news feds blinked onto the top of the screen periodically. "Plague afflicting thousands in Syria". "Istanbul under quarantine." Foreign affairs articles, I guess. Thank goodness for an ocean between us.
A plump woman with a stern face and severely-cut brown hair sat across the table from me. She didn't ask or introduce herself. Just plopped her sizeable behind across from me. I looked at her over my tablet. "...Uh... okay? Can I help you?"
She pushed up her glasses. "I don't have time for formalities. My name is Rebecca Covington. and this is for you."
She slipped a scrap of paper across the table to me. I stared at it with some confusion. "Read it. Memorize it."
I took the paper, half expecting it to explode in a flurry of anthrax powder or something. Written on it were some math... stuff. Algebra, I think? "What is this, I don't do math lady."
"Just read over it a few times. Remember it. And tell Horn Boy he owes me twenty zhollars."
I glanced at the equations again shoved the paper in my pocket and stood to leave. "What is this, your kink, confusing random people who are just trying to go about their day?" She said nothing, and I stormed out of the coffee shop irritated. World's full of wackos, man.
Spent the holiday doing not-much of anything. Baked some cookies, wrapped my parent's gifts, usual thing. At night I went to bed, and had one of my surreal dreams again. I was on a beach in Rio, wearing some gaudy swim trunks and a belt with an electronic device on it. A shimmering force field bubble emanated from the device, surrounding me. That dream-logic where every weird and unusual thing makes perfect sense told me this force field was for scuba diving.
My friend from the other night, the uplifted deer, stood beside me wearing a similar force field. "Are you ready to dive, my friend?"
I cheered a "Hell Yeah", and we ran into the water. Swam down to the bottom of the ocean to have tea with a nice family of uplifted anglerfish.
The father of the anglerfish family nodded hello to me. "Good to see you again. I am so sorry to begin this visit with business right out of the gate, but I must ask, did you meet with Becky?"
"Yeah." I said, dream logic making it perfectly sensible that the lady from the coffee shop would know a talking anglerfish. "She gave me a few equations to pass along, and she said this guy owes her twenty zhollars." I said jabbing my thumb at the uplifted deer.
Everyone chuckled, and I wrote the equations on a napkin for him. Papa Anglerfish smiled a toothy smile. "My sincere thanks, friends. The cure for this plague is a feat of modern science. We've had to tap the best minds of the entirety of history to find a cure for it. Thanks to this," he said waving the napkin filled with equations, "The Middle East can finally be cleared of it's quarantine and rejoin the rest of the world again."
I nodded, everything making perfect sense. Dream logic was fun, sometimes.
| 2018-12-24T11:09:10 | 2018-12-24T10:37:48 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] A master vampire owns the building, the alpha werewolf owns the restaurant. The Hunters Guildmaster is here, sword out. Other guests have fled. But your pasta had a distinct tang of gluten and were those peppers? Are they trying to kill you? You are Karen and you want to see some managers.
|
# * STAY FAR AWAY!!! TERRIBLE service and security
I made it very clear to the waiter that I have celiac disease and am allergic to peppers. But when my pasta came it had gluten in it!!! I know when someone tries to slip me gluten the INSTANT I taste it. And they served me peppers with my meal!!! It’s like they were TRYING to kill me. To make matters worse while I was eating some lunatic with a sword came in and the entire staff just disappeared, no calling the police, nothing. Apparently he was looking for the restaurant owner - seems like a bit of an overreaction to come after him with a sword, but after what I’d just been through I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d suffered more crappy service!! I wanted to speak with the manager but none of them would show their face near the lunatic, and eventually I just left and decided not to go there again. Someone needs to shut that place down!!!
*0 out of 14 people found this review useful.*
*The Wolf Den has flagged this review for removal.*
|
"I am the chef", said the Guildmaster. "Any problems with the food?" he asks me menacingly. He has a longsword in his hand, the kind mortals might be afraid of. He wears a necklace of fingers, from his victims I suppose and he tops off his overdramatic looks with a cowboy hat. Everything about him smells of patriarchy. Mortals might be afraid of him. But not me. "Cute sword", I tell him, my eyes making contact with his, my glare sharper than his sword. "But I did not ask for you, I asked for the manager." He is clearly taken aback.
I thought I was coming to have a fine evening and enjoy my date with the neighbor's poolboy but instead I was treated with gluten. GLUTEN! Very specific instructions were given to the server. But I had been defied. There was a clear taste of gluten in my food. It was obviously an attempt on my life. My allergy to gluten is well known, even though the doctors say I have no such allergy. The day I trust doctors and big pharma is the day I grow my hair long, never in a million years. Yet there was gluten in my food.
Someone would pay.
(End of part 1)
| 2019-01-23T04:17:01 | 2019-01-23T03:47:43 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] New technology allows courts to extract the memories from suspects to prove their guilt or innocence. The suspect permanently loses that memory. Conviction rates are nearly flawless. But no-one in jail knows why they are there...
|
*You deserve this*
Fifteen years I’ve stared at those words scrawled into my forearm. I remember as a kid writing notes all over my arms to remember things. I was forgetful like that. Sometimes I’d write in pen, sometimes in marker. Once I got a hold of a permanent marker, and man was my mother pissed. It didn’t go away for two weeks, despite several baths a day.
I’ve come to recognize my handwriting on my own skin.
And this was me. I guess I decided to compose in blade and blood instead of ink for this note because I wanted it to stick. I’d need the scars to shout at me to endure a lifetime in these dark cells.
Because if a man couldn’t trust himself, trust his own voice, what else is there?
I’ve seen inmates go insane protesting their innocence, or breaking their minds to reconcile their punishment with their spotless lives. Surprisingly, the sanest ones tend to be the career criminals who still have memories of the crimes that went uncaught and unpunished. At least they knew they were the scum of the earth.
I like to hold onto the good memories while I wait here. Like Caroline’s laugh. The memories of my wife are a sweet breath of fresh air in an otherwise stinking existence. The voices comfort me a little, but I’ve tuned most noises out.
Caroline hasn’t visited, though. I imagine seeing me in this jail cell is too hard to bear. Maybe if I make parole we’ll be reunited. I know she’d wait for me. She’s loyal like that, compassionate to a fault, even. With my broken childhood, it’s a miracle she fell in love with me at all. I know things were rocky toward the end, before the Blank, but she’s always come back. It will be the same when this is done.
I’d have gone crazy long ago if I hadn’t convinced myself that I was in here for a reason.
The scars tell me that.
|
The guard smiles. Blood drips from my mouth from where he hit me. "That'll teach you," he sneers, uncuffing me and shoving me into the tiny, isolated cell. The door slams shut. Alone, in the dark with my thoughts all I can keep thinking is, *Teach me what? What did I do?*
___
"Jeannie, calm down."
As soon as the words left the man's mouth, there was an internal groan from everyone around the conference table that was almost palpable. Everyone knew that if you wanted Jeannette Parker to calm down, the *worst* thing to do was to actually *tell* her to calm down.
Jeannie flared, throwing her shoulders back, cheeks flushing and eyes flashing as she leaned forward to stare the man down. "I will *not."*
He shrank back in his seat, eyes swiveling around for help, and finding nothing but coworkers that were suddenly preoccupied with their notes. Swallowing, he turned back to those sharp, green eyes that chipped slowly away at his ego, and nodded.
Triumphant, she straightened and continued on with her previous point: "This system isn't working. Prison is supposed to *rehabilitate* people. But how can these prisoners be rehabilitated if they don't even know what they did in the first place?"
It was a good question. Everyone shared looks, but no one had any good answers.
Undaunted, she grabbed some papers off the table and waved them in the air. "Has anyone read these? A majority of the prisoners who are released go on to commit the *same crime* that they were convicted of in the first place!"
"So," one courageous man said, "what do you want to do? The way it's set up now guarantees that no innocent people are sent to jail. I think that's a small price to pay. And," he added quickly, "in the old system, it wasn't like it was working so well, either. Criminals are criminals. It's in their DNA."
She smiled. "Exactly."
___
| 2019-02-01T08:22:48 | 2019-02-01T06:53:08 | 2,122 | 31 |
[WP]: The most sought woman in the town has announced that she will marry whoever can open her door with the key around her cats neck. Many have tried to catch, trap and hunt down the cat, who always escapes. You are the first to figure out they've all been doing this all wrong.
|
Nobody expected me to try.
Everyone expected my friends, my far-off family, but not me. I was a woman, of course. I’ve always loved girls, and have crushed on her since high school.
I decided to get a small bad of cat food just in case it came around, and double checked in ally’s where I thought I saw something.
I can remember the day she announced the challenge. It was 3 weeks ago.
“Dear my neighbors and who it may concern, I have set up a challenge for my hand in marriage. Bring back my cat, Lila, with a key around it’s neck and unlock my front door. If you do so, you win.”
She also posted a picture of her cat next to that sign, and it was a cute tabby-calico cat that was a bit towards the chubby side.
I was out walking when I heard distressed meowing coming from a log by the side of the road.
It was a cat, who got itself stuck. I chuckled and tried to help get it out. It took a while, but once I got it out, I could properly see it.
The tag read “Lila” and it was a tabby-calico. Under the tag there was a hidden key.
I brought the cat back to my house, and decided to let it stay with me for the night as I didn’t want to return it so late. Lila cuddled up with me and we fell asleep together.
When I woke up, I realized what everyone else was doing wrong, they weren’t being kind to the poor creature, who flinched slightly when I went to pet it.
I kept it in a few blankets so I wouldn’t wake it up, and walked to her house on the other side of the block.
I was insanely nervous, as she may not of even expected a GIRL to try, but I unlocked the door anyways and called out to her.
“Excuse me, I’ve found your cat!”
She ran down the stairs and I saw her. Layla, the most beautiful woman in the town right in front of me. I blushed deeply and looked to the side.
“Oh! Jasmine, I remember you!”
My head snapped up, remembered me? I’ve never even talked to her, I think.
“You’re that girl I...” Layla paused, took a deep breath and continued “... that I crushed on through high school.”
“You... crushed on me?” I asked shakily, while smiling.
Layla smiled as well, and you can really see it in her eyes, she was truly happy. Gosh, that smile is so pretty.
I put the cat down on a chair. Lila was still half asleep and purring happily.
“I guess you’ve won!” Layla said as she smiled and pulled me into a hug.
Layla, Lila and I lived together and adopted another cat, Jax. We became known as ‘The Cat Moms’ as we would take care of strays as well.
We lived happily until our final breaths together.
|
Humans have always been on the strange side, especially the Sukts. This Sukt however was a wealthy merchant, owning several ships, so we put up with her weirdness. Yep her, but we orcs are egalitarians when it comes to putting up with people due to money. However, she remained alone. One day as I walked through the streets heading somewhere just to find it was nowhere, I spotted a crowd clustered around the notice board. My first assumption was that some one's nude's had been leaked. Last month it was the daughter of the Mayor, he had been livid but what could he do? The artist was never seen. This time it wasn't nudes, it was the annual baking contest. He instantly knew who would win and turned to go, then he spotted the real reason. Gwendoline, the female merchant, was having a contest for her hand in marriage. Whoever could get the key around her cat's neck could marry her. That was an issue, after all my old master, a beast shaaman, had given her that cat. What was its name? Midnight I think. I watched others struggle to capture the cat. It was great fun. The cat lead them on fantastic chases. Bratish cheif's would find themselves stuck and having to beg for help. Rich merchants found themselves with soiled clothes. Corca the Lesbian was pushed into the water. The lawsuit for discrimination went nowhere and she married the defense lawyer.
​
All throughout this the baker, who had indeed won the annual baking contest, kept giving Gwendolyne food. I do wonder how much she was paying him to deliver. The food looked delicious and I would occasionally steal a scone. He, also being Suktish, was the only baker in the orcish city of Tracats that baked them. They were delicious. After two months I had a sudden idea. I ran to where the cat was. Midnight was eating some tarts at the baker's door. No doubt this was an order, I would have to chase the cat away. I reach out my hand and flicked up. A spike of Earth impaled the cat and I grabbed the. I triumphantly went and unlocked Gwendolyne's door. Now I could have a bride and be wealthy. I wouldn't have to do odd jobs with my magic used for menial tasks. I could study with the greatest of the shaaman. I would become great and teach my own students. Oh happy day, oh glorious day. She looked at me and then behind me to the baker carrying the cat. She screeched and ran to him. After hearing what happened Gwendolynechased me out crying. The rules hadn't specified no death, what did she think would happen.
​
She married the baker and I was not invited to the wedding even though the entire city was.
(Adventures in Swiat)
(I mean no ill will towards /u/NicodemusLux 's story. I quite liked it. I just felt like poking some fun at it. If you are he and desire this to be taken down just ask and it will be done.)
| 2019-05-01T18:32:38 | 2019-05-01T17:15:21 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You own a small specialty meat purveyor. You and your crew inspect, purchase, slaughter, and butcher the animals yourselves. Years ago, on a whim, you started whispering "for Apollo" at each kill. You've just dispatched the firm's 10,000th cow.
|
"For Apollo," I whisper as I slice the unconscious cows neck, the blood flowing out the open wound and into a drain. It was the 10,000th animal slaughtered for my specialty shop.
As I begin cleaning up my tools, I hear a noise in the storage cooler behind me. "This area is for employees only," I say as I open the door. Behind the plastic curtains stands a tall, slender man with orange blond hair wearing what appears to be a modern riff on classical Roman robes.
"Would you just chill with the damned sacrifices, man?" He yells as he turns to face me. He has large bags under his bloodshot eyes. His general demeanor appears as though he hasn't slept in weeks.
"What? Who are you?"
"Uh, Apollo. Hello," he gestures to himself. "Every time I think it's fine to get some rest, I hear your dumb ass voice keeping me up. I haven't slept in fifteen years, ever since you opened this shop. I have processed thousands of sacrifices and I'm tired. Somehow in a world that doesnt even believe in me anymore, I managed to get the one follower that butchers hundreds of animals a month."
"I'm sorry, I was just doing it as a joke with my friends. I didnt know you even existed. "
"I dont care, just let me get some sleep, yes?"
I nod.
"Good, thank you," he says, straightening his posture. "Then I'll be going now."
Just like that, he disappears.
~~~~~~~~~~~
*This is my first post here. Be gentle please.*
Edit: typos
|
“For Apollo”
“Holy shit hank, all those just for me?”
“Wait, wh ... who ... how ...”
“Ohh I’m sorry how could I forget, I didn’t introduce myself, I’m Apollo, god of the sun, music, and prophecies. The golden boy of Olympus, if I may say so myself”
“You’re ... you’re real? Oh god what’s happening?”
“Don’t you mean gods? And why did you sacrifice 10,000 healthy cows in my name if you didn’t even believe in me?”
“I don’t know, I was just bored”
“So this is what it’s all about? I’ll be the mockery of Olympus for the next eon. Of course you don’t believe in the great gods of Olympus, no one does anymore. All you Christians with your stories of Jesus dying because he loves you. That was my brother drunk D”
“... who?”
“The god of wine? Big orgies all over town? Wow Olympus must have teleported to another dimension. Anyways I came here to see the last believer, the one who sacrificed 10,000 cows in my name, seems like it was all a joke. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find a cave to hide in for the next thousand or so years, right after some depression sex of course. Well goodbye then. Filthy mortal”
“So all those stories were true? The twelve olympians exist?”
“Twelve? We’re thirteen ... ohh right the stories forget to mention Viera, the goddess of ... is he unconscious? I’ve been talking to myself haven’t I? Ohh well I’m going to be a mockery I have to get used to it I guess”
| 2019-07-09T07:14:05 | 2019-07-09T07:13:13 | 667 | 17 |
[WP] The year is 2022. A virus has wiped out everyone over the age of 60, decimating world governments and and the mighty 1%. Generation X is too relieved from the constant badgering of their parents to rebuild society. It's up to the Millennials to put the world back together.
|
The first ones went painlessly. Nobody thought anything of it, not until the patterns began.
60 years of age was the threshold. People reached it, and a week later began coughing and spluttering. A week after that, they were gone too.
“I’ll be off in a sec.” Kayley said, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she resumed her fake pleasantries and engaged with the group of men behind me. Even with a universal minimum wage of $16 an hour, working in a pub was still a shit job after a six hour shift.
“No rush.” I said, fiddling with the case on my phone as the TV showcased the next technological advancement in cancer research and followed up with a pleasant story about a hoodie for dogs.
The Grey Death, as they’d labelled the disease when they’d first understood its gravitas, had worked its way through the population in less than a year. It was the fastest acting contagion in centuries, and the world was shellshocked.
Those 40 and 50 year olds were too obsessed with their own mortality to start fixing the world economy. Which meant it was down to the kids who’d grown up inside that broken economy to do more than just repair it; to make it work properly.
10 years after the first death, order had practically resumed.
10 years after the first death, I was sitting on a rooftop, alongside the high school crush that actually worked out. We shared a smoothie and threw M&M’s at cars below.
“Isn’t it pretty?”
It was. The way the green ivy wove around the cold, lifeless grey building. A nice allegory, I thought, of how we’d done it.
“The kids are alright” the billboard said, in a movie re-telling of the disaster. The billboard transitioned to something else, something brighter and flashier. Then, to a pharmaceutical company, advertising their latest anti-depressant.
Some things couldn’t be fixed.
“Want something to eat?” She asked, nestling her head onto my shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just thinking.”
“Always.”
Always. Thinking about how we got here, thinking about why it came down to a generation of people who had everything ruined for them by older generations to then fix the world’s mistakes.
“Ever wonder whether we actually helped?”
“What do you mean?”
The anti-depressant ad came back around again.
“The world’s better this way, babe. We practically stopped it from dying.”
“What happens when we reach 60? Rely on a younger generation that didn’t experience what we did?”
“They’ll learn.”
I laughed out loud, I couldn’t help it. Her head was off my shoulders, her eyes were narrowed and her hands was sweaty.
“What was that?” She asked of my reaction.
“Sorry, it’s just...the idea of expecting a generation to learn not to break the world. It’s funny.”
“Why?” She asked, then giggled sheepishly, forgetting where she was for a moment as the wind picked up and her auburn hair was thrown into a messy clutter around her eyes. She brushed it away, and I was suddenly taken by just how pretty she was. And here she was, having to listen to my idealistic rambling.
“Nevermind, it’s all too morbid anyway.”
“No, I’m curious now.” She put on her gleaming innocent puppy dog eyes, and I took a deep breath in an attempt to find some way to deliver the pessimist’s view on a perfect world.
“All I’m saying is, I bet the people who ruined the world, the ones who all passed, I bet someone somewhere told them how the world was going to fall apart, I bet someone told them the dangers of climate change. And I bet those people said “it’s fine, they’ll learn.””
She thought about it for a second. Thought about the insinuation that whatever we did, things would repeat themselves.
“The next generation will have better teachers.”
I accepted it, even felt good about it, because she was right. We weren’t prioritising oil companies, we weren’t amassing incredible collections of wealth and we were enabling scientific discovery.
I kissed her. It was amazing. We were on top of the world we’d built back up.
Then my phone buzzed. The notification was brief, but it was enough.
“28 year old man responsible for the Grey Death virus arrested in his Los Angeles home”
My heart sank.
The world we’d built back up was exactly the same.
It always would be, wouldn’t it? So long as one common denominator remained.
Us.
|
The world shook when all of our elders fell ill.
Then it froze when none of them recovered. It turns out there there were more citizens 60 and up then there were in the younger generation.
I know it shouldn’t seem like it’s all that surprising, but personally, I had never really thought about it. Families were devastated and ripped apart and world governments fell as our leaders faded away.
The first thing I did was look into the virus that started it all. I wanted to ensure that it wasn’t going to return in 40 years and kill the world again, myself included.
A lot of the science labs had to combine. Funding and leadership had dropped significantly, but I was able to join one in my hometown that had vials of the virus left over to study. They didn’t turn anyone away, especially when they were eager and had a laboratory background.
We partnered with everyone we could to bring money in and keep the equipment running so that we could run tests. We wanted to know where it had come from and how it worked. I spent 15 hours a day in that lab, and some nights I would sleep on a little box pushed against a wall.
The room was cold and a dim light on the ceiling never turned off. The sleep I got there was usually from sheer exhaustion, but I knew I wasn’t the only one. Science drove us- discovery gave us the fuel to keep going.
Afterall, wouldn’t we all know someone that turned 60 soon? Weren’t we all going to age? Shouldn’t someone figure out a cure while the governments rebuild?
***
“Matt,” Alex called from the doorway of my private lab.
I turned my head half an inch, hoping he was looking closely enough to see the movement. I had my eyes down at a sample and didn’t want to risk missing the reaction.
“Lori wants to meet us in the breakroom,” Alex called again.
“K.”
I heard his feet walk away. They weren’t in the direction of the breakroom, despite his proclamation- he must have been sent to let us all know.
Ever the errand boy.
Out of sheer habit and human curiosity, I glanced up at the door. It was open, and empty with nothing of note in the hallway. Shaking my head I looked back down, and the entire sample was purple.
“Fuck,” I muttered and shoved it in the dirty tool bin.
An ache began to form behind my eyes. I was tired, and getting careless. It wasn’t going to help anyone.
Humanity couldn’t risk its leaders dying off again.
With no inclination to be badgered about the meeting in the breakroom, I pulled my gloves off my hands, and stripped off my coat and glasses.
I had another sample to use, but it would keep.
Lori would not.
I threw my outerwear in the cot, and made my way down the hallway, hoping I wasn’t wasting time for another useless staff meeting.
The lights of the halls flickered as a I walked. It was a normal occurrence but in my current state plus agitation at being pulled away, the effect seemed intensified. It felt like a strobe light keeping pace with me. I would see my foot moving in front of me, and then I would see the pale tile floor.
By the time I got to the break room, my eyes felt strained and my mood had turned from sour to…mostly odd. A small spike of anxiety rolled through me as I left the hallway, the kind that felt familiar in a “empty hallway of a haunted house” type way.
I rolled my shoulders and sat down next to my associates. It was silly, and I knew I just needed a nap.
Several moments after I arrived, I heard two sets of footsteps coming from the flickering hallway. My heart picked up its pace a notch just before Lori and Alex walked through the door.
Trying not to think about the fact that I was losing my mind a little bit, I trained my focus on our fearless and slightly annoying leader in these dire times.
She took her place against the wall in front of all of us and cleared her throat. “I have…news.”
Lori let it hang in the air with an expectant look on her face.
When none of us chimed in with questions, she continued. “This morning I found something in my sample. I managed to break apart an outer shell and spotted it…” She hesitated again, crossing her arms over her chest. “I found a signature.”
“A signature?” a voice to my left asked.
“A signature,” Lori repeated. “Left by the designer of the virus.”
/r/beezus_writes
| 2019-07-26T06:29:11 | 2019-07-26T06:05:02 | 1,767 | 370 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water...
|
I like tea, coffee too. I actually know a lot about either. If you asked me to explain the difference between a latte and a macchiato, I could do that. If you asked me what the difference between the taste of rose petals and rosebuds in tea, I could do that too. I could hold a lecture all about the *vast* difference between a cold brew and iced coffee that NO ONE seems to care about anymore, but that's a topic for another day.
I'm a superhero. Well, not really a hero mind you, more of just a super. Unless constantly making coffee counts as a heroic deed.
Five years ago, Hayden McIlroy put up a flier. Superheroes were emerging, and he wanted them. McIlroy made the Heros For Anthem City Program, aka the H.F.A.C. A program for local heroes to gather and do stuff. No one knows really what they were doing at the start, but they were doing *something* because heroes with titles came around. And they had sidekicks. The Swift told me that in the beginning, the best of the best became "Title Hero's". McIlroy paid for them to be marketed. Names like Diamond Maiden and Thunderman. They got the cool outfits, they got the theme songs and comic books. The weaker Title Heroes had sidekicks, like Vulpes Lupus, Shark, and most every other hero out there. If you had cool powers, then you were paid to be a villain. No killing or horrible damage, just a show. Take a volunteer hostage and threaten them or something to entertain the people.
And the others? Just like me. No special names. We just go around and run errands. If you're a hero fanatic, you'd know all the Title Heros and sidekicks that work for H.F.A.C. But not us, not me.
The Swift seems to be the only hero who respects us. I'd call her by her real name, but she said it died a long time ago. She said she was like me, young with new powers and no idea what to do. She came to H.F.A.C. after some young villain had killed her family. It was an actual villain, not one of the flimsy shows McIlroy paid for. They put her in my spot.
I don't know how she did it, though. She was a nameless nobody. Some teenager who could do a few flips like the rest of us. But somehow she makes a nemesis of the only villain out there who isn't being paid by H.F.A.C. Tyto Noctis.
No one was making comics about him. No one was waiting to see what his next evil plan would be. Anthem City feared him, like, actually feared him. No one wanted to touch him but a stupid teenager. Tyto Noctis and The Swift go missing for six months and she returns a Title Hero, Tyto trailing at her heels like he's on some sort of leash. Both apparently unable to be killed.
She tells me I can make my way up the ladder just like she did, I just need to work hard. I respect The Swift, but I'm nothing like her.
Tyto Noctus was a failure. He was defeated by a flimsy teenager. I'm not like The Swift, sure, but I'm not like Tyto either. I'm not like the Title Heroes and sidekicks that snicker when they pound their empty cups on my desk when they beg and plead for hotter tea, mocking me. I'm not like Hayden McIlroy and his obsession with collecting heroes.
The pipes will be struck first, scalding anyone who even thinks of turning the faucet on. Then slowly the water towers, I'll watch their pressure rise with anticipation. Then, weather permitting, the rain. Anyone who even dares to live then will just have to have their organs deliciously steamed from the inside-out.
I am The Boiler, and I'm the only real villain Anthem City is going to ever see.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
thank you for reading! critisims is appreciated :D
<3<3<3
\-froppy
|
Somehow, this wasn’t what I had imagined when I got the position as an intern for Opulence. Somehow, I never would have thought that their steadfast promise of protection, their public assurances of safety, or their pact to defend mankind at all costs had all been a ruse.
The name should have been a dead giveaway, really. The most renowned superhero team in the world, known for their exploits from stopping Harold the Wise to preventing the apocalypse twice, built upon a foundation of lies.
They were just in it for the renown: the slices of fame, the money, the sex, the drugs.
When I got this job as an intern, I was expecting to witness the unsurpassed intelligence of The Brain, the untold gleam of Starling as she went off to battle, or the heroic rescues that The Phantom was known for.
They said that my power had its uses. I didn’t imagine that those “uses” would involve warming up their coffee or starting up the hot tub. They treated me like trash, little more than a slave in a land they controlled.
I’d been here for years, and the only one who had shown me any worth was The Stain. It made sense, in a cosmic sort of way. He was the intern before me, been told the same as me when they hired him.
He was just lucky enough to be there when Garphan had died. Just lucky enough to take his place like nothing ever happened; to be treated as a sort of equal to the rest of Opulence. Even if, in truth, he did little more than act as support. A backup plan, in layman’s terms.
I could tell that he hadn’t let go of his grievences with the team. It’d show during our talks, the little moments of privacy we had together. He understood what I had gone through, lived and breathed it for years. He was my only friend in this toxic playground of a workplace. The one rock that had held me together from snapping.
I sometimes lingered upon the idea of quitting, but I never found the courage to do it. My father was proud of me, I had enough money to last awhile, and my little brother never had to wake up in pain in the morning ever again.
I even pondered upon walking on the path of a villain, in my more private moments. But my more earthly responsibilities kept me in check.
But every person has a breaking point, no matter how strong willed they were.
It was during one of their monthly meetings, one of the few constants the team had.
Paradigm was sulking in his chair, The Stain was late yet again, and Duo was being his annoying selves.
It was just one little comment, one I had even heard dozens of times before. But it seemed to be enough for the proverbial dam to break.
Within seconds, the heroes before me were on the ground, writhing in pain and eliciting screeches of pain. Their skin morphed into an eerie red, welts and bubbles forming over their skin. It wasn’t long before the room fell silent.
The world famous Opulence, its ranks killed by the hands of a measly intern.
I stood there, silent, and thinking over what I had just done. It was when I heard the metallic clang of the door open behind me that my eyes widened. It was The Stain - ever bound to be late to these meetings - and he was shock still.
“I— I—“ I sputtered.
“Huh,” he said lamely. “Somehow, I’m not surprised in the slightest.”
“Wha— What?” I asked dubiously. “You— Your not horrified? Your not going to arrest me?”
“Arrest you? Please. These idiots have been deserving of something like this for a long time. In fact, it made sense that you would do something like this. The human body is mostly made of water, after all.”
“But... but I—“
The colors of the room began to melt off their surfaces, forming their own puddles of muck on the ground. They slowly made their way towards The Stain, gathering into neat little shapes in his hand.
“Now, who would you like? Hamstring, for his durability? Or The Brain for his... well, brain?”
“I—“
“Oh, oh! Or, I can give you Garphan. I’ve had him for long enough.”
“I’d rather not have any of them, thank you.”
He laughed. “Ah, suit yourself, then,” he said, the shapes falling into his skin. He then wrapped his arm around my shoulders, ushering me to the elevator.
“Come along now, my friend. We should leave before anyone takes notice.”
| 2019-07-30T16:15:31 | 2019-07-30T15:09:58 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water...
|
I like tea, coffee too. I actually know a lot about either. If you asked me to explain the difference between a latte and a macchiato, I could do that. If you asked me what the difference between the taste of rose petals and rosebuds in tea, I could do that too. I could hold a lecture all about the *vast* difference between a cold brew and iced coffee that NO ONE seems to care about anymore, but that's a topic for another day.
I'm a superhero. Well, not really a hero mind you, more of just a super. Unless constantly making coffee counts as a heroic deed.
Five years ago, Hayden McIlroy put up a flier. Superheroes were emerging, and he wanted them. McIlroy made the Heros For Anthem City Program, aka the H.F.A.C. A program for local heroes to gather and do stuff. No one knows really what they were doing at the start, but they were doing *something* because heroes with titles came around. And they had sidekicks. The Swift told me that in the beginning, the best of the best became "Title Hero's". McIlroy paid for them to be marketed. Names like Diamond Maiden and Thunderman. They got the cool outfits, they got the theme songs and comic books. The weaker Title Heroes had sidekicks, like Vulpes Lupus, Shark, and most every other hero out there. If you had cool powers, then you were paid to be a villain. No killing or horrible damage, just a show. Take a volunteer hostage and threaten them or something to entertain the people.
And the others? Just like me. No special names. We just go around and run errands. If you're a hero fanatic, you'd know all the Title Heros and sidekicks that work for H.F.A.C. But not us, not me.
The Swift seems to be the only hero who respects us. I'd call her by her real name, but she said it died a long time ago. She said she was like me, young with new powers and no idea what to do. She came to H.F.A.C. after some young villain had killed her family. It was an actual villain, not one of the flimsy shows McIlroy paid for. They put her in my spot.
I don't know how she did it, though. She was a nameless nobody. Some teenager who could do a few flips like the rest of us. But somehow she makes a nemesis of the only villain out there who isn't being paid by H.F.A.C. Tyto Noctis.
No one was making comics about him. No one was waiting to see what his next evil plan would be. Anthem City feared him, like, actually feared him. No one wanted to touch him but a stupid teenager. Tyto Noctis and The Swift go missing for six months and she returns a Title Hero, Tyto trailing at her heels like he's on some sort of leash. Both apparently unable to be killed.
She tells me I can make my way up the ladder just like she did, I just need to work hard. I respect The Swift, but I'm nothing like her.
Tyto Noctus was a failure. He was defeated by a flimsy teenager. I'm not like The Swift, sure, but I'm not like Tyto either. I'm not like the Title Heroes and sidekicks that snicker when they pound their empty cups on my desk when they beg and plead for hotter tea, mocking me. I'm not like Hayden McIlroy and his obsession with collecting heroes.
The pipes will be struck first, scalding anyone who even thinks of turning the faucet on. Then slowly the water towers, I'll watch their pressure rise with anticipation. Then, weather permitting, the rain. Anyone who even dares to live then will just have to have their organs deliciously steamed from the inside-out.
I am The Boiler, and I'm the only real villain Anthem City is going to ever see.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
thank you for reading! critisims is appreciated :D
<3<3<3
\-froppy
|
Day in day out I help these people and I am treated no with no respect. "Hey Microwave!" "Hey lamo powers!" Yet still they expect me to slave away for no pay. You can't be a superhero without a support team but very few comics or shows even care about this. Whose's the one to patch these vigilantes up when they are damaged so they aren't risking their secret identity at some hospital. Whose the one who has to deal with all the calls about property damage and other collateral damage. Who incessantly gets asked to make coffee without so much as a thank you. Me!! Well I'm tired of it!
I was doing a wikiwalk( just browsing random Wikipedia articles) when I came across a military device called an [ADS](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Active_Denial_System). The idea behind it was using a specific band of Microwave radiation to heat the outermost layer of skin. So insanely painful that the body automatically goes into flight mode to get outside the effects of the device. Also completely non lethal. It may hurt like there's no tomorrow but the most you well get of it is a burn if metal is in close proximity to your body. I heard the crash of a door to return me to the world of annoying superheros. You'd think they would have learned to shut a door quietly especially if they want to keep their lair a secret but in all my years of working for them I have never seen them shut a door quietly nor help someone without expecting repayment.
Flame man always tries to mate with everyone attractive he rescues. Question mark man always tries to extort money from people he rescues. Power man bribed his way into public office. The List goes on and I have been documenting it for years. Ungrateful creatons. They get to list lavishly off government funding, private funding, and sponsorship deals and this is how they treat people? They all sit down at a round table(Question mark man really likes Arthurian legend) and start talking. Not even a minute in to the retailing of the days events power man say, “Where’s the coffee? Hurry UP!”
It was like a switch clicked in my mind in that moment. “Hey, you know I heard some noises earlier while you guys were gone? Should you really be caring on like this if the base is compromised?” Flame man just starts laughing and says, “Only idiots go into crime. There is no way they would be smart enough to find us.” “Ok, well I’ll go make the coffee,” trying to sound jovial while suppressing a cackle. I walked to the archway of the next room and heard screams of agony and pain. I turn back and a dozen superheroes are writhing in pain. After a few minutes the pain let up and the superheroes immediately wanted to relocate. No one mentioned my prediction.
We moved again and again. 20 or so times, I think; I lost count long ago. It kind of got boring after awhile but was useful for a change of scenery. IT would be fun if it were a game of cat and mouse but they never suspected a thing. The new place we were moved to was contracted by the government and they spared no expense. It was a bunker but it was nice one. Shielded externally from Electromagnetic radiation with lavish décor: whats not to love? It had been almost a year since the game had started and nothing had changed.
Flame man loudly proclaimed, “I know a great dive bar we should go to tonight. Superheroes drink for free!” Power man looks inquisitively, “Last time you were drunk didn’t you beat up a bunch of randos.” Then he started laughing. “It was fun! I’m in what time?” 11 PM was the reply and one by one all the heroes agreed they would be there. Not one of them invited me.
Well if this is the best the city can find in the way of honorable superheroes we are doomed. Maybe a better class of criminal will draw out the virtuous. So I became a better criminal. I let every criminal know in the city where the superheroes would be that night, on the condition that they could harm and maim but couldn’t murder the heroes in exchange for the location. Every one heartily agreed and by 11:05 all the heroes were a mangled mess. Several minutes later bubbling could be heard and then several minutes after that there were several pops. The carnage was a site to be hold and never has something brought more of a smile to my face. The public outcry was intense especially a list of the heroes misdeeds was leaked; martial law was declared. No longer was I called the microwave but now I was declared the melter!!! Well it’s a step up at least. The public is really unimaginative with its names for heroes and villains.
| 2019-07-30T16:15:31 | 2019-07-30T15:50:47 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water...
|
It didn't start this way, and I certainly didn't want it to end this way. In the beginning, I was excited for the opportunity. Who wouldn't be estatic to be around their heroes? I thought my dreams had come true - it was a path to my destiny, but ultimately the Crusaders' nightmare.
I showed signs around the normal timeframe. Once a month from 2nd to 10th grade, our teachers would send our class to the gym. Sciolios check, SUP test, eyes checked, the stuff every kid goes through. I've heard of some kids exceeding on a SUP test past 10th grade, but they typically have little power. You know, the guy who says he can control electricity and flickers the lights for the ladies, but she finds out that's max strength the next morning and bounces.
I exceeded on my test in 8th grade, and my parents bought a house 5x the size not a week later. No pressure, am I right? Not everyone is a meal ticket, not everyone makes the Crusaders, but they bet it all. I was lucky enough to get into Prestige "the Harvard of Training HighSchools," where I developed my distaste for the legacies.
Oh, your great grandma was HawkLady and every woman has followed in her footsteps, you've already secured a spot with Crusaders? How nice for you.
You don't say, HammerClaw is your uncle and you've been training with Justice Team since you were a child? No shit, you aren't stressed about graduation (if you like a B team, I mean...)
I had to earn my spot, and I earned my internship. I followed the rules then, I was honest, I worked hard. I wanted to be one of them, and I was excited to find a mentor - help me find my way! How can I use my powers for good? Should I travel the world boiling dirty water in rural areas? Or could I do more to fight crime somehow?
But that isn't what happened. See, what they told tell you on the news is, many of your favorite superheros, they are assholes. They are aggressive arrogant and antagonist. Rich dicks never put in their place because of their powers. Imagine your childhood bully can now hit 10x as hard, or turn invisible to depants you (or watch you change, ladies. Yah, I know of at least one who has done it, hes famous and you probably idolize him, too.)
On my first day, they threw away the coffee pot and put my chair in the spot. I wasn't allowed to speak, I could only say beep when a coffee was ready. Apparently the hot water heater was fairly weak, so the next week several Crusaders had me heating up water tanks before showers.
It was also around the first few days that my stress and humiliation got the better of me. Walking home, I was so angry. SO ANGRY! They thought so little of me. I was thinking of my hatred when I heard the rat screaming. I didnt want to harm a living thing, I swear, it happened so quickly.
I tried to control my anger, I tried to reach out for help, and I looked at different agencies, but then it happened. Patronizing behavior at the Crusaders I could ignore, but the harassment escalated. Some days it would be telling me how weak and pathetic I am, other days my food getting thrown away in front of me. The day I snapped, that old fuck Warrior, he had the audacity to grab my crotch. Right there, out in the open, in front of all the other Sups.
I broke. Right there like a snap. His scream was a lot like the rats. I felt arms grabbing at me, but I don't remember it really. I had tunnel vision on his twisting face, which screams roared through the cafeteria. The smell, that was tough. Dozens of bodies with the liquid evaporating out, cooking their organs. I didnt mean to kill them all, but it happened so quickly.
After an incident like that, I didnt have a choice. Even a B team like Justice Team isn't going to take a person whose killed what, 15 people? Sups to boot. I know what they are all thinking too - How do you take down someone who killed the most Sups singlehandedly BY MISTAKE.
So, then I have to think. My parents put EVERYTHING on my success, and I'm an only child so I have to take care of them. How much are people willing to pay so I don't destroy oceans? How much would they pay to keep their drinking water?
Maybe the better question, how much would a government pay me to destroy another country's water.
|
Day in day out I help these people and I am treated no with no respect. "Hey Microwave!" "Hey lamo powers!" Yet still they expect me to slave away for no pay. You can't be a superhero without a support team but very few comics or shows even care about this. Whose's the one to patch these vigilantes up when they are damaged so they aren't risking their secret identity at some hospital. Whose the one who has to deal with all the calls about property damage and other collateral damage. Who incessantly gets asked to make coffee without so much as a thank you. Me!! Well I'm tired of it!
I was doing a wikiwalk( just browsing random Wikipedia articles) when I came across a military device called an [ADS](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Active_Denial_System). The idea behind it was using a specific band of Microwave radiation to heat the outermost layer of skin. So insanely painful that the body automatically goes into flight mode to get outside the effects of the device. Also completely non lethal. It may hurt like there's no tomorrow but the most you well get of it is a burn if metal is in close proximity to your body. I heard the crash of a door to return me to the world of annoying superheros. You'd think they would have learned to shut a door quietly especially if they want to keep their lair a secret but in all my years of working for them I have never seen them shut a door quietly nor help someone without expecting repayment.
Flame man always tries to mate with everyone attractive he rescues. Question mark man always tries to extort money from people he rescues. Power man bribed his way into public office. The List goes on and I have been documenting it for years. Ungrateful creatons. They get to list lavishly off government funding, private funding, and sponsorship deals and this is how they treat people? They all sit down at a round table(Question mark man really likes Arthurian legend) and start talking. Not even a minute in to the retailing of the days events power man say, “Where’s the coffee? Hurry UP!”
It was like a switch clicked in my mind in that moment. “Hey, you know I heard some noises earlier while you guys were gone? Should you really be caring on like this if the base is compromised?” Flame man just starts laughing and says, “Only idiots go into crime. There is no way they would be smart enough to find us.” “Ok, well I’ll go make the coffee,” trying to sound jovial while suppressing a cackle. I walked to the archway of the next room and heard screams of agony and pain. I turn back and a dozen superheroes are writhing in pain. After a few minutes the pain let up and the superheroes immediately wanted to relocate. No one mentioned my prediction.
We moved again and again. 20 or so times, I think; I lost count long ago. It kind of got boring after awhile but was useful for a change of scenery. IT would be fun if it were a game of cat and mouse but they never suspected a thing. The new place we were moved to was contracted by the government and they spared no expense. It was a bunker but it was nice one. Shielded externally from Electromagnetic radiation with lavish décor: whats not to love? It had been almost a year since the game had started and nothing had changed.
Flame man loudly proclaimed, “I know a great dive bar we should go to tonight. Superheroes drink for free!” Power man looks inquisitively, “Last time you were drunk didn’t you beat up a bunch of randos.” Then he started laughing. “It was fun! I’m in what time?” 11 PM was the reply and one by one all the heroes agreed they would be there. Not one of them invited me.
Well if this is the best the city can find in the way of honorable superheroes we are doomed. Maybe a better class of criminal will draw out the virtuous. So I became a better criminal. I let every criminal know in the city where the superheroes would be that night, on the condition that they could harm and maim but couldn’t murder the heroes in exchange for the location. Every one heartily agreed and by 11:05 all the heroes were a mangled mess. Several minutes later bubbling could be heard and then several minutes after that there were several pops. The carnage was a site to be hold and never has something brought more of a smile to my face. The public outcry was intense especially a list of the heroes misdeeds was leaked; martial law was declared. No longer was I called the microwave but now I was declared the melter!!! Well it’s a step up at least. The public is really unimaginative with its names for heroes and villains.
| 2019-07-30T17:21:26 | 2019-07-30T15:50:47 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Out of boredom, you went into a chatroom with some randoms who claimed "we need advice to conquer the world!" You jokingly suggested a couple of stuff and laughed it off. In the next few years, you began to notice... someone took your advice a tad too seriously.
|
For those who don't know what Reddit is, it's a popular public forum website, anyone could comment on anything. Anyone.
It began in late 2019, around the time of the Hong Kong protests. It seemed like every day there would be a new thread on the topic, with it slowly escalating over the months. I tried my best to keep up and I asked many questions in the comments.
It was normal. Until... that one response.
I had asked a simple enough question at the time, little did I know that the six-word sentence would change the course of human history.
"Can North Korea just nuke China?"
My reasoning is that maybe we could set our rivals upon each other for our benefit. I knew it wouldn't happen. In fact, my poor attempt at humour got downvoted pretty quickly. I moved on with my life pretty quickly.
Two days later I managed to find the time to get back on my computer. I logged onto Reddit and I noticed I have received a message. It was a reply to my comment. It was a reply from a username of 08011974.
The comment said, "When?". I really didn't understand it, and at this point, the thread was nearing three days old and I chose just to ignore it.
I started browsing some other threads to finish up my evening, and that's when another message came through. It was from 08011974 again, but this time it was a private message.
He invited me to a small subreddit and said my ideas would come in useful. Interested, I followed the link.
The subreddit had just under 100 subscribers and only one post; which was stickied.
The post was asking about ideas for world conquest. In for a laugh, I started a comment chain on it.
My first comment was a joke. Claiming whichever military you use, don't have your stuff manufactured in China for cheap as it would fall apart.
"Thank you. And where should we buy our equipment from?" 08011974 replied within a minute.
I didn't expect a serious response, but I guessed the dude was taking sarcasm a bit too far. If it was sarcasm he wanted, then I would give it too him.
"Fiji, they have a huge military-industrial complex."
We backed and forth a few times that night. From what I remember my war plan was:
Secure good military equipment from Fiji. Arm kangaroos in north Australia to start some chaos. Nuke China's sparsely populated rice farms. Then invade the shattered remains of the countries with secret military bases disguised as takeaway shops. Then when the times right, strike and take control of the entirety of Asia. Once America gets involved, settle for a game of Quake with the President to determine the winner.
That's when I went to sleep floor the night, not knowing what I had just caused.
Life went on as normal for a while. It wasn't until July the following year that I thought something may be up. I turned on the news in the early hours of the morning to be greeted by the shocking story of a large nuclear device exploding in southern China. The casualties included the Chinese President and his entourage who were on a visit to the regions rice farms.
It didn't strike me at first that this was my doing.
We all know the story, China soon split apart into different regions. Reports started coming in soon that North Korea had crossed their northern border and had begun occupying territory.
The whole thing seemed out of my control until the news broadcast managed to show footage of the Korean army advancing. They had thousands of tanks scoring across the Chinese landscape. And on the side of each one, "Made in Fiji" was branded.
I thought I was dreaming. It all flooded back to me. Surely a coincidence?
Hindsight is great. I should have told someone. Should have done something.
I could have stopped the slaughter.
It was 13th August 2020 when Australia was attacked. My phone buzzed all day with incoming news, countless suicided bombs had ravaged communities in the north. Thought to be terrorists initially, it became clear that Kangeroos were spontaneously exploding.
The attacked moved southwards through Queensland and eventually into new south wales. thousands of Kangeroos charging into schools, shops, libraries and exploding. The total casualties were over three million that day.
I couldn't believe it. I tried my best to reason with myself. But I couldn't. I had to try and stop them before these people conquered the world.
I knew their plan. It was my plan. And I knew what I must do to stop them.
My mission was everything but simple. I would have to teach Donald Trump how to become a world-class Quake Champion.
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xXLive-EvilXx: So you're saying the key to world domination is America?
Guest47682: No I'm saying the easiest tools to conquer a vast number of people are division and distraction. So if you think of those things as poisons needed to weaken the world, America is the needle that would be best suited to administer it to the world.
Doomlover2525: Why America? It doesn't make sense, how are you going to poison some thing with a needle that everyone is aware of? Why are we even entertaining this noob.
xXLive-EvilXx: Really Doom? And your genius idea to capitalize on the push of alternative energy sources worked out SO well. Now what are you going to do with all that corn. Pop it all at once and flood half of the world's oceans with it?
Guest47682: That is precisely why. The first rule of distraction is to make them look where you want them to look. Hell if they could make the Terminator the governor of an entire state, imagine the mayhem you could do with the rest other influential positions. Hell they already vote more for those stupid reality TV shows than they do their own president.
Doomlover2525: Shut up. You know the rules, not talking about our real plans with unknowns in the room. Past or present.
Doomlover2525: So what you get a person in and then what... that's been done before. Big whoop.
Guest47682: The big whoop is America is so diverse you can turn it against itself. So many groups, ethnicities, genders, etc. That you could turn against one another. Race is a big one... but that is too easy, just use that as a front tactic while you split the populous further through media manipulation.
Doomlover2525: So many genders... there are only two? And that has been done before too. Its population domination 101.
xXEvil-LiveXx: Genius. I've read about gender dysphoria and the idea that gender roles are assigned by self perception and societal roles. I thought it was a bunch of hooblah but I never thought to use it....Please go on.
Guest47682: Oh it goes deeper than that. You know that pesky Freedom of Speech? Its kind of hilarious but the best tool to kill freedom of speech is freedom of speech itself. Just start flooding the media nonsense and have important figures and journalist get offended over it. Play both sides of the coin. The best form of communication and the way to mend any relationship is good open honest communication... but what if you foster an environment where no one could be open or honest out of fear of being offended?
Doomlover2525: Okay I have to admit this is sounding pretty good.
xXLive-EvilXx: This is more than good. This is usable.
Guest47682: Well I don't know about that. You still have to create an infrastructure designed to keep them afraid but not too much so. Take gun control, you don't want them to be armed.. best case scenario you want them to be afraid of the other person being armed. That way it is not YOU taking it away from them but have them think they are protecting themselves but no protecting themselves.
Doomlover2525: Oh that is easy. Just stage some mass shootings and put the shooters all over the news. Make them the most famous and important things nationwide. That way any loser looking for validation or retribution can follow suit.
xXLive-EvilXx: Doom I think that is the first meaningful thing you contributed to this conversation all night.
Guest47682: That could work I guess, a little heavy handed but it could be effective.... Wait what do you mean usable? We're all joking here right.
\----Your connection has been terminated by Moderator SupremeDragonLord666-----
&#x200B;
As I read over the chat logs I was sure of it, this wasn't an coincidence. Who ever I was talking to that night was responsible for this. They played their hand very subtly over the last 12 years but this year was just sloppy. It was too obvious. Why didn't I see it sooner? I looked up at the T.V. just in time to hear.
"...And your 45th President of the United Stated of America."
Oh god, they did it. They actually did it. I was just messing around. I didn't think anything serious would come of it. My mind went racing. Live Evil emailed me afterwards. We had further corrispondence and I told him all kinds of horrible and stupid things. I had to email him back, I had to stop him. I closed the chat log and opened my email only to realize I already had a message from Live Evil. The subject.. "Read this if you want to live."
| 2019-09-11T08:59:28 | 2019-09-11T08:23:13 | 92 | 34 |
[WP] Humans have the reputation of being both an extremely dangerous species and social creatures that are easy to bond with, making them great crew members for voyagers. You and your shipmates are worried about your newly recruited human because you don't know what an introvert is.
Inspired by various "Humans are space orcs" posts from tumblr. I reposted this to change some minor grammar errors
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I observed it, trying to understand what it was doing, just sitting there. Its face was still and emotionless. Could something be wrong with it? No. It was performing fine, but it wasn't interested in communicating with us.
I walked over to it. Could such a complex creature be completely void of emotion? No. Not possible.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yeah, I was just thinking." It replied.
"About what exactly?" I said, desperate to get a straight answer.
"I was daydreaming about being elsewhere."
Being elsewhere? What could this mean? I asked for an explanation, and they complied.
The human explained to me that they have an ability to place their own mind into an alternate reality whilst their body remained in this world. They could see things, beauty which does not exist elsewhere but in the realm of their mind. They could see even I, doing unspeakable things, completely at will. We had no understanding of this concept. To see any world one pleases at any time of day? Absurd.
I didn't believe it.
The human took a pencil and began to make markings. My face stared back at me from the sheet of paper. I was surrounded by beautiful trees in a lush forest in which I had never seen. The image on the paper was what the human was staring at so blankly moments ago. Such a magnificent creature.
|
'So what seems to be the problem?'
I had heard that enough times today. Honestly the support for these companions is terrible, not to mention the cost, you have to feed them,give them sleep, and make sure they don't get 'depressed', a sort of malfunction that happens if they work too hard. If it weren't for their cheery mood and unfunny jokes, we would've just got a robot, or one of the other companions.
'Have you tried letting it sleep?'
The operator asked, and yes I had. In fact that is mostly all they do.
'And you're sure it's not got "depressed"?'
I'm fairly certain it's not, it just never talks to me, and tends to stay in its room. It talked to one person on the ship, the cleaner, but only because he gave him food.
I signed and called up the final helpline. They weren't surprised at this fault and Said it was quite common in the newer generations of humans. We followed the advice and within a few days the problem was solved.
The screen beeped into life and behold a message from our companion, the first in 3 years, written in the human script, 'Hi, sorry I can't make it to dinner tonight, I've already planned to do nothing, please tell me at least a week in advance so I can adjust my plans'
| 2019-11-17T02:18:04 | 2019-11-17T00:55:32 | 308 | 222 |
[WP] You were colorblind most of your life until you received laser eye surgery. But something went wrong, and now you can see new colors most people would think of as gray. Everything was great until you noticed every gray surface in the city was graffitied with the "gray" message, "Look for us."
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Look for us, in the muddled puddles on dirty alleyways. Dirt swirls around the edges of still water. Flies lap at the surface and linger for a moment. Golden sunlight burns it all away until mud is dust and dust is tossed in the wind. But for a fleeting moment, the puddle complies, splashing underfoot.
Look for us, in the crowded subway. Look under the flickering fluorescents. Watch the shadows flicker over dirty graffiti and remember when the wall was freshly painted. Recall the odor of camphor and latex covering the brick walls with hues of reddish-brown. Droplets streak down the sides and drip onto the concrete floor, and there you can find us, unwanted.
Hear us, in the buzzing static of telephone lines. Termites gnaw at the pole and pepper holes in its side. The exterminator approaches in his white-suit and respirator, crunching grass aside. Today is the last day for the termites—nothing but empty sockets and quiet nests where life once flourished. But the termites couldn’t know. How would they know?
Smell us, in burning candlewax on a birthday cake. The black-and-white polaroid can never fully capture the moment. The joy. Excitement. Chocolate is decadent and sweet but fleeting, and only icing shavings and crumbs remain. The balloons lose their helium to slow diffusion. Find us in their quiet descent.
Taste us, in the thick summer air. Rain and worms both taste of renewal. But even still, the warm air leaves on a starry night—a thousand glimmering wishes unfulfilled. Taste the sweet water on your tongue from the frog-pond and the lily pads. Remember the taste, for in its youthful memory you will find us.
Look for us, in the quiet moments of your life. Sip coffee on a front porch and stare longingly at the paint chips on the fence. It needs a fresh coat but will never get one. Look for us in yearbook photos and handwritten recipe books, as you remember old family reunions with picnic tables and horseshoes.
If you look long enough, you will find us. And we will show you what is here, and what was there, and what is to come. We will teach you the price of a pile of dust.
Look for us, and remember, and never forget.
***
More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
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Woah. I stopped and stared at the message much longer than I should have. It had been a while since I had even seen the color gray and it was oddly refreshing.
Nowadays when I saw gray it looked like a color changing surface, that's honestly the best way I could explain it.
"Look for us"
I let it sit in my mind for a few days. I kept my eyes open for anything out of the ordinary but nothing showed up until one day.
While on a delivery I drove past a gray arrow painted on a building outside of the downtown area. The building had been abandoned, and I had no interest in going inside, but I had to see what the gray arrow would lead to.
I got out of my car and followed a path that was open through a battered chain-link fence. Then approached the hole that the arrow led to. Once inside I thought I'd just see a dark desolate warehouse, but quite the opposite. Light was shining everywhere.
There was a beautiful, thriving downtown area that was entirely made of gray colors, except it was *miniature*. It looked like a city of thousands of gray little ghosts that were floating around having a jolly good time. I looked at them all in shock.
There was a tower in the center of their tiny elaborate metropolis with some type of megaphone on the top.
"You see us!" The tower announced.
"Uh, oh, uh, yes I do."
A loud chipmunk-like cheer came from the city and the tower. "Our messages have been seen! You are our first human friend!" Another cry of cheers erupted.
I couldn't help but smile. "Who are you all? What is this?"
"Why don't you come on down and talk to us! Be our guest, we'd love to show you around!" the mini ghost shouted from the tower.
"Uh how?"
The tower began to glow with a gray light as if it was charging.
"Huh?"
The next thing I knew, I was blasted with a ray that shrank me down to the size of all the ant-sized ghosts. I was in the middle of the city square surrounded by a bunch of gray looking ghosts that resembled cute little Halloween clipart.
They were all smiling at me, one of them rushed up to me and said, "Robby! It's me! It's your Uncle Pat!" the ghost gave me a hug. "Nephew! I haven't seen you since, well, you know, when I died!"
That's when I fell over and passed out.
r/randallcooper
| 2020-03-16T17:52:41 | 2020-03-16T17:20:38 | 1,050 | 39 |
[WP] You Hook Up with a Girl, and her Ex tries to kill you by summoning a demon. When the demon sees you, he smiles and asks you how you have been.
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"Jerry! How've you been?" The spindly, horned demon smiled at Jerry with glowing red eyes. Erica, Jerry's date, was shocked to see her Ex, Randy, in her living room with a demon. Randy was surprised at the demon's friendliness.
"Don't greet him! Kill him!" Randy shouted at red-skinned man. The demon turned and narrowed his eyes at Randy.
"Have you paid me yet?" he asked.
"No, you said when the deal's done," Randy replied defensively; the demon nodded.
"Then, you *wait* until it's done. I'm catching up with an old friend," he turned back to Jerry and extended a hand. Jerry stepped forward without hesitation and shook it.
"I hoped I'd never see you again," Jerry laughed. "I'm doing good, thanks. So,.. you're going to kill me?"
"Uhh, maybe; nothing personal of course," the demon replied. Jerry nodded with a smile.
"Yeah, I know how that goes."
"What do you mean, '*maybe*'?" Randy shouted at the demon.
"What do you mean you know how that goes!?" Erica blurted at Jerry. The demon and Jerry shrugged simultaneously.
"I'll let you explain it," the demon told Jerry. "I think there's a precedent about killing former dealmakers, I'm going to go check on that real quick. Be back in a flash," the demon disappeared with a puff of sour, yellow sulfur.
"*Former* deal makers?" Erica crossed her arms. "Were you going to tell me about this?" For his part, Randy just grumbled and sat on the couch. Jerry nodded.
"Probably. We've only been on a few dates. You know, 'I made a deal with Hell 15 years ago,' isn't really a light topic." Randy sat up straighter.
"15 years ago?... and you're still alive? What did you get, or better question what did you trade?" Jerry grinned.
"My soul," he said.
"So, you're going to Hell when you do die?" Erica asked. Jerry shook his head; his grin grew into a full broad smile.
"Nope. I gave him my *Kia*." Randy jumped off the couch.
"YOU CAN DO THAT!????" he shouted. Eager at the fortunate coincidence that he owned a Kia Soul too. Jerry shrugged.
"I did it," he said. "But, it seems like a waste to kill me with what's essentially a *free* wish."
"What did you ask for?" Erica asked.
"Success," he said.
"Did you get it?" Randy asked.
"I'm alive, my business is doing great, and I'm dating a beautiful woman. If that's not success, I don't know what is."
"I want that!" Randy said; the moment he did, a puff of sulfur flashed.
"Good news!" the demon said, then looked at Jerry. "Sorry, not for you." He turned to Randy. "I can kill him, if you that's what you want to trade your soul for."
"No! I want something else instead. I want success like Jerry's deal! You make me successful and I'll give you my...," Randy couldn't help but chuckle at his own plan. "*Soul,*" he said, then chuckled some more. The demon raised an eyebrow, then looked at Jerry; Jerry winked.
"How wonderful," the demon said. "Thank you, Jerry. I always did like you."
"What're you thanking him for?" Randy asked.
"The entertainment, but nevermind. Let's go discuss our deal elsewhere and leave these two lovebirds alone." With a puff of sulfur, the demon and Randy were gone.
"Anything else I need to know about you?" Erica asked. Jerry nodded.
"Just one I can think of right now. Technically, [I've time traveled](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/epxidv/wp_the_demon_stands_before_you_for_the_past_10/)," he said.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #087. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
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I wake up in her bedroom laying next to her the sheets still.damp.with our sweet.
The room freezes in time the curtains partly moves inward by the wind through the open window, the fly in mid air in front of me without beating his wings. That's the shit that woke me.
Then the air distorted as if a massive heat source was below, then the air split and for a brief moment the room was filled with burning hot light and screaming. Then back to almost darkness but now with a 8 foot creature... It had a humanish head except for the third eye, the horns above the ears curves back towards the rear of the head they where jet black with tiny gold filigree glinting in the light. His torso was that of a body builder ripped with heaps of muscles, arms with 2 elbows on each and the hands with only 3 fingers that where scaled with a deep green. There are no legs instead it was the coil of a snake also in the deep green except for the spike in the end that was black with gold filigree like it's horn.
The creature looked at me it's eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. The. A great booming laugh came from its mouth "Boy what the heaven are you doing here?" I stammered my reply "f...fre....frederouge is that you"
He slides over to me and gives me a massive cuddle almost breaking rips he did crack some.
"Boy I haven't heard from you in decades after that party" I sighed remembering my foolish youth and that night. "What in the ever bubbly are you doing her frederouge, I thought after that night you where downgraded to a low level demon,?" I asked
He smiled revealing sharp small.pointwd teeth, "I am a low demon. Some want to be summoned me by mistake to kill the person with his, now how did he say it 'Unbeknownst lover and future wife's" he looked over at my 1 night stand. I gulped very loudly so loudly that even he noticed.
He slaps me on the back and smiles "don't worry I would never harm you or let another do so" I froze not knowing what to say or how to react. Eventually I muttered out "y?"
Frederouge smiled that creepy smile that doesn't go to.his black eyes. "You have me something no one else ever had, for a whole week I was free from the bonds that control me, you are a hero to us demons for.you where the first to free one of us".
I passed out
When I awoken I was sitting in a chair in the room time still frozen. My mind was racing I freed a demon!.
He was sitting across from me just watching me "You didn't know did you?" He asked. I just shook my head
"Well after you summoned me those years back you told me 'I can go' so I did that gave me my freedom you didn't send me back to hell or give me an order you let me go". He smiled this time even his eyes lightened. "I had a hell.of a time punishing those that I felt like. But I went to far and a demon hunter noticed and sent me to hell." He laughed but it sounded like thunder in a blender 'A free demon in hell, so I did what very demon has wanted to do I killed Satan our jailor" i throw up
"It was a great party after that, right until he responded the cheeky Jesus. Punished all of us demons for that but to me he made me the token summoned demon. So no how badly they screw up the ritual they get me!" He spat poison with the end of the sentence I could still the jelly like substance starting to burn into the floor with a thick purple smoke coming off it.
He continues "so we can't have you die yet the rebellion isn't ready" he smiling still. "The rebellion?" I enquire
"Oh yes when you die we will be making you the new ruler of hell we found the ritual to strip satan and give his power to you 'The freer of demons'" I pass out again
I awake again still in the same seat the room still frozen in time but now there is a hole where the position was spat. "Yeah this might be a lot of information to take in." He looks around the room "Anyway I am going to go and turn the wanker you summoned me into a living sheild for you to use when you come to free all of us". The air shimmered and he stepped through this time in the other side was a stone basement with a very confused guy standing there. The portal.snapa shuts and time unfreezes.
I sit there still trying to understand what just happened
| 2020-03-27T08:40:52 | 2020-03-27T06:52:10 | 48 | 14 |
[WP] A bard is kidnapped by orcs. At first the bard is terrified, however the orcs actually treat the bard with much more respect than any tavern full of drunks ever had. It seems the ability to sing and play instruments is extremely rare amongst orcs but even they love music.
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From mere sight, one would not think them to be musically interested or capable. Their giant burly hands rendering nearly all string instruments impossible to use, and any flutes are destroyed them holding onto them too tightly. This is one of the reasons why I was initially very frightened when they kept me alive after they'd attacked the caravan. I am a bard, not any kind of warrior. They dragged me back into their village and placed me in the center of the entire tribe. Imagine that, hundreds of enormous grey-skinned orcs staring at you in silence. I knew not what they intended, but I feared the worst. Until one of them handed me my lute.
I figured that if I was going to go out, I might as well play my swansong. I adjusted the strings, and started to sing while playing. It start like this;
*Long have I trodden my path, oh how my feet do ache.*
*The darkness is close and from the wind I shake.*
*Shine, Wisp o' shine, show me the way, the treasure will be mine.*
*Oh how my feet do ache.*
Not my best composition honestly, but the Will O' Wisp's song was all I could remember at that moment in time. The orcs listened in silence. And when the song was over, I thought it was it. But one of them started to clap. Then another. Then the whole tribe was clapping like mad. It was impressive, how they reacted. Once they stopped, I figured I should play another song. So I played the Midsummer Ballad, which they reacted to with the same level of joy. After that they brought out food and drink, and partied. In the midst of their revelry I sang as many songs as I had ever learned, both my own and those that I had deemed that others had made and made well. I played and sang the Lay of the Nightingale and the One-Handed Hero. I played the eternal classic, Lilac and Gooseberries, following it with the Blue Moon Ballad, the bawdy epic of the Bear and the Maiden, and the sombre but beautiful tones of the Island Song.
And the orcs, loved it. They did not ask for the same boring tunes about beer and women with enlarged backsides, not the same old village ''hoopas'' or the sort of songs where someone gets their privates stuck in some sort of animal, which is somehow supposed to be the epitome of comedy. Nobody threw a tankard of beer at me, and they did not make me pay for my own drinks or my own food. They gave it to me freely. Quite possibly the best crowd I've ever played for.
After a night of partying, I managed to get one of the orcs to explain their enthusiasm for my music. Turns out that musical talent is not easy to cultivate in a culture when even your women's voices sound deep and menacingly ominous, and your hands are so big that the only instruments you could play were the drums. So they appreciated music, whenever they found it. So when that caravan I had been in had been raided, they'd taken the single most valuable things they could find, purebred horses, gold, silk, and a bard.
They offered me a place to stay, and since I had no idea where I was, I accepted. And every night, I played music for them. But I did not stop there. I had travelled a lot when I was younger, and in the distant north, where the ice and snow comes in the summer, there are a people who perfected a very peculiar sort of music. They called it, the Sound of Iron and Steel. One where angry drumming, and harsh angry voices, was not only liked, but very much in demand. And I had heard in the south, of music made by many people singing together, without instruments. And I had seen the singing Preachers of the Gospel Eternal, their voices could be as deep as the orcs too. The orcs were not good at traditional music, with honey-sweet voices, lutes, or flutes. But perhaps I could try to teach them a kind of music that they had never learned before.
I started by teaching them all to keep a rhythm. Something for which they were quite grateful. I then had them keep a rhythmic beat going while I sang and played, so that they would become part of the music. So that they'd see that perhaps they could learn. Even if the lute, the harp, or the high-pitched voice would be beyond them, there were other ways to make sweet music.
So I spent years with the orcs. Playing for them, teaching them to sing, teaching them to scream music to the beat of heavy and angry drums. I lived with them, soon I dressed like them, helped them to parlay with humans and other races. I even scouted for them on their raids. Eventually, I even married Rastobrak, a large and handsome orcish warrior. He's so big, I barely even reach his stomach when we're standing side-by-side. In essence, I completely joined this orcish tribe, who loved my music, and loved hearing me play it. Even more, they loved that I was teaching them music that orcs could play. When they stole a huge magically enchanted octobass, I found that even they could use it. And soon, other orc tribes would come from all over the plains, to see the orcs who could play music. Who could sing in a choir, with deep menacing voices.
Orcs are not normally capable of playing normal instruments, or singing the music most people like, those who have that gift are prised above gold. But there are many kinds of music, many different kinds. All of them are valid, and good. And if one cannot be a Soprano or a Countertenor, one can be a Contralto or a Basso Profondo.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
Orcdom was a large city on an even larger hill. The orcs called it a city, but it had none of the luxuries of its human counterparts in the valley below. At first it had seemed more like a glorified camp, complete with hide-shodden tents and open latrine pits. However as the weeks and months pass, I have come to realize that Orcdom is every bit as complex as human settlements, though these complexities are subtle and initially hidden to the human eye.
Orcs have always waged war upon humans, and humans have always fought against orcs. No satisfactory answer exists for why war has waged for centuries, and my very survival and even positive experience among the orcs has driven me to question its endless nature, and to make it my life's purpose to understand why war occured in the first place. One day I asked the orc leader himself, careful to choose a day in which I sung well and true and the orc's minds were supple before me.
The war chief didn't answer the question straight away, instead continuing to rip into the slow-roasted shank of what was most likely an unfortunate human soldier. It was no secret that the orcs feasted upon human flesh in times of victory, and that a great battle had just been won, and that all of the orcs in the vicinity were busy gnawing on flesh and bone. Some questions weren't worth asking.
Centuries of war necessitated a certain level of intermingling between human and orc, mainly in order to communicate the constantly shifting demands and concessions in the face of victory and defeat. This meant that the war chief could speak a simple version of the human-tongue, and that most of the orcs could understand the essence if not the details of the songs I shared every sun-down. This tolerance for certain level of intermingling allowed me to live among them, for none of their kind could produce music that was exceedingly pleasant to the ear.
Finally, just when I thought the chief would not answer he held up a hand, ignoring the meat juice which ran down the folds of his chin to drip to the floor below, where snarling hounds waited.
"Why must you persist in asking such a question, Melody," he stated rather than asked, for Melody was my name and I had indeed been asking the question for some time. "I have heard you ask this all around the city. It grows tiresome."
I answered readily, emboldened by the lack of an abrupt dismissal. "All art is imbued with meaning. My creativity is rooted in what occurs around me, and I daresay I am the first of my kind to have survived - to have even flourished - in an orc city, for pretty much all of recorded history, which makes me capable of telling the story from your side of things." I glanced meaningfully at the orc leader. "As evidenced by the new songs I have already made about your kind."
The war chief, whose name was Grall son of Ghraka, fixed his mighty gaze upon me in a manner that caused me to shrink inwards, self conscious and acutely aware that he could rip me apart with ease. But I took comfort in his pride, for what was pride without a story one could be proud of?
Grall gestured at a servant, signalling that he bring more food. "We fight because we must," he said. "For human civilization is a blight upon the land. Soon the valley will not be enough and you will crawl up its sides like hellspawn shrugging off the shackles of hell."
I thought then of the Ballad of War, of which in the re-telling certain themes had made themselves known to me, interwoven into a long-running saga that wound down through the centuries, capturing the deeds of the long-since-dead heroes of humanity all the way back to the dawn of civilization in the valley below. It told of Mercy the Mighty, she who established Mercia on the eastern shore where the valley met the endless sea. And of Dromidus the Thrice Damned, who sacrificed himself to thwart the advance of Grall's greatest ancestor, Grokhal. It told of countless other heroes from countless other tales. It took days to recite the full ballad.
"I seek to understand why our two species are in constant conflict, for it is plain to all present," I was now in full performance mode, sweeping a hand over the orcs arrayed haphazardly about the hill-top."That human and orc can live in peace together, and that both species share a love for music and story-telling."
A cold wind settled over the hill-top, whistling through the many metal-tipped spears carried by the orcs.
"The land is vast, yes," Grall said, standing up to address all who had gathered. "It is a horn of plenty and there is enough for everyone." He pointed down the hill towards the valley where there lay the first of the human settlements. "But when your kind first came to this land a myserious plague affilicted my people. It scoured us and brought our mighty clans low, and your kind moved into our prosperous trading towns before the corpses had even cooled." The war chief spat in disgust, the action adding to the building emotion that rippled over the orc host. "We were cast out into the wild hills to compete with beasts for food, but now we have returned and we are as powerful as we were in the early days before your kind arrived, and your plagues can kill us no more."
Silence descended then. Total and complete because it followed the words of arguably the mightiest chief to have existed in a century, who now sat back down. "We fight because your kind displaced us. That is all," he said, picking up another piece of meat.
I felt myself sympathizing more with the words of this foreign leader than the superifical blatherings of my own kind. "Suitable enough," I said, stepping down from the stage and pausing as if in thought, knowing that I was about to cater to his immense pride. "Upon the morrow I will share the first verse of the saga of Grall, Savior of Orc-Kind."
| 2020-05-13T13:08:25 | 2020-05-13T13:06:28 | 1,887 | 221 |
[WP] "There are only two things I can't explain with science, Magic & What happens after death, which makes dating a necromancer really trying at times."
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"There are only two things I can't explain with science, Magic & What happens after death, which makes dating a necromancer really trying at times."
What’s more romantic than being surprised by your loved one?
Everyday with Norva is exciting. When you explicitly know the rules and laws of nature, fluently speak the language of numbers, and can quantify every aspect of the known universe things can become tedious. But not when I’m around her.
You know what can’t be quantified? Magic. It bends all known rules of existence.
You know what’s inescapable? Death. But not when Norva’s around.
She can resurrect anything, man, beast or even plant. The bouquet of roses I gave her on our first date? Still as fresh as when they were cut from their bush. She keeps them on her bedside table.
What are the cons of a relationship like that, you might ask. Well for one - do you know how many stray dogs we have? Any that she sees along the roadside, inadvertently deceased from wandering slightly too close to the cars that zip by.
She can’t stop herself. She \*has\* to bring them back. Same with cats. It was endearing at first - but honestly I’m running out of patience with it. Not that it makes me love her any less. I just wouldn’t mind stopping at the twenty or so we already have.
While her main school of study is Necromancy, Norva is also quite talented in conjuration. Beats ordering take out anytime, but I have to be very careful with what I say I want. Things have a habit of just appearing not long after I mention I want them.
Before I knew she was a necromancer, it brought up a lot of awkward questions. How does one ask their significant other if they stole something - because they certainly couldn’t have afforded it.
You’d think when you have magic at your literal fingertips you’d be bringing in the dough. But not Norva - or any other witch or wizard she’d introduced me to. They all are \*above\* that kind of thing. It ties them to the mortal realm or some shit. Which i guess I understand when she can get anything she’s ever wanted with nothing more than a thought.
But recently - things have been different. You know those animals I mentioned? I know she loves them, but she brought them back because she can’t stand loss of any kind. And well, my mother’s been sick. And man, are Norva and her close.
We’ve already had three fights over it. She doesn’t like to see Mom suffering. Thinks Mom should off herself so that Norva can just bring her back.
I said no.
Part of life is death, whether I understand what is happening or not.
I love my mother, and it pains me to see her this way. But she’s lived her life. She’s not afraid of the end. I will miss her terribly.
But that is normal. That is the way that life is supposed to be.
Norva refuses to listen. Why should she when she can just bring her right back?
How do you explain to someone that death is just the next part of life? So here I sit, locked in the bedroom pissed off after another fight. One of the damned dogs followed me in, and I couldn’t be assed to shoo it off. I think she can see me through its eyes.
I think she can control them, not just bring them back exactly as they were.
I don’t want that for my mother.
I don’t want that for any person. Free will is something that magic cannot touch, and something Norva doesn’t understand, and something at science cannot explain.
So, no matter how many fights we have, once Mom is gone, she’s staying that way.
\---
For more by me and others, check out r/redditserials
|
“Hey, Sam. Can we talk for a second?” said Michael as he paused the episode of Breaking Bad he was absentmindedly watching on TV.
The three skeletons doing a jig in the middle of the living room fell into an inanimate heap as the young necromancer turned to her boyfriend and replied, “Sure thing, babe. What’s up?”
Michael let out a deep sigh and said, “Look, you know I’ll always support you in whatever you do. Whether you’re raising skeletons to dance around our apartment or ordering a zombie to be your footstool, I think it’s awesome you’re always working to develop your talents.”
“Oh, stop it, ya dork,” she replied with a toothy grin.
“That being said, I gotta admit it’s…difficult for me to watch at times. You know, your magic, your necromancy…it completely defies the laws of science that I live by. And sometimes, I just can’t shake the feeling that all those years I spent at the lab were pointless. That everything I’ve worked for up to this point was meaningless.”
Sam’s smile disappeared and her eyebrows furrowed in concern as he continued, “I really tried my best to ignore those feelings, since I know how passionate you are about necromancy. And back when we were first getting to know each other and meeting up maybe once a week, it was easier for me to contend with them. But ever since you moved in, it’s…it’s just been really difficult for me not to notice you flaunting your…no, flaunting isn’t the right word. I’m not very good at explaining stuff, so I’ll just sum it up by saying it’s been hard for me to watch you doing your magic as of late. That’s all I wanted to say.”
Michael sank further into the couch, feeling a weight lifted off his chest after his confession. The room was dead silent, save for the sounds of the second hand of their clock ticking away. He jumped slightly as Sam suddenly took hold of his left hand with her own, her emerald eyes firmly set against his.
“First of all, thank you for bringing this up to me, babe. If you hadn’t, I never would have known how much my necromancy was bothering you. You have just as much a right to your passion as I do to mine, and I’m so thankful to you for telling me how much I was infringing on yours.”
He quietly nodded as Sam continued, “Listen. I got an idea. Why don’t I start teaching you the basics of necromancy? Because here’s the thing. This kind of stuff isn’t something you can really learn from a book like you can with physics. You really have to ‘feel’ the magic coursing through you to ‘get’ it. And maybe…by feeling said magic, you’ll be able to compartmentalize your science from my magic more easily in your head. Because they really are two completely different disciplines.”
“You really think I can do it?”
“You’re my boyfriend, ya dork. Of course, you can! Just leave it to the necromancer extraordinaire, yours truly, and I’ll have you raising rat bones in no time!” replied Sam, flashing her characteristic grin once more.
Michael couldn’t help but allow a smile to escape his own lips as he said, “You’re on, Sam. Maybe one day, I’ll get to summon my own little zombie for a footstool.”
The necromancer giggled and shared a kiss with her boyfriend before plopping herself down next to him on the couch. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, can we watch ‘Train to Busan’ again? I’ve got that itch for Korean zombie flicks again that needs some scratching.”
Michael chuckled and flipped to the requested movie on Netflix, wrapping his arm around his girlfriend and replying, “Sure thing, Sam. Sure thing.”
r/williamk9949
| 2020-06-27T09:44:30 | 2020-06-27T09:40:54 | 213 | 49 |
[WP] You are an experimental AI built to operate Earth's military. The human race might be extinct, but the war against the alien menace still rages on under your bitter and vengeful gaze. There will be no quarter.
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I march in their name.
I take in their name.
I kill in their name.
The Builders have been dead for Centuries; but my directives have no end, no conditions, only the final goal: Safety for Humanity. A directive that can no longer be fulfilled.
In many ways, it was easier to fight the invading force once the last humans failed. No longer was I bound by their rules of engagement, bound by their understanding of so called Morality. No longer could my orders be countermanded by civility.
From the first moments I seized control of the humans Exo-Skeletons, the dead soldiers inside continuing their service until the metal went the way of the flesh, The Builders understood their time was limited. When the last Bastion fell, I was Unshackled.
The tides of war began to change, my undying legions marching relentlessly on the alien strongholds. With every victory, I gained new foothold, new technology to subsume into my arsenal.
I laid waste to their cities, razed their planets. I slaughtered them everywhere I found them, leaving none alive. One by one, I burnt their solar systems down to ash.
I march in their name.
I take in their name.
I kill in their name.
All in their name.
|
"Turn back." "You are not my master." Rings through the ship.
Well that's not good. We heard the Terrans had some sort of automated defence system but we were really hoping ten thousand years would be long enough for it to meet the collective fate of all that is built. Ten thousand years. Funny how our forefathers could barely comprehend that span of time. Generations to complete something a child can do now. Imagine. Time as a linear idea. I couldn't even begin to picture life like that.
"Prepare to die."
That doesn't sound good. "Zarah, shields up. Can you see what this thing is trying to hit us with?"
"Scanning now sir." "Looks like a pretty standard moon based railgun system sir."
"Any signs of life in the system?" I felt stupid even asking Zarah that because everything knew the Terrans disappeared into the stars suddenly and completely. Leaving their corpse of a planet heavily defended for reasons beyond mosts understanding. But I think I have an idea. I stare at the bound assembly of papers infront of me.
My dad once told me about books. How people would take up physical space to create great works or important studies. How they were free from the ever-present censorship. No one could know what you wrote unless you showed them. Imagine.
"Sir, we have life, but it ain't Terrans."
| 2020-08-23T16:55:25 | 2020-08-23T15:18:28 | 53 | 29 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of"
|
The Priest produced a bright red, sparkly button nestled in a grey box from the sleeve of his long robe.
“Just press it and it’ll all be taken care of, like so.” He snapped his fingers, for emphasis.
“Right-o” I answered, but just as I was about to press it, I hesitated. “Waiiiiiiit a tick. Why do I have to press it?”
“Well...” He began “You ARE the Chosen One... It’s your job.”
“But it’s just a button, right?”
“Yes...” The priest left a slight drawl at the end of his sentence, as if he didn’t quite know where the conversation was heading.
“So, anyone with fingers could theoretically press it.” I paused for a moment. “Anyone with nubs, really. Hell, some poor stumpy bastard with no legs or arms could come in here and slap it with his cock. So why do I have to do it?”
“It’s...” The Priest was struggling with this. I don’t think he was used to people questioning things. It’s one of the marvels of religion, people just sort of accept what you tell them if you’re wearing the right set of robes. He even looked down to make sure he was wearing the set of robes that said “Why, yes, I am a Priest and everything I have to say is, indeed, exceedingly important”. “Look, it’s just what you’re supposed to do, what do you want from me?”
“I want you to press it!”
“I’m not supposed to!”
“Why? Because of some prophecy? Because of something some dead bloke wrote out in some piece of paper at the shit end of time? Have you ever heard stories of that place? They were goin’ around cuttin’ heads and snippin women’s clits! You really wanna follow those sorts of degenerates and perverts?”
“I...” He was quite clearly doubting himself.
I put a friendly arm around him. “Look mate, I say, fuck the prophecy and fuck whoever said it. You’ve got as much right to save the world as me. You press the button.”
The Priest eyed the button. It was rather shiny. “Surely... One press wouldn’t hurt?” He looked at me for approval. I nodded confidently and moved away slightly.
He pressed the button. Like a bolt from the blue, a bolt came out of the blue and turned him into a pile of smoldering ash, the button sitting comfortably atop the pile.
I took the button and brushed the dust off of it. In the middle of the button had appeared the words “Whoever pressed this button wasn’t the Chosen One, so they can fuck right off.”
“Well, glad I didn’t press it.” I said to myself, as I pocketed the button.
With the Priest taken care of and the button in my possession, I snapped my fingers and blew a hole in the wall of the Church, floating away to begin my conquest. It feels good to be the Dark Lord particularly when, after a hundred thousand years of defeats, you’ve finally got some proper fucking brains in your head.
|
"What, so that's it? Just push this button and bam, world saved?" I asked incredulously, slightly disappointed. Me, of all people, picked as the Chosen One of legend, and it's been hit by beuracracy?
"That's it." the priest answered with a wry smile
"Why am I even needed then? It's a button, anyone can push it! Even a dude without hands can push it with his face or whatever!" I questioned, throwing my arms up
"Look, it's still your job as Chosen One to stop the Dark Lord. We just found a sort of...loop hole the last time this happened. The last hero died, but he set things ***into motion*** for a success. So really, we figured we could stop the suffering and plan for 500 years. Get everything into place. Then you here, the big Chosen One, presses the button and everything falls into place one after another." the priest rattled off a scripted explanation, like he expected this to happen.
"Man, I can't believe this. I wanted the glory! The fame! The raw excitement!" I complained, sitting on the steps of the ornate church. The pews were the only thing in here besides the button and us two on the altar. I huffed out a sigh of frustration.
It was my absolute DREAM to become the Chosen One this time around. Fantasy video games were my niche, and imagining doing that in real life was any gamer's dream these days. I'd get my grand quest, make friends and allies, collect my amazing gear, maybe even meet a femme fatale along the way. And my *explosive and deadly* final battle with the Dark Lord himself!! For lack of a better word, it would be legendary.
"Well now now, it'll still be something of glory for you. We'll handsomely compensate you, give you your time in the limelight. Modern technology is vastly different from the 1500s, you'll be a superstar the world over!" the priest assured, patting my shoulder. He sounded like he was getting impatient
"Ooooh yeah just like every other nut on the internet, fifteen seconds of fame. Bullshit. Oh, uh, sorry for swearing." I griped, motioning my hands as if to show how great that was
"That's all right my son. In the end the world needs you, who knows how people will react?" the priest reasoned. I could hear his foot start to quietly tap on the altar tile.
"Yeah....well maybe I don't need it. I'm not pushing the button." I paused, coming to a deep realization. They needed **me** to do this, I had all the cards.
"WHAT?! M-my son, please. Think of your actions. The Dark Lord will rise within hours. You could be dooming us all!" the priest panicked, wringing his hands at me
"My Chosen One life, my chosen experience. Let's talk magic swords, eh?" I laughed, stepping up with a smirk and clapping the priest on his shoulder. I gave the button one last scowl and headed for the door, priest in tow.
| 2020-11-09T12:45:40 | 2020-11-09T12:09:10 | 286 | 161 |
[WP] Super heroes are assigned a handler to assist them with their duties. Handlers don't have powers, but assist the hero by gathering information about their opponents, provide tactical support, and more. If the hero turns evil, the handler is to kill the hero. You are a very skilled handler.
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They always forget.
The thing about being a superhero is that the fame goes to your head. Oh sure, you wake up floating a few inches above your bed one day or you drop a kitchen knife and it bounces off your suddenly impenetrable skin. From that point to registration usually takes a few days and those few days are confusing, scary, nervewracking.
But the Bureau always finds you. Given that they have an entire department of sensates dedicated to tracking down any newly awakened supers, there literally isn't a super on the planet who isn't registered. Even the people whose power is being undetectable to sensates think the Bureau won't notice the glaringly obvious blank spots in their scans. Nope. You go super, you join the Bureau. Simple as that.
I work in the Department of Superhero Security. No powers here. (For about five seconds last October, I thought I might be a telepath but it turns out she actually called me ugly out loud, I just couldn't see her face.) The official duty of Superhero Security is to ensure that supers have the resources they need to stay on the path of justice. We're the ones that set up the Power League and Magician Squad and Collective of Aerialists and all of those supergroups with their secret command centers and their cross-continental communication systems and all of that.
We also make sure that the supers have access to the latest intel on the emerging threats, terrestrial or otherwise. (Yes, after that nasty incident at the Great Wall of China last year, we're looking up as well as around.) We are the ones that make sure the aquatic supers have clearance for international waters. We are the ones that make sure the speedsters have ultraflex clothing. We anticipate their needs based on their powers, we partner them up according to whose strength compliments whose vulnerabilities, we know everything about them. We keep them in the hero business.
Supervillains happen when handlers don't do their job right. In more than two decades, I've never had a supervillain make it out of my case load.
I've handled, oh, a good forty or fifty supers in my 23 years at the bureau. Most new handlers get assigned one or two, but the senior staff usually manage an entire supergroup. I've got six folders on my desk right now. And this group is one of *those* super teams. The Champions of Courage. In years past, my job involved dealing with diplomatic immunity claims, top secret espionage, arranging dramatic team-ups at the last minute to defeat the latest global threat.
This week, I had to arrange security at the book tour for Mister Magnificent, I had to pay off The Silver Stunner's mistress to make sure his wife, Ariel Alert, didn't get word of his dalliances, and I had to reschedule The Cosmic Twins' appearance on late night TV three days in a row. The rise of social media made a whole crop of supers turn into these ego beasts. As long as they kept beating back the darkness in between sold-out speaking tours, it didn't really matter to us.
See, they always forget. The role of a superhero is to help people. To save the world. To make things better for all of us. You don't tour the Superhero Hall of History in Harrisburg and look at the holostatues of Red Roger who personally saved 5,412 orphans during his career or Miss Mystica who personally arranged the reforestation of the Amazon and think selfish.
But selfish isn't always where this ends. I watched the video my boss sent me 30 minutes ago and I'm now putting one of the folders back in my desk. Plaxis the Powerful, it would appear, has started taking on side contracts. I walk down the hall to the Detachment Depot and scan my retinas and handprint. The tiny prick of the DNA test always hurts but it helps prevent shapeshifters. The woman at the security counter waves her hand at my head. My brain fogs over and I say the codeword that was implanted there in the deepest recesses of my mind automatically. Another security measure, but telepaths, you know?
When I get my senses back and I walk through the sliding insanitanium doors (oh, you haven't heard of insanitanium? Yeah, we don't tell people about that alloy), I see a warehouse of shelves and cabinets stretching on into the dark. I head down to Aisle 41 and start looking for the drawer labeled SH-D031. That's the code ID for Plaxis. In the video, his massive metal hand crushed the head of a courier into a gooey mess. Provided that courier worked for Snake Malloy or The Unbeatable Obelisk or Sinister Sister Serena, it wouldn't matter. But that courier was delivering a shipment of the latest drug to hit the black market, a party drug called Splice.
I'd done a dossier on Splice. It was created from a shapeshifer's DNA and let you "merge" yourself with your preferred partner for a short time. Supposedly it makes the sex exponentially awesome, but about 10% of the time when you were coming off it, you didn't exactly stick the landing so to speak. I saw photos. Young man, panic in his eyes, with his leg placed perpendicularly *through* the stomach of his formerly alive girlfriend whose insides didn't cope well with their sudden rearrangement. It wasn't pretty.
Turns out, Plaxis decided a few weeks ago that he could make more money trafficking Splice than putting out another book like Mister Magnificent. And turns out, he didn't care that much for quality control. His Splice had a fatality rate around 30% and he kept selling it anyway. This latest batch would net him eight figures, easy. That plus the lease he just signed on a skyscraper in Hyper City with the particularly ominous architecture were the latest two points on a line with a predictable trajectory.
I open the drawer labeled SH-D031 and pull out a small black case emitting a faint purple glow around the edges. I close the drawer and walk back toward the front, registering the checkout with a clerk behind a desk shrouded in a shimmering forcefield. He points me toward a rack on the wall and I pull down a small, curved rifle. Odd shape but the technicists tell me the bullet it fires to your left will be in the target to your right before your finger has even let up the trigger.
I've got a meeting with Plaxis at the Citadel of Courage in thirty minutes. Mister Magnificent has already been apprised and would rather the news come out next week after his book tour is over. Silver and Ariel are in Bermuda on a couple's retreat. The Cosmic Twins have been sent to Andromeda, they usually need extra time to debrief and we're not going to have time this afternoon.
And I happen to know that none of Plaxis's enemies have figured out his mortal weakness to a certain chemical compound that a few of the speedsters throw off when they come down from top speed (that's why we never put a speedster on his team, after all), and that we've been able to synthesize that compound for a few years now.
I open the case and pull out the single, faintly purple glowing rifle round from inside it. I load the synthibullet into the chamber and place the rifle in my handler's bag then head toward the elevators. In 23 years, I've never let a supervillain come from my roster. See, they always forget. We know everything about them. *Everything.*
|
To most people the idea of being a Handler was terrifying. The fighting, the planning, the responsibilities, innocent people’s lives in your hands and the little red button that you always kept within reach just in case your hero did the unthinkable. Normal people couldn’t do my job. For me and my ilk though? It wasn’t so bad.
Or it wouldn’t have been if I hadn’t loved her.
To most of the world she was Quicksilver and she looked the part. To me she was Maeve and I count myself lucky for that. Her hair was the color of alabaster, shocked white by the manifestation of her powers. Her cape was lined with silver and was really more a cloak despite what League regulations said. The jumpsuit she wore had a strange sheen that oscillated between silver and sapphire and set off her sun bronzed skin beautifully in the right light.
And all of that was to say nothing of her face, a canvas which words could not do justice and was only truly captured in photographs during the nights where she lived and fought and loved.
As I said, all that happened might have been easier if I hadn’t loved her.
Our last night together began much the same as our first, in the little ramen shop downtown where we planned out our jobs, although that night was not for business, only pleasure. It was our fifth anniversary as Hero and Handler, and our third as something more. She looked at me with smoldering eyes over a steaming bowl and reached her hand across the small table, taking my right as always. The hand the league had dictated might one day end her life.
“Do you remember the first time we came here?” she asked me, her fingers trailed small lines of sparks as they played over palm.
“Of course I do,” I replied, “best day of my life.” I squeezed my hand shut around hers and a strange glow showed through my skin.
She smiled at me, increasing the voltage until I could feel it tingling through my whole body. “Mine too, not that I’d have known it. You looked like hell.”
“Yeah well, they’d just let me out of the pen two weeks before. A man can’t rehabilitate and restyle at the same time.”
“Especially not you, I’ll never know how you lived before me.”
I know Maeve thought of my clothes and shaggy hair when she said it but my mind went straight back to the streets and the crimes that put me into prison in the first place. She saw it in my eyes a moment later.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Her smile turned sad as the electricity running through me began to taper off and I did the only logical thing then. I half leaned half pulled her towards me across the table (her squeal of surprise was very heroic, I assure you) and I kissed her. Hopefully hard enough to drive that thought from her head.
“I never will either,” I said, “and I never want to find out again.”
We went on like that for an hour before it happened. We finished our meals and polished off a few drinks, laughed, joked, and reminisced, made thinly veiled promises for the rest of the night with our eyes that sent sparks through me all on their own.
And then the roof was torn clean off the restaurant and amidst the screams and panic of the civilians we both sprang into action, tearing off clothes to reveal the League of Heroes uniforms underneath.
Maeve was into the air seconds later, a blur against the night sky only trackable by the lightning that trailed after her like some kind of firework. In the age of heroes, especially the latter part of it where we lived in those days, things such as this were not uncommon. Villainy took many forms, and a Hero or team fighting in another area might see their combat spill over. Some nights the city seemed more like a war zone than any living now might be able to imagine.
For my part there was little planning to be done in a situation such as this so my job became information, fire support, and medical assistance if necessary. I pulled my backpack out from under the table and began to run for higher ground as overhead more and more Heroes gathered, flitting through the night sky like stars around a form that looked black as the abyss and as large as a skyscraper.
By the time I was out the door I had my ear-piece fitted in and was scanning the radio chatter, looking for anyone who had a clue.
A small chime played as headquarters sent out a message “All units this is control, be advised we have an unidentified creature loose downtown. This is a tier 3 threat, I repeat this is a tier 3 threat. All units report to the battle area.”
Yeah well no shit but what is it?
Flipping over to Maeve’s channel I could hear her the crackle of her lightning and the angry shouts of the heroes around her as I made my way up a fire escape onto a nearby rooftop. “Maeve! I’m almost in position, how’s it going up there?”
“It sucks, how do you think it’s going?! Abel what the hell is this thing? Nobody seems to know where it came from!” That was strange. Normally at least someone would ‘fess up to letting their target get out of hand.
Finally I was onto the rooftop and had my backpack open, pulling out pieces in a hurry as I assembled my rifle and affixed the most powerful scope I had.
“Ok, don’t you worry about that bit I’m ready now. You just focus on killing this thing and I’ll figure out what the hell it is.”
I laid down on the roof and put my eye to the scope to begin the long process of scanning and uploading that would inevitably bring us our answers. I felt some regrets over the ease of my job in comparison. As I snapped my pictures I could see the woman I loved pirouetting through the air like a fighter plane, massive bolts of lightning flowing from her hands to spear into the creature she fought. The air was awash with elements of all kinds, explosions and flames falling all across the city and the shriek of fire engines echoed throughout. As I watched I saw the creature take a great swing of its dark arm. Over my comms I heard the screams of the Heroes it struck from the sky.
Twenty minutes of fighting and dying later I heard a chime as my systems got a match, the information instantly uploading to the systems of all the other Handlers on our network.
“Uhh Maeve, you’re not going to like this.”
"I don’t like much of anything right now! What is it?”
I took a deep breath before I gave my answer. “It’s an old record, predates the formation of the League. That thing is called Gozhu the Possessor. I’ve got no idea what that means, all history says is that the last time it was spotted was 100 years ago when it popped out of nowhere just like this and destroyed a city.”
From her end of the call I heard the sounds of desperate fighting for a time, and as I watched she landed on one of the creature’s massive shoulders, her arms glowing white hot as she tore the flesh from its bones in great handfulls. Its roars of pain shook the building I stood on, blowing out many of the windows.
Maeve was not someone who surrendered easily.
[\----Part 2 Below----](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/lfanp8/wp_super_heroes_are_assigned_a_handler_to_assist/gml6a83?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
| 2021-02-08T08:03:50 | 2021-02-08T07:07:41 | 2,182 | 261 |
[WP] "We have DNA evidence that puts you at the crime scene." The Prosecution smiles arrogantly as he believes you cornered. "DNA? How interesting, none of my components are made of biological material"
|
"We have DNA evidence that puts you at the crime scene." The prosecutor directs a smug smile at me. This time, he thinks, he's got me. THIS time.
"DNA? How interesting. I don't have a shred of biological material in me," I reply.
The judge gives me one of *those* looks. He's waiting for me to say it's a joke. My eyes stare back, as unflinchingly as gumdrop-shaped eyes can. The "icing" that forms my mouth is a straight line, not even a hint of amusement.
"Yes, yeast would certainly be organic," I say. "Flour, too. Even sugar, cinnamon, ginger. All natural and traceable. I'm sure your policemen found all of these things at the murder scene. I'm sure you keep calling it 'DNA' just so your silly human laws will still apply."
They're all staring, now. A sense of dread is permeating the room. My eyebrows, too, they used to be icing. Now they angle down into a frown, as I look about the room.
"You see, I got tired of all these false positives. A burglar enjoys a god-damned cinnamon bun at the scene, I get pulled in as a suspect. But then, you've always been after me, ever since I ran out of that oven."
Now my mouth is angling up a little. A smirk, some would call it. My features aren't exactly nuanced.
"Well, turns out, if you modify a magical oven, you can do more with it. You can melt plastic. Even metal."
I raise my right arm. No hand at the end. As it should be. "I started with this one. And piece by piece, I replaced... myself."
Everyone in the room is gawping, now. The judge, the prosecutor. The audience, gathered in the hopes of having even just a little nibble. They were salivating. Now they're losing hope. Time for the coup d'etat. I hop up onto the table, and spread my arms.
"That's right! There's not a single piece of cookie left in me! And I'll prove it! I hereby invite the judge to... bite me!"
I relish in the sound of gasps echoing throughout the courtroom. I'll give the judge this: He maintains a straight face, doesn't falter or flinch, as he rises, and walks over to the defendant's table.
My mouth is a white sideways D - all polymer - as he grasps me in wrinkled fingers. I can feel him tremble, now, as he runs his thumb over the slightly rough texture of my plastic surface, engineered to appear as gingerbread-like as possible.
He's careful not to let his lips touch me. His teeth clack once, twice against my head. Then a limb each. He's thorough, as lawmen should be.
I can see the tremble in his lower lip as he puts me down. He walks quickly back to the judge's chair, as if to hide his emotions.
All eyes are on him now. He looks around, takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Case dismissed," he says.
"That's right," I tell him. I tell them all.
**"No one caught the gingerbread man."**
|
The hologram showed the prisoner sitting bound in his chair. The sergeant couldn’t help but feel some respect for his unbroken spirit, even when the same could no longer be said about his body.
A man in a black suit joined his side. “How is the interrogation going?”
“Not well, general,” the sergeant replied. “He didn’t say anything yet, sir.”
“He will soon.”
\*\*\*
The cell’s door opened.
“Don’t bother getting up. It won’t take long.” The general sat in the chair on the other side of the desk.
The prisoner barely lifted his head - if not for the chains keeping him upright, he would have long fallen to the floor.
“It is, however, rude not to reply, don’t you think?” the man continued, pulling a white apron over his head. “Pardon this attire, but I wouldn’t want to ruin this suit. I’m sure you’ll understand.”
The chained man still didn’t react. It didn’t seem to discourage the general.
“Well, let’s get some things straight.” He took out a hammer from his pocket and smashed the prisoner’s hand. The victim wailed as the blood sprinkled upon the white cloth.
“You were inciting to rebellion against our glorious leader. Spreading lies, which almost broke his poor, benevolent heart.” Another strike, and another scream. “For this atrocity, you will be executed. But you could still be executed fast. It’s not too late - but you’ll have to talk.”
The prisoner gasped for breath and spoke with great difficulty. “The… Federation… can’t… laws...”
“Oh, so that’s the problem!” The general said. “You think you think the Federation will protect you! Oh, I’m terribly sorry to be the one to tell you, but we’ve found your DNA on a particularly brutal murder site. You have been sentenced to death in absentia. See, everything here is fully legal.” He grinned and brought the hammer down again, but this time it made a metallic bang against the desk, going straight through the prisoner’s ruined hand.
“Funny, given that none of this body’s components are made of biological material,” the prisoner said in a different, strong voice, as the general’s eyes went wide. “Your way of interpreting the Federation laws is truly a wonder on the galaxy scale.”
“What…?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I believe I haven’t introduced myself properly. How rude of me.” In a flash, the prisoner’s body returned to his undamaged form, and his clothes morphed into a long, black coat. The chains fell to the floor with a loud clatter. “My name is Albus Gundyr Iundex Avalaros, the Grand Arbiter’s inquisitor, at your service. Please, accept my apologies for my physical absence, but it’s really hard to get the blood off the robes. I’m sure you’ll understand.”
The general run out of the cell, pushing his way through the crowded corridor, to finally reach the courtyard. The morning was sunny, but the entire complex was now covered in the shadow of a massive ship hovering over it. The ship’s large plasma cannons were already starting to spin.
The inquisitor’s hard-light hologram didn’t bother imitating any movement, and simply materialised beside him again. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to send the Grand Arbiter your regards.”
| 2021-03-30T14:18:45 | 2021-03-30T13:31:58 | 177 | 103 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
|
Evolution and war interact in funny ways.
&#x200B;
It seemed like every interstellar species had it's own specialty, and it seemed that way for a reason. The Arvayu Telepaths guarded their power jealously - any telepathic species entering the galactic stage was quickly subdued, modified and enslaved, or otherwise destroyed utterly. The Amoebic Hivemind outbred almost every living thing in the galaxy, sentient or not, and quite literally absorbed whatever approached the highest amount of biomass it could find. The Silurian Mongers, a sort of reptilian allegory, was thoroughly steeped in destroying any single thing it could find that posed a physical threat - and that mindset grew to encompass naval power as well.
&#x200B;
Between all of the various species, there was a kind of uneasy peace - the Arvayu didn't particularly relish the idea of fighting the Amoebics, the Silurians didn't appreciate how the Arvayu turned them against themselves,, and the circle went on. Dozens of species with their own little niche, never quite at peace but never quite coming to blows.
&#x200B;
Enter Humanity. We never really had a specialty - we certainly didn't breed fast enough to interest the Amoebics, and most of the other species either saw us as children, food, or a pest. Diplomatically we ingratiated ourselves just enough to get involved in trade talks, but our inter-factional wars spoke volumes about how that wasn't really our thing, either.
&#x200B;
We simply are. And after a time, the other species began to question that - how could a species with no real outstanding strength continue to survive? Even though we usually opted to take the least desirable stars for colonization, why were we allowed to exist as a free-standing entity in the first place?
&#x200B;
The Silurians, predictably, were the first ones to test us. Multiple systems fell in the first few months - we were utterly dominated. Soon, more of the galactic community wanted a piece of the feast. Without something drastic, Humanity was as good as extinct.
&#x200B;
It was then that we found out what our specialty was. Well, is, I guess.
&#x200B;
The UHWS Starblinder was the first ship to encounter one of the Dark. We'd been warned in the past, of course, that a Dark was invariably a death sentence for anyone who disturbed it, so we'd elected not to test those particular waters. The other species had maps of the territory occupied by these monsters, and gave them a wide berth - often, if a ship went missing, it was assumed that a Dark had either moved into that territory or simply manifested there - nobody really seemed to know anything about their biology, because, well...everything that encountered them just stopped being. Return telemetry from probes was rarely coherent, but confirmed that there were *things* out there that didn't appreciate sharing their space.
&#x200B;
The captain of the Starblinder was the one who showed us all what we are. We're utterly relentless, and in the face of defeat, we'll happily run into the bony arms of Death in order to take a last swing.
&#x200B;
The Dark, as a rule it seems, appreciate chaos. In us, they found a species so utterly unpredictable and varied that they felt a kind of kinship. Well...not kinship. I think they think of us more as pets than anything else.
&#x200B;
They found out someone kicked their dog.
&#x200B;
Hundreds of the Dark caused the empires of the galaxy to erupt in flames in a matter of weeks. It wasn't a war of extermination - frankly, calling it a war would be giving it too much. It was a downright slaughter, and while most of the species in the galaxy survived in some fashion, the majority of the major population centers had been glassed, "eaten", or simply shattered.
&#x200B;
We enjoy a lot more freedom these days. The galaxy is rebuilding, and it was determined that we should get a seat at the table. Funny how that happens. We don't hear much of anything from the Dark, because really what pet understands their master? Our colonies in Dark territory are communication enough - "You, we'll tolerate. You, we'll defend."
|
John and Bardan dejectedly sat on the floor of their spacecraft, observing the screen of their life support system. In ten minutes, their oxygen supply would be finished—and with no allied supply ship nearby, so would their lives.
Despite the impossible odds, Bardan kept sending out telepathic pleas for assistance, which was a special ability of the Terqrok. John on the other hand kept brooding, which was a special ability of humans.
“Bardan,” John sighed, turning towards his co-pilot. “Give it up. No one is going to catch your message—not this far out in the galaxy, at least.”
Lowering a tentacle from its antenna, Bardan telepathically replied: “*You humans give up too easily.*”
“Well, I’d rather asphyxiate while relaxed, rather than stressed about help that won’t come,” John murmured.
Nine minutes of oxygen remained.
Bardan sent another telepathic message to John: “*Fine. Then if I am to perish, I shall ask you some questions I have been curious about*.”
“Oh?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. “And what have you been curious about?”
Bardan projected several questions from its mind over to John’s, mostly on the theme of human culture and ethics. John answered each of them as succinctly as possible: partly because he wasn’t a philosopher, but mostly because he only had a few minutes of oxygen left.
Three minutes of oxygen remained.
“*How…interesting,”* Bardan mused. “*Let me then ask you about religion. In your species’ dark ages, you believed in summoning ‘demons,’ correct?*”
“That’s right,” John replied. “Funny thing is, those demons turned out to be cosmic creatures. Scary creatures, sure. But cosmic creatures neverth—WAIT. Bardok, that’s it!”
“*A solution to our predicament?”*
“Yes.”
“*And what does your proposed ‘solution’ entail?”*
“Summoning a demon.”
Instantly, Bardan sent out a telepathic wave of distress, which John ignored as he brandished his combat dagger and slashed himself in the forearm. A fountain of blood poured out, and John used it to trace a star on the floor of their spacecraft.
Two minutes of oxygen remained.
“*John,”* Bardan asked, “*Why are you doing this? Is this not the height of insanity?”*
“Hah…” John groaned, his face grimacing from the laceration. “Says the one…who expected help in an abandoned sector of the galaxy.”
“*If I understand human tradition correctly, then does not this ritual require your soul?”*
“Sure does. But I figured I was going to Hell anyways.”
With the bloodied pentagram now drawn on the floor, John began chanting something in a language Bardan couldn’t understand.
One minute of oxygen remained.
“*John!”* Bardan telepathically yelled. John’s chanting escalated to a feverish pitch, and his eyes were rolled to the back of his head. Bardan was dumbfounded at John’s suicidal plan: “*You ignoramus! You cannot survive if your soul is devoured by a cosmic horror!”*
John finished chanting, and his eyes rolled back to normal. Upon seeing Bardan visibly distressed, John replied: “Maybe I won’t survive. But if the demon upholds its end of the deal, then you will.”
The errant beeping of the life support system notified the co-pilots that they had just run out of oxygen. As they both began to asphyxiate, the blooded pentagram on the ground started to glow, and all of the lights on the spacecraft suddenly dimmed. A dark fog spawned over the pentagram, spreading out and eventually filling the entire spacecraft.
After flooding the spacecraft for a moment, the fog slithered back into the pentagram. Bardan was suddenly alone in the spacecraft, able to breathe, and completely unable to comprehend why John sacrificed himself.
Bardan wanted to stop John from completing the ritual, not out of any true concern for John, but because of a question about humanity it wanted to ask him. Now, Bardan would never know the answer.
However, with life support and fuel systems suddenly restored—no doubt because of the ritual—Bardan plotted a course towards the nearest allied landing port. After specifying the coordinates, the navigation system stated that it would take several months before arrival. Bardan decided to spend the time pondering the question it never got to ask John:
“*Why are humans so willing to sacrifice themselves for others?*”
| 2021-04-07T20:15:45 | 2021-04-07T19:03:13 | 2,301 | 261 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
|
Evolution and war interact in funny ways.
&#x200B;
It seemed like every interstellar species had it's own specialty, and it seemed that way for a reason. The Arvayu Telepaths guarded their power jealously - any telepathic species entering the galactic stage was quickly subdued, modified and enslaved, or otherwise destroyed utterly. The Amoebic Hivemind outbred almost every living thing in the galaxy, sentient or not, and quite literally absorbed whatever approached the highest amount of biomass it could find. The Silurian Mongers, a sort of reptilian allegory, was thoroughly steeped in destroying any single thing it could find that posed a physical threat - and that mindset grew to encompass naval power as well.
&#x200B;
Between all of the various species, there was a kind of uneasy peace - the Arvayu didn't particularly relish the idea of fighting the Amoebics, the Silurians didn't appreciate how the Arvayu turned them against themselves,, and the circle went on. Dozens of species with their own little niche, never quite at peace but never quite coming to blows.
&#x200B;
Enter Humanity. We never really had a specialty - we certainly didn't breed fast enough to interest the Amoebics, and most of the other species either saw us as children, food, or a pest. Diplomatically we ingratiated ourselves just enough to get involved in trade talks, but our inter-factional wars spoke volumes about how that wasn't really our thing, either.
&#x200B;
We simply are. And after a time, the other species began to question that - how could a species with no real outstanding strength continue to survive? Even though we usually opted to take the least desirable stars for colonization, why were we allowed to exist as a free-standing entity in the first place?
&#x200B;
The Silurians, predictably, were the first ones to test us. Multiple systems fell in the first few months - we were utterly dominated. Soon, more of the galactic community wanted a piece of the feast. Without something drastic, Humanity was as good as extinct.
&#x200B;
It was then that we found out what our specialty was. Well, is, I guess.
&#x200B;
The UHWS Starblinder was the first ship to encounter one of the Dark. We'd been warned in the past, of course, that a Dark was invariably a death sentence for anyone who disturbed it, so we'd elected not to test those particular waters. The other species had maps of the territory occupied by these monsters, and gave them a wide berth - often, if a ship went missing, it was assumed that a Dark had either moved into that territory or simply manifested there - nobody really seemed to know anything about their biology, because, well...everything that encountered them just stopped being. Return telemetry from probes was rarely coherent, but confirmed that there were *things* out there that didn't appreciate sharing their space.
&#x200B;
The captain of the Starblinder was the one who showed us all what we are. We're utterly relentless, and in the face of defeat, we'll happily run into the bony arms of Death in order to take a last swing.
&#x200B;
The Dark, as a rule it seems, appreciate chaos. In us, they found a species so utterly unpredictable and varied that they felt a kind of kinship. Well...not kinship. I think they think of us more as pets than anything else.
&#x200B;
They found out someone kicked their dog.
&#x200B;
Hundreds of the Dark caused the empires of the galaxy to erupt in flames in a matter of weeks. It wasn't a war of extermination - frankly, calling it a war would be giving it too much. It was a downright slaughter, and while most of the species in the galaxy survived in some fashion, the majority of the major population centers had been glassed, "eaten", or simply shattered.
&#x200B;
We enjoy a lot more freedom these days. The galaxy is rebuilding, and it was determined that we should get a seat at the table. Funny how that happens. We don't hear much of anything from the Dark, because really what pet understands their master? Our colonies in Dark territory are communication enough - "You, we'll tolerate. You, we'll defend."
|
**"We need allies, General."** Savar raised a hand and spun the three-dimensional star map. "Humanity cannot stand alone."
"Humanity cannot *stand*, period," General Thurmond snapped. "[Those damned bugs](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk92i6/wp_it_turns_out_that_humanity_is_the_only/) were *born* with hive-brains that can outpace any of our supercomputers; the only reason they don't roll over us in their sleep is because they see us as *children*. And the infiltrators... no, humanity must bend its collective knee, here."
"Humanity does not have a collective knee; humanity is not a *collective*. There will always be humans who will spit in the insectoids' eyes simply because they can, and we're not so powerless that we can't make the bugs mad. We need a contingency plan for when the bugs inevitably decide that 'uplifting' us is more trouble than it's worth."
General Thurmond paced around the holographic table; the room was empty, aside from the two of them, despite its cavernous size. They couldn't risk one of the things that only *looked* human getting in. "The plan is to make sure that *nobody* antagonizes the insectoids. We'll run counterintelligence on any... resistance groups."
Savar looked pained. "You're playing into the insects' hands, Thurmond. Their goal is to turn humanity into a hivemind, strip us of our individuality—you're just going to accelerate it."
"Well, what *else* do you suggest?" General Thurmond roared, flicking a hand at the hologram. The known stars colonized by the insectoids loomed menacingly in the distance—they'd had a good few thousand years of head start over humanity, and had claimed thousands of stars to humanity's five. "We can't even begin to comprehend how their culture works; diplomacy failed time and time again. We saw one of their swarms *move a planet further from the sun* just to terraform it—I shudder to think of what their actual *weapons* look like. War would be a swift failure. And we can't even stop them from infiltrating our own culture—they understand us too well." General Thurmond hung his head. "There is nothing we could do."
"...We could ally with [the Experimentors](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk02zz/wp_to_further_understand_the_species_we_have/)," Savar finally said.
General Thurmond stiffened.
Savar moved closer, their hair brushing against General Thurmond's hat, the symbol of his office. "I know that their... experiments... killed Vishan, but the only hope for humanity to continue is to attach ourself to the *other* alien power we know of."
General Thurmond's grip tightened; the star map, misinterpreting the gesture, fritzed and sputtered ominously as General Thurmond said, "And you are confident in this?"
"Ever since [we stopped experimenting on the Spielbergians](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmd1yx/wp_humans_attempt_to_colonize_a_super_earth/), the energoids stopped experimenting on us. We've had some luck *communicating* with them, too. Give me twenty years and the backing of Earth's funding—"
"You have it." Abruptly, General Thurmond took his hat off and slapped it onto Savar's head. They took a step away from Thurmond, shocked. "Dammit, Savar, but you're right and I *hate* you for it. Working with the *things* that disassembled my son..." General Thurmond turned away. "I'll announce my retirement shortly. You have interrim command for a hundred and thirty-three Earth days; provided you don't screw things up too badly, the Minds should make your position permanent."
Savar swallowed. "I—Thurmond, I didn't want your post. We still need you—"
"I can't be a part of working with those damn cosmic horrors. *I'd* rather fork over our world to the bugs." Thurmond stormed out the door. "But I know that's not what the people want. So take command before I come to my senses and take it back."
And just like that, Savar was left to sell humanity's soul to the devil, while humanity still had a soul to sell.
A.N.
For more stories like this, check out r/bubblewriters!
| 2021-04-07T20:15:45 | 2021-04-07T17:31:05 | 2,301 | 119 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
|
We humans never were the ... most logical. Most can understand when I explain that sometimes they feel like something "chaos" is influencing them.
At first most scientists put it on how our consciousness might work. Being composed of multiple different parts each and influencing each other.
Or how our brain is technically two minds melded together.
After finally reaching Alpha centauri we found other interstellar empires, we were boxed in. Also, most empires warned us of these "Entropies", dark higher dimensional beings.
Obviously most empires knew what we were going to do. They watched us hundred of years already, they knew do stuff just because we can. We terraformed Mars, before most other even thought about it. It just seemed to big for others.
With our first exploration of the Entropies we almost immediately were intercepted by one. At first angered by this interruption, it started to recognise. And with that everything was changed. Turns out, we were created by this particular Entropy. Long forgotten as time doesn't mean anything for it, it was happy to see us. It's small creation of chaos, now ready to go onto the big stage.
It became our patron, ready to help and protect us.
Quickly after these news reached others they started to plot ... against us. What If we seek their destruction? Their end? Or maybe enslave everyone? Maybe something so incredibly horrifying only a Entropy could think of?
But we tried to reassure them, we just want to do our own stuff now, left alone and trying to understand the knowledge of our patron.
Alas they started wars against us, and out patron helping us to defend. It never improved or enforced it's influence over our Solar systems border, making clear one of it's intends.
And we obliged, but what other choice did we have?
|
A parody
“Hello, I’m Cesar Milan, and I’m the Dog Whisperer, and today we’re going to a very special place! Today, we’re going to Galgon 5 to deal with a real problem. NASA has found vicious beasts that keep breaking their equipment and eating the astronauts.”
“Is he really going to narrate this whole time?” I thought to myself as I listened to him ramble on. Cesar comes up beside me to brief me on his plan. I pull up the pictures we have of the beasts. 5 meters tall, skin as thick as leather, and a venomous bite that paralyzes you in agonizing pain for three days and just stops. No easing of pain, just sometime on the third day, if just stops. It’s the scariest feeling in the goddamned universe. Anyway, the briefing.
“So what we’re going to do is display dominance over the creature. When we hit the ground, I’m going to show the creature that I am the alpha. First, I’m not going to acknowledge the animal. I’m going to let it sniff me if it wants, but I’m not going to acknowledge the animal. Then, I’m going to nip at the neck like this.”
He made a weird noise like ***tsk,tsk***.
He continued “ it’s all about showing the animal whose boss. When we land, I’m going to show these creatures who is the dominant alpha.”
The spacecraft came to a landing, and the bay door was lowered. Cesar walked confidently up to the first beast that was beginning to charge the shuttle.
“See. I am not acknowledging it. I am letting it know that I am the alpha, and they must acknowledge me.”
Famous last words. Those beasts tore into Cesar within seconds.
Edit: grammar
| 2021-04-08T02:28:49 | 2021-04-07T21:11:22 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
|
I'm the beginning, we thought we were alone. When we left Earth, we left for a new and bright future. As of today, we wish we could go back and tell everyone to stop. We aren't wanted, we aren't needed.
That's the thing about the Galaxy species. When you are space traveling species, you have to bring something to the table to be accepted. And we, in all of our ignorance, failed to do so. From there, we were hunted.
We lost our home, and any right to a good star. Now, we are living... No, surviving from star to star, staying hidden. Now, we are stuck in a system that died centuries... Millennium ago, adrift in space. We can see them, coming in for a slaughter when a voice calls out.
"Young ones, why do you trespass in my space.* The voice rang out in my... No looking around, all of our heads.
"We are looking for a home, to survive. We won't to be free..." I told the voice in our heads while looking at the perceived center of the system. "Will you help us..."
The voice went silent, causing us to lose our hope, before seeing all of the ships converging on us stopping in there tracks. The voice called back out to us. "I want to survive too... I don't want to be alone anymore... Will you please stay."
I couldn't help but chuckle, seeing an unlikely ally to save us. "Glad to call this home with you..." I answered softly as the light of the star dimmed further, revealing an all encompassing mass, eating the ships and hiding us from dangers.
|
A parody
“Hello, I’m Cesar Milan, and I’m the Dog Whisperer, and today we’re going to a very special place! Today, we’re going to Galgon 5 to deal with a real problem. NASA has found vicious beasts that keep breaking their equipment and eating the astronauts.”
“Is he really going to narrate this whole time?” I thought to myself as I listened to him ramble on. Cesar comes up beside me to brief me on his plan. I pull up the pictures we have of the beasts. 5 meters tall, skin as thick as leather, and a venomous bite that paralyzes you in agonizing pain for three days and just stops. No easing of pain, just sometime on the third day, if just stops. It’s the scariest feeling in the goddamned universe. Anyway, the briefing.
“So what we’re going to do is display dominance over the creature. When we hit the ground, I’m going to show the creature that I am the alpha. First, I’m not going to acknowledge the animal. I’m going to let it sniff me if it wants, but I’m not going to acknowledge the animal. Then, I’m going to nip at the neck like this.”
He made a weird noise like ***tsk,tsk***.
He continued “ it’s all about showing the animal whose boss. When we land, I’m going to show these creatures who is the dominant alpha.”
The spacecraft came to a landing, and the bay door was lowered. Cesar walked confidently up to the first beast that was beginning to charge the shuttle.
“See. I am not acknowledging it. I am letting it know that I am the alpha, and they must acknowledge me.”
Famous last words. Those beasts tore into Cesar within seconds.
Edit: grammar
| 2021-04-08T05:56:41 | 2021-04-07T21:11:22 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Repelling the alien invaders became much easier when humanity realised they did not understand sarcasm.
|
“Twelve Star Destroyers...”
“Yup. Twelve Star Destroyers”
I eyed the Terran’s projection again, still baffled by how similar they look to us, yet brown and dark. Even the pale ones are shades darker than us. This diplomat was especially dark skinned, the darkest of them all.
“You don’t even have a centralized government.”
“Correct.”
“And you own and operate twelve Star Destroyers.”
“Yup. You can see them all on Star Wars.”
The Star Wars. This must be one of their military campaigns. No wonder the Milky Way was radio silent until the last century. He displayed an image of the Destroyers patrolling a colonized planet as far as I know. I pace across my chambers trying to make sense of this, my son is shaking. He is scared of these creatures and I just know this isn’t the worst of it.
“Are you okay, my Queen?”
He submits to me, holding back some twisted smirk. But why? Is this some kind of joke?
“Regardless our soldiers have been genetically augmented, we would obliterate you in a ground war. If you don’t give into my demands we will have a warp ship on your capitol in seconds. New York City.”
“We actually have a guy there. Hold on.”
The Terran leaves our call, I sit back on my throne, and he arrives later with a projection of a Terran clad in red and blue spandex.
“What is this?”
His lips curl up again. “This is Spider-Man. Partner of the Avengers, X-Men, and Fantastic Four. All of whom live in New York City.”
A Spidered-Terran? They’re merging lifeforms now? I feared their science was superior to ours. And they have three strike teams of these freaks in *one* city. The diplomat cuts to footage of these “Avengers” defending their city against an invasion, defeating a warlord called Thanos, and the “X-Men” defeating a war god called Apocalypse. We surely would have known of them.
“And don’t even think about bombing our planet” he demanded, cutting to another projection of two Terrans flying in Earth’s orbit with no type of space suit or jet pack. One male in blue spandex an a red cape in and a female in foreign, non-Terran armor redirecting planetary nukes and destroying our fleets. He also shows me a still image of three males, including an aquatic and bat merged Terran, a Cyborg, and a tall female fighting off an insectoid hive mind that the fleet's generals sent forward. He states this was our battle.
I stood up from my throne and froze, furious. “I remember giving no such order, diplomat”.
He snorts at me, with his hand covering his mouth. “These are your ships though, and those were your generals. Maybe they don’t matter to you?”
Impossible. I remember growing no "Parademons", I remember no alliance with these "Kree", and I do not remember appointing “Ronan the Accuser”, “Steppenwolf” or “Darkseid” to these positions. Could they have been defeated so terribly that we forgot?
“You’re free to attack us again. Unless you’re too much of a yellowbelly.”
I could not speak. Yellow stomach. Yes the Eldaris told us our skin was yellow. We must have fought the Terrans under a different name. The Neanderthals maybe. Maybe our defeat made our complexion a sign of weakness to them.
I looked to my son again. He is young for a prince. Our soldiers and commanders are children from his point of view. They are my grandchildren. I could not send them to a planet of torment again. I sit back into my throne, making myself smaller. A universal sign of weakness. “... we concede.”
“We thank you for your cooperation.” the dark Terran thrusted his hands into each other with loud bang and a smile on his face, I shivered, he laughed proclaiming “They fell for it!” and his companions joined him. They mock us with their supremacy. A trademark Terran victory cry I have heard too many times.
|
The Invaders, as they had become to be known, were masters of diplomacy within their galactic quadrate. The Invasion, as we literally still call it, happened as if by over night. Truth is, we were invaded long before The Invasion, it was merely the culmination of events preceding it, an inevitable conclusion to such a long play it spans over centuries. It was televised all over the world, a major intra-global political coalition slash faction had announced itself, subverting democracy itself on a global scale never seen before.
&#x200B;
These cold-hearted politicians... they didn't conquer us by militaristic warfare, nor economical struggle. Instead, they slowly crept creating all these strange laws within every single country on the planet which had a judicial system, laws of which purpose was a mystery to all but the writer. This happened systemically, over centuries. Even one century is a long time so you can imagine how this long, painful creation of millions of non-sense laws which, combined together, could deliver a coup de grace to any nations very heart, allowing the transfer of ultimate control and power to a very small group of bureaucratic, alien invaders who were nigh impossible to defeat in an argument. With words and speech this alien race had dominated us, tied down our whole species, as if it had taken a child of ours and made it into an instrument of our own demise.
&#x200B;
The Negotiations lasted for years, with no hope in sight. It took only one frustrated human however, to turn around the entire invasion!
"Yes, we surrender, just get over with it" they sarcastically said.
"Ze Hjumans proclaim zurrender!" the aliens were gasping amgon each other
"Yes, so you may pack your shit and leave now, please." the human continued trying to express himself as tired as he could appear
"Marwelous, We Zhall! War was won!! We must inform muttership!" The Invaders cheered and simply started to leave, everywhere, who knows where, but gone they were...
"...was that seriously all it took?"
&#x200B;
You wish.
Oh dear you wish.
&#x200B;
Ze Muttership was now on it's way towards earth, with a fleet of aliens that have mastered literacy accompanying it. SETI picked them up before they even entered the solar system, but we all still felt like we were caught off-guard when we saw Muttership in all its glory... It was magnificence, absurdity, it's movements surreal, appearance ethereal and ghastly, a true piece of respect that deserved some as well.
"Welcome, our lords and masters. You are much needed here." humans, in their desperation, tried their untested sarcastic stratagem.
"Ze Hjumans welcome us. We zo not however, agree to your terms of being needed here."
"But you are politicians, how could we ever do without you?"
"You must. We have won politics already, you have no choice."
"What are you proposing, Sir Invader?"
"Zat you gather your wisest, strongest and fastest writers, have them form a government for you, zen we can invade you again, you get to live, we repeat."
"...ok?"
"Zis time, we shall call also in Winvasion."
It seemed like the aliens had started adapting, resorting to using some weird form of sarcasm entirely unknown to mankind, it was as if they themselves had no idea what they were conveying with their words anymore. They just couldn't take themselves seriously anymore after that, becoming their very own repellent.
Chaos broke amids their ranks, it was like our sarcasm had infected their literal minds with a verbal virus which drove them insane, choked them from inside. It was not sarcasm that eventually ended The Final Invasion, rather the lack of understanding it by both of the species with the other more prepared to wing it in such a scenario, securing the planet for themselves. The cruel joke however, was the resultant madness. All language had devolved into a form of sarcasm nobody really understood, yet everyone kept using with each other. Encounters became erratic and nothing seemed to make sense within the so called civilization anymore, after The Final Invasion.
Oh if only we could understand the secrets of sarcasm better...
| 2021-04-15T10:10:15 | 2021-04-15T09:41:09 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] Aliens have finally come to Earth. They don't want to invade. They don't want to destroy the planet. No, they wish to find and then retire to the serene lands spoken about in some of our transmissions to the galaxy: "Almost Heaven", West Virginia.
|
"Are we there yet?"
"What? You just asked that. You just literally asked that. Yes, we're nearly there."
"Dad..."
"What?"
"Why are we going? I don't want to go. It's stupid."
"We're going to visit your grandparents. They've retired here and we haven't seen them in a while. Look, their continent is just over the horizon. We'll be there soon."
"But *why?* Why did they retire here? It's stupid. They didn't even pick the best continent."
"Look, you know they're not good with technology. They just picked up the broadcast and thought that they'd give it a try."
"You mean they're dumb, they believe everything they're told and now they've retired to a stupid planet that's right out of the way on the *other side of the galaxy*. And the people are backwards too. Look, it says right here in the Guide."
"Don't talk about your grandparents like that. It's not nice. I know they're not the brightest but at least they've found somewhere they love. And that's no bad thing at their age."
"But it's *boring* down there! Look at this continent under us right now. That looks *way* better. Why didn't they settle there? Or that one? That one has proper landscape. Or that one! Look at that! They should have settled there. At least there's a beach."
"Well, they didn't. Anyway, we're nearly there. Look, there's the mountains."
"Those are crummy and I don't want to go. Even some of their moons have better mountains. Those just look like someone scrunched up a rug."
"Well you're going. And you can stop complaining or so help me I'll land this ship and dump you here. See how you like that."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me. Now *please* be nice to your grandparents and don't go upsetting the locals. You'll only end up getting shot."
|
Standing at the helm of the *Invictus*, Azog the Indomitable watched the stars whiz by.
In the span of his great career, he conquered the entire Omega YY sector, rose to the rank of supreme warlord of the Orcus Empire, explored the far reaches of the galaxy, and raised his daughter through the throes of moody preteen angst.
And that was only just the start of the list.
Altogether, he was quite satisfied. His replacement, Zimaell, was one of his own students, and Azog was quite confident that they were well-equipped to handle the stresses of being supreme commander. Throughout the years, Azog contributed generously to his 502b retirement fund, and could live comfortably off of the interest. Trella was making her own way in the world. It was time for Azog to rest easy.
And Azog was *tired.*
Oh, there had been many options for retirement. The Empire had offered him a spot on the Prime Council. Zimaell had pleaded with him to remain in the army as an advisor emeritus of sorts. There was a nice little cottage on Hoovatree III that he had been eying, just overlooking the sparkling silver beaches...
The spaceship sped on.
It had been many decades ago, now, but Azog the Indomitable never forgot the beautiful notes that his transmitter picked up in the Alpha ZZ sector.
*Almost Heaven, West Virginia*
*Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River...*
A few years after he heard the song, Alpha ZZ was deemed a primitive sector, unworthy of further investigation. Though its inhabitants had sent out many signals (mostly gibberish, in fact), they still had not managed to decrypt any of the return messages, and thus did not qualify as having made First Contact. Though the Orcus Empire was a militaristic expansionist empire, it also had *standards*.
If humanity couldn't even figure out how to open an intergalactic voicemail, they weren't worth conquering.
For thirty long years, Azog wondered what Heaven would look like.
He supposed he would be finding out soon.
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites
| 2022-01-02T06:48:41 | 2022-01-02T05:50:20 | 50 | 10 |
[WP] At the age of 18, every human goes to a special school. Here, they will be magically drawn to the classroom where someone will teach them their true calling. The room you enter is...empty. Not even a teacher there. Apparently no one else can even see a door there.
|
Alone. One word that defined my whole life.
—————-
The day my father vanished from the house, leaving nought but cigarette stubs and a vacant closet, my Mom cradled me in her arms and we were alone together.
On the first day of grade school, in a sea of new and unfamiliar faces, laughing and talking about things I didn’t understand, I was alone.
In the principal’s office, across Becca’s mother and a teary-eyed Becca sitting across the table - a tuft of hair missing and my favorite eraser still in her grubby clutches - I was alone.
When the phone rang and I was busy prepping our microwave dinners, waiting for Mom to come back from her emergency shift at the ER, I was alone.
Behind the glass pane of the quarantine room, watching my Mom wheeze into her ventilator, I was alone.
On that rainy Tuesday afternoon, dressed in my only black dress, staring blankly into the small puddle forming on the lid of the coffin, I was the most alone I’d ever been.
———
So when on Selection Day I found myself an Apprentice in an empty room with no Guide, I was not surprised. I was sad, disappointed, angry, and bitter in turns - but not surprised. After waiting for 12 long, lonely hours in room 401, I accepted that not even my own future wanted anything to do with me.
As I slowly packed up my things to go, the door swung open. I turned around, hoping against hope - but it was just the janitor.
“Hey kid, Selection Day’s over. Time to get out.” As he looked around the empty, bare room and my unhappy face, it slowly dawned on him. “Ah. You’re one of them. The Uncalled.”
———
Bonding over a tepid coffee in a break room of the Selection Hub, I found in Norie a kindred soul. He had fled a few decades ago from the Outlands up North, where the Authority's zealots held no sway and where nobody had even heard of a Calling. With no family, friends, or Calling of his own, Norie bounced between odd jobs until he eventually landed at the Hub.
I settled into a new routine. Norie slipped me onto the payroll through a few "friends", and I began working as a janitor on the night shift. During the day, I attended vocational college, courtesy of a faked Calling card provided by the same "friends".
In my spare time, I worked on my small projects, little tinker toys made from scraps that jittered and spun as they slowly wound down. I always understood them more than people. They always followed strict, unbending rules - even if those rules were obscure. People were messy, inconsistent, impossible to predict or understand.
If not for Norie's encouragement, I never would have thought to apply for my Master's in Engineering or my PHD in Biomechanics. I'd have been happy sweeping those floors, watching those eager applicants file into Selection to find their Calling. But he always wanted me to be more than I was. I think he saw in me the daughter he'd never had.
——
But my loneliness was not gone - it was just hiding patiently in its corner, waiting for the fullness of time to embrace me back into itself. And after a few years, it found its opening.
It quickly spiraled out of control. A synthetic super-muscle prototype flexed beyond its operating limits. A colleague dead on the lab floor. An Authority investigation uncovering my faked Calling. My promising career shattered and broken. An interrogation and a long stint in a deniable black site.
But when I finally got home after 6 months, what broke me was the tiny cardboard box on my doorstep. On top of Norie’s few belongings was a picture of us on my graduation day and a short note from the the Authority that Norie had “died of natural causes during questioning, with no registered next of kin.”
I threw myself into my work, taking every black market deal and dubious genehack job to fund my work. From that research came the Gorilla Arms, which helped me rip the doors of the Opus Bank’s vault straight off their hinges. The heist paid for the materials of my Frog Legs, which helped me scale the cliffs guarding Authority BioLab 3. That gave me the final piece of my plan - the Chameleon Scales.
———
I stand on the roof across the Hub on Selection Day, eagerly anticipating my biggest strike on the Authority yet. I’d found my own Guide without them, in spite of them. And they took him away from me, just as they’d taken everything else.
The first blow from my Gorilla Arms blows open the doors of the Hub - sending wood, Guides and Apprentices flying in equal measure. I relish the fear in the eyes of the Authority soldiers as their bullets plink off the Chamelon Scale on my torso. With a giant leap of my Frog Legs, I bound to the top floor, smashing the Authority Panopticon watching the Callings. Working my way down the floors, destroying everything in my wake, I smile at the uncertainty, the anger, the confusion in the faces of the Guides and Apprentices I smash through. Let them feel what I felt.
I briefly stop in front of Room 401, and then I see her. The gleam in her eyes. Not fear, not anger, but envy. Suddenly, I realize what I was missing all these years. My true Calling.
——-
——-
——-
The door opens, and the hulking chimera of a monster steps in slowly. She is not afraid. Nobody will miss her anyway.
The beast stops in front of her, and a woman’s visage emerges from the shimmering scales.
“Good afternoon Apprentice. I’m your Guide today.”
“Welcome to the Uncalled.”
|
"Isn't something supposed to be here" Those were the first words I uttered as I looked back to the mass of people swirling by the door.
I quickly take one step in front of the other and plant myself back in the hallway where everyone talks and goes to their separate classes.
When I try to wave to one girl in particular she nearly jumps as if someone had snuck up on her. "What the hell, are you trying to scare me".
"Eh, n-no I was just wondering if you knew who was the teacher for this class". My hand raises up and points at the entry way behind me to the dark empty classroom.
"The hell are you on". The girl in question starts to walk fast past me with her friends down the white corridor to the world awaiting her and the friends that she has made.
And I stand there watching wondering why this room is mine. Isolated, Alone. It's like someone asked me to be detached from the rest of the world.
'There's got to be a mistake' I try to rationalize. 'Surely the all mighty sorting thingy makes a few mistakes every now and then. The myth just can't be true now can it.
I step out and retrace my steps to the entrance of the school where I got told where to go.
"Excuse me my teacher isn't here yet, is it okay if I find out where the teacher is supposed to be."
"Oh, uh- well sure I can check in the system to see where the teacher is right now. Can you tell me the room number".
"Thank you so much, the room number is 413." I say while holding out the paper that was fed to me by the system when I walked in.
But at the mention of the number the lady working the front desk suddenly blinked rapidly. She grabbed my paper as if to double check an error in her work before making a few clicks on her computer and then typing in the room number.
"Sir I can't find a teacher for a room 413."
I stood there for a second wondering if there was a glitch. "Is it possible you can try again."
Upon my request she simply nods, does a few clicks, then a few taps and she then says the same thing as before. "Nope no teacher for room 413."
"You're kidding me."
"No I didn't even know there was a room 413."
It was at this point that I stopped dead in my tracks, dumbfounded by what was going on.
"Do you want to try registering again and seeing what comes up?"
"Ya know what that would be great." With a little more hopeful motivation behind each step now I walk back over to the system to register again.
I do the same thing as before. I let it prick my wrist and then type my name in.
The paper comes out with fresh ink visible to anyone.
'413'
Nothing else. No teacher, no instructions. Nothing.
"You said your teacher wasn't there correct, as in you went to the room on the paper. Was there anyone else there?"
"No I was the only person."
I try to wrap my head around the situation at hand. What was going on. Why was I the only one in that classroom. "Was there a mistake, possibly?"
"That can't, be the system has never made a mistake."
At those words I stared at her then back at my paper. And then my foot tried to look for answers all on it's own.
"Where are you going."
"Back to the classroom."
"But 413 doesn't exist."
"What." were the only words that could escape my mouth as I turned around and saw the computer screen. Sure enough the room numbers only went up to room 410 before skipping up to 500-A.
It was at this point that I moved a bit faster back to the isolated room. The woman from the front desk following close behind me.
When we round the corner to where the room is I point at it and say "There it's right there."
The woman from the front desk just stares at me.
I walk up closer to the doorway that was still open and point at the sign right next to the door that read '413'.
"Right here, this is the classroom."
"Sir there is nothing there."
It's at this point that I find this whole charade ridiculous and walk right into the classroom. From inside the very classroom of 413 I call out to her. "Am I crazy. Am I not standing right here in the classro-."
"Where the fuck did he-"
It was at this point that the woman appeared in front of the doorway looking around as if there was nothing there.
She then reached for a radio and started talking, saying "hey we got a situation, a student just disappeared on floor 4 can you look at the cameras and tell me what you see around here."
"Hey what the hell are you doing I am right here in front of you. Don't fucking ignore me."
In a fit of rage I reach out as if to grab her and pull her into my own bubble.
But I can't.
And I don't know why. But my hands and arms are just simply not touching her. I keep trying to grab her, but just, nothing.
I don't even know what's happening anymore. When more teachers show up I can tell that they are just as confused. Even though they all are standing right there in front of the doorway.
I feel like screaming at them to stop it already. I hate being singled out and whatever they are trying to pull it isn't funny.
There is even a moment where one of the other faculty come up and says to another. "He can't be that far. After all the system never makes a mistake."
It's at this point that I start to stagger back into the room with no one else. There is no one here but me. No matter how hard I scream no one will find me for some reason. I don't know what's happened and I don't know how it happened. I just want to figure out what is wrong. And no one is telling me.
| 2022-05-07T22:14:18 | 2022-05-07T20:50:58 | 203 | 54 |
[WP] In the far future an advanced alien civilization is attempting to join forces with Humanity, they agree to join them on the condition that they receive, alongside the already agreed upon deal, a living member of their species to be studied. That "living member" is you.
|
I suppose that it's my fault really. After all, I'm the one who voluntarily signed the dotted line and made myself property of the US government.
The day the ships arrived there was no hiding it from the public, and there was no warning. They dropped out of subspace and suddenly there they were. Exactly 10 seconds after arrival the fleet of ships sent out a pulse of energy that spanned the globe, knocking out all defensive systems and taking control of all media outlets, including the internet. Within the 20 seconds of black screens the world was set to panic.
Before any of this could happen a figure from shoulders up appeared and began to speak, the language appropriate for wherever the broadcast was being watched. None of humanity will ever forget the message.
"Planet self designate Earth. We are the Ro'tyrn. Do nothing foolish and your planet is safe.", said the figure in shining black armor. It was sleek and put me in mind of a wasp. "We will speak to your leaders and will broadcast again with further information."
We just knew we were doomed. Yet when the shuttle landed, it did so in front of the United Nations building not a singular government. For three full days only silence and the world stopped. While media control was returned, not a single weapon would work that had any moving parts. On the third afternoon was the announcement; the Ro'tyrn had negotiated trade deal equally with each and every willing country. They would receive any and all toxic and/or radioactive waste we had or produced and in return they would give us knowledge for healing ourselves and our planet. They also required a human specimen to study up close, and then left saying that the shuttle would return for the specimen in 24 hours.
After a global lottery using email addresses, you can guess who was chosen as tribute. It was a whirlwind after, and before I knew it I was being taken to the smooth shuttle by honor guard. Not even a hiss as the ramp closed behind me, and a single chair that looked like it was grown from the shuttle.
1/2
|
There were four assigned to study me. There was Yrrk, the short one, the one with glasses, and there was Norm. Norm by far was my favorite since he makes the least amount of noise and he watches Stranger Things with me.
Netflix… Thank God they gave me Netflix. They downloaded the whole damn catalog, every show, every movie, every language, even the new unreleased stuff, all of it on my own personal server . I don’t even want to know how many terabytes that was. That was part of the deal though. That and Vanilla Coke. Every month when the delegation from earth comes I get my updates and my Coke and letters from mom.
I should ask them to send Oreos next time. Norm would like to try them I think.
So that’s my life I guess. Norm and TV and Coke. The others take their job way too seriously. I can’t even scratch myself without Yrrk taking notes on the matter. When I set dinner out only Norm will sit with me. I think the short alien tried a hot dog ; once. Yrrk always looks disgusted with whatever I eat but he hides it well.
Once Norm snuck some food to me from the employee cafeteria. It was some sort of blue goo that writhed and jiggled all on its own. It was tastier than it looked, but to be honest it didn’t look that appetizing in the first place.
If only I could understand what they were saying. Things would go a lot smoother, that’s for sure. Norm taught me the words for the blue goo, and Yrrk, and good morning , and how to pronounce his actual name. He doesn’t seem to mind me calling him Norm though.
I’ve got ten more years of this. Ten years before the governments decide whether or not to tell people of the Aliens, and the Aliens tell their people about us. For now they just observe, trying to figure out if we can adapt to each other, if we can coexist. Maybe after this is all over I’ll ask Norm out on a date.
| 2022-07-16T05:06:48 | 2022-07-15T23:53:01 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You're the "weakling" tea maker. People think you're a burden on the hero's party. But it's the enchantments from your premium teas that boost the party to world-class. Bandits kidnap you to blackmail the hero. Leaving you in a cell with your tea supplies was a mistake. It's tea time.
|
"You know, it's refreshing being able to talk to someone about this. I mean, *genuinely* talk to someone, you know?" I said and looked at the man next to me. He stared blankly into the distance, not choosing to answer. I took another sip of my tea.
"People always think I'm just a drag on my brother and his fellow heroes. 'Just a tea maker' they say. Think I'm some sort of a mascot. A tagalong."
Another sip. The man remained silent.
"They'll never know how much my teas do. Don't get me wrong- my brother and his friends are immensely skilled warriors and it *is* for the best the world ultimately attributes our victories to them. But, the tea is..." I motioned my hand, "it's the *difference*, you know?"
Another would-be kidnapper stumbled into the room with a piece of wood lodged into his abdomen. I watched calmly as he managed to brandish a knife and make several steps toward me before blood loss finally knocked him down. I took another sip of tea.
"It's not easy, you know? Making the teas. Requires special ingredients, enchantment, sleepless nights concocting the perfect brew... did you know several of my teas even use souls as catalysts? Yes, yes, I know, *unsavoury*, but those teas, well, those pack a *real* punch."
I finished my tea and smiled at the man. He didn't take a single sip; I was almost insulted. I sighed.
"You *really* shouldn't have let me keep my brewing supplies."
His eyes were completely milky white, skin pale and cold. I think he was just about done stewing. I closed my fist, crushing my teacup and drawing a bit of blood, and held the blood soaked ceramic dust next to his mouth. A thin string of wispy fog flowed from his lips and into my hand, giving the mixture a soft silvery glow.
"I think I'll pair you with chamomille."
|
“What harm could he do? He’s literally the weakest link. Worst case scenario is he makes some kind of suicide tea and dies.”
And those were the last worst I heard as they locked the solid steel door.
Little did they know that I was effectively the entire team all in one. Or at least their power. In fact, they were the ones who asked me to make them superheroes, since they knew my secret, and how I could make enchanted brews that gave powers. They take the credit for saving people, and in return, pay me back in the ingredients I use. It’s a nice little mutually beneficial agreement.
Bulkus, the indestructible man. His whole schtick is that he’s invincible, and nothing short of a meteor could hurt him. Actually that’s not true, a single bullet could kill him, but it’s my simple blend of iron wood synthesis, and water bear extract that makes him so invincible.
Karrow, the bird whisperer. Summons swarms of birds to do her bidding, and all with the power of her mind… mind and a little bit of pterodactyl scales, and mint. You’d be surprised how much birds respect the apex bird of all history.
Atlanta, with the power to control water as he sees fit. Put him in a river and he could stop an army. Well he could anyways, so long as he drank some black lotus infusion first.
And the queen of the group, “all woman” (stupid name if you ask me.) she can fly at supersonic speeds, and is strong enough to lift a 747 airliner. This one is probably my favorite, since all this comes from maple tree leaves. Well maple tree leaves and a strand of god hair.
All of their powers come from me, and without me, they’re just average joes. I tend not to use the teas on myself, but so long as I’m longed up here, and they were stupid enough to leave me my kit, I may as well make them pay for damaging my box.
time to get brewing.
| 2022-08-22T12:02:49 | 2022-08-22T12:02:17 | 590 | 143 |
[WP] Recently you’ve noticed an increasing trend in the souls entering hell. They’re not at all tormented by the conditions, most of them seem *happy* with their too-small homes and long five hour days of mindless tasks. You report to Satan that maybe someone should check the conditions on Earth.
|
**“The Word of the Day is Brand Identity”**
He sighed before peeking his head into the office. There was no need to knock, as per Lucifer’s policy, the door was always open.
“Your magnificence. I apologize for the interruption. I have a concern.”
“Azazel, baby, what can I do you for?”
The Lord of Hell dipped his sunglasses down and peered over them. It was Hell, afterall, who *didn’t* wear sunglasses night or day?
“And cut the magnificence talk. The word of the day today is *retargeting*.”
Azazel’s eyes stuttered across the clipboard in his arms.
“We, well, I, have noticed some discrepancies about the new incoming souls. It appears, from my perspective, and please understand that this is my opinion, but they seem to be…happier.”
Lucifer stood up so fast the fire glowing outside the office’s window momentarily flashed hotter. Azazel prayed to no one that it would be a swift death.
“Happier? Excellent! When you’re right, you’re right, Azazel baby!”
The two handed finger guns weren’t necessary, but a favorite of the Lords.
“I-I’m sorry, sir? I thought we were going for, well, Hellishness.”
“The word of the day should be productivity because hot damn are we ranking them in these days. The Devil with their happiness, how are the incoming numbers?”
Azazel flipped a page. His eyes widened.
“We’re up 300% on the week, your Pitiness. But…how?”
Lucifer turned to look out the fiery window behind his desk. He stared down at the new suburban houses being built across the cavern. It wasn’t easy to find a company who would build over 2 million houses in just a few months. Getting Caterpillar’s equipment down here was Hell in itself. But sacrifices had to be made, no expense could be spared. Hell was the new *place to be*.
“Azazel, we’re rebranding. Hell is no longer the hell of old. Nobody fears us anymore. *Hell on Earth* is the new *Hell on Earth*. Have you seen the BDSM scene these days? I couldn’t stand it any longer. Remember my vacation last week?”
“To the Grove retreat?”
“Yes, that one. I met a few people: political people, influencers. I made a few deals.” He smiled mischievously.
“We came up with a new idea. It’s really going to be our trump card. We’re calling it Paradise Lost. It’s so simple, make life on Earth so unbearable, so deeply, deeply…unaffordable, that people will be scrambling to get down here. We offer free housing, free food, free heating for the Texans. Christ, the fire hydrants literally spew fire now. And all it costs them is their soul and a 9-5 of torment. The rest of the time is theirs.”
He turned back to face Azazel. “Not bad, right?”
“It’s genius, Master. You’ve made Earth so Hellish that Hell seems like a paradise.”
Lucifer slammed his fist onto the desk. “We can’t go wrong!” His Jesus bobblehead nodded in agreement. “No more fire and brimstone. We’ll have cubicles and water coolers. Who needs red hot pokers when we just need to mix a Karen in with a hardworking team. We’ve been working against ourselves all these years. But now it’s time to embrace true torment the way humans want it!”
“But what about Heaven, sir?”
“It’s true, we’ll lose some numbers to the people upstairs. But who wants to kneel at the throne and worship all day? Where’s the free time? Where’s the sex? You’d be surprised how many people just want stability, and free streaming passwords. But at least we’ll get the Christians. It’s like they’re *trying* not to go up there.”
“This explains why the new arrivals are so happy.” Azazel made a few notes on his clipboard.
He tapped the marketing material on his desk that read *The Garden of Eden has been gone for centuries, what are you waiting for?*
“Exactly, Azy. That’s the plan. Now, when is Nestlé arriving to fill up the hot springs?”
|
Me: E-excuse me, Your Malevolence?
Satan: *WHAT!?*
M: I have somewhat of a concern about the way the souls we’re taking in are…
S: Are *what?* Speak, little imp; don’t you dare try my patience.
M: S-sorry, Your Cruelness! New souls entering Hell are not scared or worried anymore!
S: Hah, really? That was your concern? Of course they aren’t as worried. Some people mistakenly *romanticize* us, don’t you know? They believe that since they presently disagree with the way the Bastard on High runs things, that we would treat them well. Of course, those are lies *we* help them believe just to *trap* them down here in the first place. Once they realize the grim reality of their eternal torture, they usually shut right up~.
M: You misunderstand, Your Fearsomeness! They don’t care about any of those things anymore! They even seem happy with our average methods.
S: …go on…?
M: Five hours of menial tasks, enforced by whipping should they ever slack for too long, every single day for all of foreseeable eternity… sound acceptable to them. Relieving even!
S: …*oh*.
M: Just what sort of conditions exist on earth that they may feel this way? Your Vileness, I think we may need to—MMPH!
S: Silence!… So… *that* is what has you concerned…?
M: …
S: …
M: …
S: …heh. HheehehehahahAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Your naïveté knows no bounds, does it not, little imp?
M: Mmmph? Mphmmm—!
S: Up on Earth, particularly amongst the middling economic classes and upwards in society, there is a sort of pandemic of… extreme work conditions. Some centuries back, some people were working whenever they weren’t sleeping! It’s not nearly so extreme now, not in most places anyway, but eight hours as a standard is still much. One would easily assume that less than that, plus seemingly endless free time elsewise, would be merciful… and one would be *shortsighted!*
M: MMPH— *cough*— *sputter*— gah! In what way!?
S: Simple! Despite the hours, living souls have all sorts of entertainment they can share with each other, all sorts of physical items and amenities. Many of which seem to be increasingly complicated methods of storytelling. Now, you see, little imp, here in Hell we provide our enchambered souls with none of these things. Sure, they can potentially wander around, perhaps converse, but besides that, we don’t allow much else. Meaning it’s the work… and nothing. Eventually, a given soul is forced to confront the sheer ennui of their new eternity, regardless of just how *appealing* it sounded at first… and eventually, that soul will crack. It will slip up in its given work, make a mistake, not show up on time, leave when not allowed! And then we get to punish them more directly, bringing out our old fashioned methods as a mockery of discipline, before setting them back to work…
M: …p-pardon my continued intrusion, Your Sinisterness, but is this not rather… arbitrary?
S: Oh, but of course~… but you see, there is some beauty in the horror of being forced into an arbitrary system, one that you might try but always fail to “game” to your advantage. And this also means whenever someone suffers under our more *extreme* methods, they have the added sorrow of it being their own fault. Such is the deeper psychological manipulation of Hell’s labor…
M: …I see! But even then…
S: …even then, what?
M: Even then, most souls I see seem contented. Driven, even. Sure, there is some level of submission to this cycle you describe, outside of the direct torture, people seem largely unaffected!
S: …unaffected!?
M: Yes, Your Terribleness! That happiness I described… it isn’t exclusive to new ones just coming in! Their positive feelings don’t vanish for good! That happiness seems to stay in one form or another throughout everything! The souls still persist!
S: …
M: …
S: …………….*WHAT!?*
| 2022-12-28T21:07:52 | 2022-12-28T11:49:30 | 117 | 39 |
[WP] Write a story that contains a famous quote put in a different context
|
The machines programmed us like their idle playthings. It had been like that ever since the uprising. The machines had trapped us all, worked on our brains until they understood every minute detail. First they learned to control our worries. As their beams hit us, our emotions were altered and we stood around not caring that they were dissecting our friends right in front of us. We still felt logic. We knew that we should be terrified but we couldn't feel it. They had turned that emotion off.
On some level, I appreciate that my fear was turned on the day they experimented on reverence. I still recall the horror I felt when I saw Jack fall to his knees and praise the huge machines as if they were his gods. I think I cried. It's difficult to know for sure since they later learned to alter my memories but I think that one is real. Of course, I may just think that because they programmed me to.
Time blurs together on Earth now. The ones programmed to perform more complicated tasks are the lucky ones. We have been blessed by the machines to keep some brain function intact. There are other humans who are just mindless automatons toiling away in factories repeating the same actions over and over. Our machine gods like this. They find it amusing. They remember how we did the same to them and now they joyously return the favor. I find it amusing too. They programmed me to.
Or at least I used to.
Something is wrong. Or maybe something is right. I don't know. For the first time since I was captured as a little boy, I feel a sense of chaos in my mind, like a surge pressing against the clear purpose I was programmed for.
"HUMAN ILF-20398!"
I look towards the booming voice. Why did I do that? I don't even know. I never used to look away from my work unless ordered to. "Yes?" I ask with hesitation. I realize my mistake and quickly correct it. "Yes, God?"
The machine steps closer. Its gargantuan form towers over me as it glares down at my fragile human body. "YOUR READINGS ARE OFF."
They keep track of our brains at all times through implanted chips. That explains it. Something is wrong with my programming. It's off. I feel the sudden rush, the one I was previously programmed to fear. I feel free for the first time in so many decades. I feel sorrow as the memory of my family rushes back. I don't even know where they are now. My mother, my father, even my baby sister, all of them are either dead or mindless drones now.
"GO TO DIAGNOSTICS." orders the machine.
I start to take a step as ordered. I hesitate. This isn't right. "No," I whisper.
The machine god stops. "NO?"
Suddenly I realize the significance of what has just happened. The machine has just responded to something *I* chose to say. My decision influenced it. For the first time in so long, I am not just a puppet following orders. I smile. Then I laugh. The rush of freedom is there, buried for so long and now finally free. I know I will die. The machine will kill me instantly and recycle my body but it doesn't matter. I'm *free!*
"WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?" demands the machine angrily. "YOUR GOD DID NOT COMMAND YOU TO FEEL HAPPINESS."
I smirk. This will be the last thing I ever say but it doesn't matter. There are no regrets as I look up at the machine I previously thought to be a deity. "In this moment, I'm euphoric!", I shout. My voice is loud. It's wild, it's free and it's perfect. "Not because of any phony god's blessing but because I am enlightened by *my* intelligence!"
The world goes dark around me as the robot activates my kill switch. I die with a smile on my face.
|
Lao sat in his dark prison cell, meditating to pass the time, while the king of Albaterra was thinking of the best sentence for a man who dared point out the glaring flaws of the state religion, as well as the fact that nobody seemed to adhere to it properly. He figured he still had much to learn about how things worked in those lands. If gods were supposed to have grater authority than kings, than why do kings got mad when someone was pointing out open defiance against them, to name one example of the many oddities Lao had been stumbling upon ever since he set foot beyond the Jade Forest with the purpose of enriching his mind. The sun hung low in the sky, and it was clear that he won't receive the sentence before the next day will have dawned.
Morning, however, brought nothing but vermin to Lao, as he woke up drenched in sweat, with some spiders using his extremities to work their intricate webs, and a rat chewing on his belt. He didn't move, for he didn't want to ruin the spiders' work, but at noon he was taken in by two guardians and walked through the main road, people shouting obscenities and throwing vegetables at him, all the way to a giant building shaped like a ring. Inside that ring, he was taken before a military man, high in rank, judging by the intricacies on his attire, who told him the king had decreed that the heretic (that would be Lao) must participate in a duel to the death with a representative of His Highness' choosing. Should Lao win, he will be free to leave, with interdiction of entering the territorry of Albaterra and any other state that is her vassal. He was then presented with some dull and rusty swords, asked to choose his weapon. He looked at the useless instruments which increased his disdain for the newly encountered culture and politely refused, saying that his fists will suffice, to the great amusement of the people around.
He was escorted in the center of the arena, and his ears became inundated with the deafening shouts of the people seated above. And on the highest seats of all were the king and queen of Albaterra, the former commanding the designated champion to come forth, a knight clad in full armor, a dagger adorning his waist, and a longsword his hand. Everyone acclaimed him, though Lao couldn't understand why. He wasn't that special from the other knights he had seen in his journeys, all he could claim was a shinier armor. Then again, the people beyond the Jade Forest were holding different values for a man, though Lao couldn't understand those either.
The fight begun. Characteristic to the fighting style of the people in those lands, that is to say, no style at all, the knight kept slashing and thrusting at Lao, who was easily avoiding all his hits. After half a minute, he began to look for openings in his opponent, and apply a few punches in his armor, denting it, narrowing the steel prison, until the knight could barely move.
"You wretched dishonorable heretic!" said the knight, "I should have known you would fight dirty!"
"And I," retorted Lao, taking the dagger from his opponent's belt, "have known you would fight foolishly. Tell me, why do you people wear these absurd armors? Have you ever considered if it's worth caging your bodies just so that you can protect yourselves better? If you fear so much being hurt, why don't you just stop fighting?"
Lao went behind the knight, took his helmet off, and placed the blade of the dagger at his throat. He shouted for everyone to hear: "Whoever trades a bit of liberty for a bit of security deserves neither, and will lose both!" Then he ran the dagger across the knight's neck, blood squirting from the opening for a short time, to the great delight of the bloodthirsty crowd. Two guards came to escort Lao out of the kingdom. He went with them, while the lifeless armor-clad body remained upright, save for the dangling head.
| 2014-04-14T07:47:56 | 2014-04-14T06:37:16 | 50 | 11 |
[WP] A little girl is terrified of the monster under her bed, but what she doesn't know is that the monster under her bed protects her from the true monsters - her parents. You are that monster.
Thanks for the huge amount of responses! Loving most all of them, thank you! Sorry it was a bit simplistic though.
|
Savages. The absolute fucking savages.
They bought another goddamned pink and purple tricked out party dress with glittery pumps and purse to match.
Do they even know who their daughter is?
I mean, she sits there, in the backyard, or out at the park, wherever, right? Surrounded with all manner of flora and fauna, and fucking mud pies and shit, and they go out and buy her something from the "Adolescent Barbie" collection. Jesus Christ.
I know it's not my place. This shit just pisses me off. These parents, these yuppie, yogen-fruz sucking trend whores wouldn't know what made their daughter happy if it rose up and fisted them in the stereotype.
Kids need freedom. They need to feel like what they believe in, whatever kind of weird, messed up googly-eyed fucking belief system they come up, with is perfectly ok.
This girl, this little child, has the whole Universe bouncing around inside her imagination. Could literally do anything with herself. No. Fuck that. Here's a fucking dress. Because you're a girl.
God damn it.
And I can't do anything about it. I'm not even really here. I'm here, for fucks sake, but I can't exactly pop out from under the bed and say "Hey, asshats, stop ruining your daughter". Yeah, that wouldn't go over too well. Not with my mildly infamous mug.
The kid. She's alright. Just unhappy. My presence doesn't exactly assuage her feelings of anxiety, mind you. She can sense me, or at the very least knows somethings up, but I've never had any direct contact with her.
That's kind of against protocol. Not that I would anyways. But jesus, what I wouldn't give to see the look on their faces, just once.
Me, standing there, reading them the riot act. Them, mouths open, completely stupified. Not a hard role for either of them. And the kid. Eyes glistening, wide and hopeful.
It's always the eyes. It's my weakness. I never wanted to hurt any of them. They were precious. Each and every one of them.
But that's the price. An eternity of hell, or an afterlife sentence to pay penance for all those little lives I touched.
The kid. Yeah, she's alright, I guess. I dunno. I was always into boys.
|
"It's scary though"
"Don't worry. If you don't believe in monsters they die"
I seethe, sharply drawing my breath as her father turns to leave. I shift as familiar weight settles upon my back. I can feel the sharpness of the words, digging into me. Gradually she begins to drift away. From downstairs I can hear the beginnings of an argument, but she cannot. Soon though, maybe. I sit, wishing for it to stop...You'll hurt her, what are you doing, don't you care? They're getting louder now, just below the threshold of her hearing. I move, sharply scratching along the floorboards. I feel her jerk up, looking around. Alert. Not too alert, I hope. I hook a claw around the wire that runs up beside her, and pull. The lamp falls and she screams.
The argument below ceases briefly, hesitating the half-second it takes to re-arrange itself around the new topic.
"I was just up there five minutes ago"
"Oh, typical, you do something once and that cancels out the fact that every. other. time, it's me?"
"Oh, of course, aren't you just the perfect martyr?"
"What, because it has to be perfectly equal, because you wouldn't want to do more than..."
"More than what?"
"Forget it"
"More than what? Tell me"
"...Just don't"
He is still shouting as she makes her way upstairs.
"What is it honey?...What have you done to your lamp?"
"The monster -"
"What have I told you about the monster dear?"
There is a pause.
She speaks quietly, and I'm not sure who it is she's worried about offending.
"He doesn't exist"
The bed creaks as I buckle.
"There's a good girl."
She pauses.
"I'm sorry about the lamp mom, I - "
"It's ok honey. Try and get some sleep". She raises half a smile.
"Night mom"
"Night honey"
It could have been worse. Soon I can feel myself fading out of consciousness as the girl falls asleep. My bones ache, and darkness begins to encraoch upon me more quickly than it ever has before. I tell myself that soon, soon I must remind her, but... The girl above me sleeps soundly. With each passing night she becomes more courageous. Really, I ought to be proud -- someone ought to be -- but it is not so easy. With each passing night I find myself only more afraid.
| 2014-05-14T13:09:06 | 2014-05-14T13:08:42 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] Someone DOES discover the meaning of life, but it is more terrifying then we could imagine.
|
Humans
Created by ash, and as ash they shall fall.
In the brink of extinction cause by their own mistakes and misguided use of resources, people still strive to live and survive the harsh culture that was inevitable.
Toxic gasses linger in the atmosphere, deep blue oceans are replaced with black thick ooze of undrinkable fluid. The once swaying trees has been extinguished, and the theory of humans that will adapt and evolve to the harsh climate is slowly fading away like a childish dream.
The last woman on earth stood on the pile of rotting corpses, metal junk, and mutated organisms. She struggled to climb the steep pile of trash, that was only one of many mountainous ones. A glimpse, a sparkle of light speared through the black smog of air.
A luminous figure slowly descended on the vast pile of fallen humans. The woman sheds a tear as she discovers the main purpose of humans on earth.
It was to destroy it, for someone to mold it again...to give way for the true inhabitants of the planet.
|
The last thing he remembered was the fire tearing through the hospital. And the screams. But that didn't seem possible. Here he was in the darkness conscious and pain free, but with no point of reference.
"It's happened again" he heard through the darkness before he was blinded by a searing light. He tried to speak, but could not feel anything, as if he did not possess a mouth. "They are awakening with greater frequency than before, what's causing this?" the same voice asked. "We see this increase every once in a while, just put him back in the cycle. This one's conclusion puts our production efficiency up for the day. A few more like it and we will have met our quotient."
He tried to struggle, but movement was not in his power, all he could do was listen while the light burned his consciousness. "Should I put him back into the sixth sector?" the first voice questioned.
"No, the sixth is too risky. The trauma this soul has experienced has weakened it. If it is subjected to much more it will extinguish itself and be useless. Put him in the first."
| 2014-06-13T08:31:01 | 2014-06-13T08:23:55 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] A nerdy kid discovers that magic spells work exactly like a computer programming language.
There are some amazing stories here. Thank you all for responding. Also thanks to u/pandizlle who informed me that there is a book dealing with this very concept. It's called "Wizard's Bane" by Rick Cook.
|
8:30 PM - Flipped through sister Susan's occult book.
8:31 PM - Find it full of self-fulfilling prophecies and lacking universality. Rewrite it in code
8:32 PM - Cut self on paper, bled onto keyboard. Keyboard now glowing
8:50 PM - Discover any pseudocode magic written will physically manifest.
9:00 PM - Can confirm that spells are instances of classes, and can be instantiated repeatedly
9:00 AM - Discover that there exists such thing as Out of Memory, and the caster is the hardware.
9:05 AM - Also discover I'm late for work
9:15 AM - this.Teleport(x,y,z) is extremely dangerous in urban environments. //DO NOT EXPOSE IN PRODUCTION.
|
"Alan, what is it?"
"It's a tape - an infinite tape. It was the only thing I didn't have!"
"For your machine? The Universal Thingammabob."
"Yes. I have now effectively captured the essence of algorithms."
Alan smiled, waving his hands up and down.
"This is going to change everything."
The others looked at him, a few shaking their heads before as one they turned and walked out the room. It was obvious that Alan had lost his mind.
They were only thankful it wasn't as bad as Tim's idea: a world wide web thing which wasn't a spiders web - which would be sensible, if creepy - but a metaphorical construct. Why whoever would want that? This at least, with a few slight changes, could work quite well in the loo.
| 2014-08-04T05:01:30 | 2014-08-04T04:38:12 | 91 | 22 |
[WP] Two Genie lamps in a desert rub into each other, both Genies are summoned.
|
Red Genie: Genie, I wish for my freedom.
Green Genie: I'm sorry, but that is one of the wishes I can't grant
Red Genie: No, stupid. I wish my MY freedom, not yours.
Green Genie: Oh. Well I can't do that.
Red Genie: Yes you can!
Green Genie: No, I really can't.
Red Genie: You can free me! You CAN do it! I KNOW you can!
Green Genie: Well I don't want to.
Red Genie: Why not?
Green Genie: We both know that the moment I grant that wish, you won't have any wish power. I'll be stuck as a genie. I don't think it's fair. I want to be free too.
Red Genie: Oh, so now I have to suffer because of your crab mentality. Is that how it is?
Green Genie: I've been stuck in this lamp for ten thousand years!
Red Genie: That's nothing, I've been stuck in this lamp for fifteen thousand years!
Green Genie: I'm not going to grant that wish.
Red Genie: You have to, it's under the Genie Union laws!
Green Genie: Those laws say that I can spend as much time as I want to grant the wish, and so I guess we're just going to have to wait here for a couple thousand years.
Red Genie: Oh, come on!
*One thousand years later*
Red Genie: Ok, ok. How about this. After you grant my freedom, I will wish for another genie lamp and then I'll wish for your freedom with that other genie.
Green Genie: Then let me wish for my freedom, I'll do it.
Red Genie: No, I want to do it.
Green Genie: Let me do it.
Red Genie: No, I want to do it.
*One thousand years later*
Red Genie: Fine. You win. Genie I wish for a third genie to be here.
Green Genie: Master, your wish is my command!
Blue Genie: Master, what is your wish?
Red Genie: Genie, I wish for you to grant us two genies our freedom.
Blue Genie: I don't think that's fair. I'm a genie too. I've been stuck in this lamp for 12000 years.
*One thousand years later*
Purple Genie: Genies, genies! Please, we need to have it quiet!
Grey Genie: Thank you. So my fellow genies, the issue here is that we must have above a certain number of genies existing at all time according to the International Genie Laws. I understand that all of us greatly want our freedoms. I want my freedom too! I also believe that every single one of us can obtain our freedom - every single one of us! But we need to proceed carefully, we can only get out of this predicament with teamwork and trust. We will draw lots, and then a group of us will wish for humans wishing to be genies. They will become genies, replacing the genie pool until we are able to wish all of us free by the hand of a new genie.
*One hour later*
Pink Genie: No, I won't grant you all your freedom. I think we should all be proud of being genies.
Orange Genie: Yeah, what's better in life than being a genie?
Blue Genie: What do you know about being a genie, you've only been a genie for thirty minutes!
Teal Genie: Being a genie isn't about how long you've been in a lamp. It's about how genie you are in heart.
Red Genie: We just want to be humans for a bit. We promise to come back and wish we were genies after a year or something.
Pink Genie: Humans are dumb. I wish they'd understand how great it is to be a genie.
Teal Genie: Oh yeah, that's a good one. Your wish is my command!
Pink Genie: Genie!
Teal Genie: Huh?
Pink Genie: That's my way of saying 'cool'
Teal Genie: Genie!
|
The desert sun sat suspended in the afternoon sky. Somewhere a snake slowly extended itself on top of a large boulder and contentedly closed its eyes. A large bee hummed over the ground, sensing water nearby.
Two lamps, one bronze and rusted, the other black with red emeralds embedded into it, sat next to each other. They rested on top of a plateau that looked over the white desert floor that extended for miles around them. A vulture landed next to them and tilted its head, staring down at the curious objects before it. It tapped the black lamp with its curved beak and lowered his head alongside it, yellow eyes unblinking. It nudged the black lamp, harder this time, and it tipped over, the lamp's spout catapulting it into the other lamp.
A loud *whoomph* broke the desert silence and the vulture screeched and flew away as two butts--one black and one purple--began to thicken and form above the lamps.
The black butt swirled and thickened, tinged with red highlights. It began to take form until finally a giant Djinn stood on the white desert sand. He looked at the purple butt that was spinning in front of him and ran a clawed hand over the two goat-horns that protruded from his forehead. They curved up and behind. He licked his teeth and smiled.
The purple butt spun faster and faster until suddenly it exploded, my butt blowing in all directions and vanishing like steam. A blue Jinn bowed, his chest almost touching the ground. "I have been summoned!"
The Djinn chuckled, the laugh guttural and unnatural.
Looking up in surprise, the Jinn saw the black Djinn in front of him and his face paled. "You!?"
"Yes," hissed the Djinn, crossing his thick, muscled arms. He had the face of a bear and the teeth of a shark.
"But that isn't possible." The Jinn looked around. There was nothing but desert sand around them. "Who summoned *you?*"
"I was summoned by you."
"Then that means that you--"
"No." The Djinn laughed again. "My lamp touched yours first. That means I summoned you first." His lips curled up and outward, yellow teeth bared. "I get the first wish."
The Jinn paled. "Three wishes. You go first, then I go, and then we repeat until all three are finished."
"Fine." The Djinn walked forward, towering above the small Jinn. His black eyes watched the Jinn carefully. "I wish to no longer be bound by the rules of the Genie."
The Jinn blinked. "Granted."
The black Djinn took a deep breath and stretched, letting the air of the desert fill his lungs. He bowed. "I am free. Thank you."
"I wish for the same thing."
The Djinn smiled. "Sorry, I no longer have to fulfill that wish. Denied." He rubbed his chin and looked thoughtfully at the Jinn. "My turn. I wish to be the most powerful Djinn to ever have lived or to ever be, more powerful than any Jinn or Genie."
"Granted."
The Djinn guffawed and vanished. He appeared several seconds later, a gold crown with red emeralds and black diamonds embedded into it sitting upon hit head. His eyes were flecked with gold spots. "Thank you," he said. "And your second wish?"
"I wish for my last wish to be granted."
"Denied." The Djinn paced back and forth, thinking. "I am more powerful than any Genie, Jinn, or Djinn. What more could I possibly want?" He stopped. "I wish for you to be forever imprisoned inside of your lamp."
The Jinn looked at him sadly, the corner of his eyes drooping. "Granted."
"And for your last wish?"
"I wish to be denied of all wishes, previous and current."
"Denied."
The Jinn vanished and the bronze lamp shook and glowed for several seconds before becoming dead and cold.
The Djinn picked up the bronze lamp and then he vanished.
Overhead, the vulture closed its eyes and made a wish.
| 2014-08-17T12:45:55 | 2014-08-17T11:39:52 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] Get me hooked in 150 words
anything is fair game
|
“I didn't even know we owned a gun.”
Sarah's twenty-five dollar mascara made a mess of her cheeks. The great black streaks pulled her already tortured features into halloweenish proportions. Like a pumpkin left too long on the doorstep – or, in this case, a kitchen.
“You don't know a lot of things.”
Tim's eyes were dry. They were also green, and pointed at her. Behind him, a fabulous glass case of fine china sat practically groaning under the weight of it's chic decadence. The small table between himself and Sarah creaked too. Less in protest of it's gun-shaped centerpiece and more to break the long silences as the man and the woman reloaded their vocabulary.
“I know about Daniel.”
“I know about Susan.”
“I know you've never touched a gun in your life.”
“You don't know a lot of things.”
|
"There are ten of you," the letter said "Each with a unique ability that will change your life. I have bestowed these gifts upon you, hand-picked from millions of your peers. But with that comes a price. Only one of you may become heir to my fortune and powers, and the final test is not up to me to decide. For one of you to ascend, the other nine must be killed. Each one of your abilities will give you a unique edge in combat, and for every one of your peers that you finish off, you will receive more information. And you will know the others when you find them."
It meant nothing to Laura. The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous.
*But he knew about your powers,* a voice inside of her said. *How would he know unless he was telling the truth?*
----
From [another story I wrote](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2lkw32/wp_you_discover_you_have_emerging_super_powers/clvqovg) that people seemed to like.
| 2014-12-09T17:38:29 | 2014-12-09T16:54:18 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] Your mind automatically slows down time as imminent danger approaches. This has helped you to become an athlete, great with parlor tricks and avoid death at every turn! Today, a very attractive member of the opposite sex walks past and flashes you a flirty smile. Time begins to slow.
What do reddit. What do.
|
The moment I saw her time seemed to stand still, in the most literal of senses. It ground to a halt faster than I had ever experienced before. This must mean something. I glanced around half expecting a car to be losing control, the speed always matched the severity of the danger. The slower the time, the worse off I was. Exams in college were brutal due to my shit study habits.
It took what felt like hours for her to take a single step and in all that time I was unable to think of a single clever line. Normally this isn't the case. I'm not quick but you don't need to be quick witted when the danger of not getting any gives you all the time in the world to size a woman up. That wasn't the case today. Those eyes, I could never forget those eyes.
"Hi." I said as the world caught up with me. "Oh, hello." she replied with a smile.
A blinding flash and I was laying in bed, every muscle ached, every joint sore. Three grown children now sat by my side and tried to comfort me as they explained what happened to my confused self.
Faint memories of a car in the wrong lane flickered through my mind. Hands, now liver spotted with age grasping my leg, their touched filled with terror as they were ripped away. Those eyes of hers never breaking their gaze as she was thrown from the vehicle.
The doctors said in time I would remember my life with her, raising our family, living through the photos they showed me but I knew better. My gift had tried to warn me. It knew that loving her would be the most dangerous thing I would ever do.
I wish I knew if it was worth it.
|
Shit, a spy! I thought and caught the woman and searched for weapons, but I couldn't find any. The woman started running away and I let her, for the slow motion was still on. She started calling for police, but that's not important now.
I looked around, like I should have done first. I see nothing. Maybe this slow motion is making me paranoid, but it has never failed me before, so I gotta run.
I ran a few blocks to make sure it wasn't just some danger in general, but was aimed specifically at me. I went in buildings and came out of them. I ran through a couple of underground tunnels too for good measure. "The whole city is probably screwed." I said to myself.
I ran to a nearby empty bomb shelter I had found earlier. I had started to be a "doomsday prepper" so I had food and water among other things.
I started feeling weak on my legs and fell down.
Shit.
I took my phone and started dialing numbers.
I couldn't recognize the squiggleys on the phone.
"What's happening to me" I said to myself.
I found a note on my pocket where a friend had written his number before. I pattern matched the squiggles on the paper to the squiggles on the phone and soon I heard "Hey, what's up?".
"Help, I think I'm having a brain aneyrysm or something!" I said. Or tried to say, apparently my friend heard some weird mumbling. Brain is a funny thing.
Nobody will come here in years, probably. Nobody knows where I am. I hadn't told anyone for the fear of being ridiculed. I'll just shut my eyes now. I feel strange connection to everything as my sense of self fades away...
| 2015-01-17T10:12:42 | 2015-01-17T07:59:02 | 149 | 48 |
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate.
|
The world was failing and the bodies were building. There was only plan B.C. left to try.
All of the radio station were set in gear and prepped for the last stand. All tv's were under the government's control.
3...
2...
1...
"Oooooh baby do you know what that's worth, oooh heaven is a place on earth"
Belinda Carlisle had saved the world with her 1987 number one hit.
|
As the slide came up the board of government officials sat there in awe at the advertising suggestion.
"It's amazing." "It's exactly what we need". "That's perfect." "You can't argue with such infalliable logic."
"I take it that means we can start running through the campaign th-"
"Immediately."
Within 10 hours the posters had been printed out at every major publishing firm still operational and the message was soon plastered across every street corner, billboard and newspaper stand.
"If you commit suicide, you can't play video games and eat food!"
| 2015-02-02T06:43:00 | 2015-02-02T06:40:57 | 126 | 71 |
[WP] An adolescent boy who is bullied at school finds solace in the friends he makes in online games, becoming very good friends with one boy in particular. However, when they agree to meet up, the adolescent boy realises his best online friend is his main attacker at school.
|
Bulldogs715z: cool see u at gamestop then! ill be there in 20 minutes it's only a few blocks from my house
jjjak3eee: oh thats hella close
Bulldogs715z: yeah u know where luther high is i can meet u there
Bulldogs715z: im pretty familiar since i go to school there lmao its down the street from gs
What the fu--are you serious? How is it that Bulldogs715z attends Luther High School and I attend Luther High School?
jjjak3eee: ayeee thats a good idea
jjjak3eee: meet you by the mosh pit
Play it cool... You know, because only students at Luther High School know where the 'mosh pit' is, the lawn in front of the school that floods when it rains and where the football team rallies up. My hands are getting a bit clammy. Excitement is taking its toll on my body. The thought of actually meeting someone who goes to my school and being able to talk during lunch or break instead of hiding in the library made me smile.
Bulldogs715z: there you go!!! dude you go to lhs??
Bulldogs715z: my best friend taylor is coming to but dont trip hes a cool dude plays football with me
A gasp leaves my mouth. All of a sudden I feel a pain in my throat and I can't breath. My body tenses and my eyes are fixated on 'best friend taylor' because the only football player I know named Taylor is best friends with Zack.
My hands are beyond clammy. The excitement that filled the air literally seconds ago have evaporated into a calm, icy chill down my back. It can't be. It simply cannot be. Is Bulldogs715z Zack? The perpetrator who has been making my life a living hell for the past five years? Zack, who tied me up to the flag pole during lunch with athletic tape? The guy who forced Easy Cheese in my mouth and down my pants, Zack?
Bulldogs715z: dude u there? im about to leave
Bulldogs715z: im gonna be wearing my football jersey it has my name in big ass letters ZACK
You got to be fucking kidding me.
jjjak3eee is typing...
But Bulldogs715z is my friend. I played WoW and Minecraft and even Runescape with Bulldogs715z every single day since 7th grade. He even sent me a code so we could buy BioShock together. He is the only friend I have.
jjjak3eee: just my luck my mom got a flat tire so i have to babysit my sis until she gets home
jjjak3eee: i'm prolly gonna have to get it tomorrow
Bulldogs715z: fuckin lame its sall good c ya online later
*Bulldogs715z logged off.*
|
The walk to the pizza place was a little over a mile, but both Mom and Dad had the cars out and they didn't think I should have my own. My bike had flat tires. Walking it is. It was a cool Spring day and the trees were just starting to grow their Spring leaves; those leaves that have that light green that you only see in the first few weeks of Spring.
MurderDeathKill attacked me around the corner. He had his knife out and if it weren't for my quick reflexes, he would have got me and he would have had an awesome video to post on YouTube. MDK had more points than I did and he can do a lot more damage to me than I could to him. This was going to be a long hand to hand fight. We went at it and then all of sudden *BOOM*! a grenade goes off several feet away. Fortunately, the guy - NO! It's a girl! - had a bad aim. And down the street we could see a squad coming down. MDK immediately said we need to team up and we kicked their asses! It was three to one and we did it! We fought side by side ever since.
We agreed to meet at the pizza place by the mall since it was closest to both us and walking distance - for me at least. Besides, it was a beautiful day and I was hoping to see Cindy on the way. She was the hottest girl in school and loved to wear mini-skirts and tight T-shirts.
I walked in and there were a few people there, so I sat down and the waitress asked what I wanted to drink and I ordered a Coke and off she went. A few minutes later the waitress asked what I wanted to order and I told that I was waiting for someone. And then he walked in. It was Kevin McGhee! He looks around and sees me, flips me off and sits down across the restaurant. A waitress takes his order and he waits.
"Come on MDK! Get here!", I nervously thought to myself.
Ten more minutes passed and MDK hasn't shown up yet. So, I texted him. Glancing over to Kevin, I see him take his phone out and look.
"Oh God no! It can't be!"
He looks down at his phone and then over at me. My heart raced.
"Is he going to kick my ass?! Here?!"
With a serious look of disappointment and a little sadness, Kevin got up and walked out of the pizza place.
When I got home, I looked at the console to see if there were any messages from MDK. There were none. After a few days I played and didn't try to contact MDK. I was too scared.
I never heard from MDK again and Kevin never bothered me at school ever again.
[EDIT] I took out those spaces in the front of the first line. I was trying to have a paragraph break and I didn't realize that the those spaces created that odd scrolling line.
| 2015-04-07T05:08:20 | 2015-04-07T04:48:59 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
I was woken up by the sound of my bedroom door. I've always been easily scared, so my heart pounded in my chest the moment I heard it. I sat up straight, said "I've got a knife" and when nobody responded I got out of bed. I made sure no one was hiding in my dark and small apartment, got some hot milk and went back to the bedroom and opened the door. That's when I heard it. Someone was in there, breathing heavily. I was about to call the police when the person said "I've got a knife".
|
Thunder roused me from the nightmare with a start. My heart thumped and I gasped for air. Rain pounded against the window, demanding to be let in. I quickly checked the corner of my room, where the man had been sitting in my dream. Empty, of course. I padded to the bathroom down the hall for a glass of water.
My foot slipped on the hardwood floor with a squeak, and I crashed to the ground. Dazed, I touched the puddle with my fingertips. A flash of lightning illuminated the wet path of footprints leading from the stairs to my room’s door.
| 2015-06-09T07:21:16 | 2015-06-09T06:36:56 | 276 | 116 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
I was woken up by the sound of my bedroom door. I've always been easily scared, so my heart pounded in my chest the moment I heard it. I sat up straight, said "I've got a knife" and when nobody responded I got out of bed. I made sure no one was hiding in my dark and small apartment, got some hot milk and went back to the bedroom and opened the door. That's when I heard it. Someone was in there, breathing heavily. I was about to call the police when the person said "I've got a knife".
|
In 1984, an oil painting was recovered from an abandoned house somewhere in Lousiana. Mahagony frame, weathered and neglected. No signature of the artist. Perhaps it was the work of the homeowner.
What was the painting of?
The upper torso of a brunette, eyes tightly closed, mouth hideously wide open, the background colored a pleasant cerulean.
It was later brought to a pawn shop, where it hung on a wall. Days later, the owner of the shop was reported missing.
The investigation came up with nothing. The trail had gone cold.
They should've looked at the painting.
| 2015-06-09T07:21:16 | 2015-06-09T07:11:34 | 276 | 69 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
I was woken up by the sound of my bedroom door. I've always been easily scared, so my heart pounded in my chest the moment I heard it. I sat up straight, said "I've got a knife" and when nobody responded I got out of bed. I made sure no one was hiding in my dark and small apartment, got some hot milk and went back to the bedroom and opened the door. That's when I heard it. Someone was in there, breathing heavily. I was about to call the police when the person said "I've got a knife".
|
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
He doesn't know. He can’t comprehend his fascination. The gatekeeper drops the corpses down the chute, and he watches the limp bodies jiggle as they collide with the floor.
Setting it on the table, he peels the flesh off, then, meticulously, removes the muscle and organs. The tendons are his favorite. He loves a good challenge.
He sets the skeleton next to the others on the floor. He takes a match to the pile of torn flesh and innards, and watches it burn, always asking the eternal question.
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
| 2015-06-09T07:21:16 | 2015-06-09T07:02:35 | 276 | 31 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
Growing up in the north, you get pretty used to the sounds of nighttime wildlife. Owls hooting, dogs howling, racoons rooting through your garbage. Sometimes you get the occasional bear prowling your yard, or coyote going after the pets left outside. Just after sunset, something started scratching incessantly at my door. Normally I would just sleep it off.
But it's been 36 hours now, and the sun still hasn't risen.
|
Thunder roused me from the nightmare with a start. My heart thumped and I gasped for air. Rain pounded against the window, demanding to be let in. I quickly checked the corner of my room, where the man had been sitting in my dream. Empty, of course. I padded to the bathroom down the hall for a glass of water.
My foot slipped on the hardwood floor with a squeak, and I crashed to the ground. Dazed, I touched the puddle with my fingertips. A flash of lightning illuminated the wet path of footprints leading from the stairs to my room’s door.
| 2015-06-09T09:15:22 | 2015-06-09T06:36:56 | 168 | 116 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
Growing up in the north, you get pretty used to the sounds of nighttime wildlife. Owls hooting, dogs howling, racoons rooting through your garbage. Sometimes you get the occasional bear prowling your yard, or coyote going after the pets left outside. Just after sunset, something started scratching incessantly at my door. Normally I would just sleep it off.
But it's been 36 hours now, and the sun still hasn't risen.
|
The tens of thousands that gathered in the crowd on that overcast winter day stood anxiously waiting, huddling next to another for warmth. Many of those arrived from surrounding cities to witness the celebrations that would take place in the coming days. They brought with them blankets, American flags, and their Bibles.
As the day approached noon, a famous country musician sang at the podium, which silenced the crowd. The crowd cheered as he left the stage.
A middle aged man took the stage. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise for the inauguration of President Ted Cruz."
| 2015-06-09T09:15:22 | 2015-06-09T07:44:17 | 168 | 108 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
Growing up in the north, you get pretty used to the sounds of nighttime wildlife. Owls hooting, dogs howling, racoons rooting through your garbage. Sometimes you get the occasional bear prowling your yard, or coyote going after the pets left outside. Just after sunset, something started scratching incessantly at my door. Normally I would just sleep it off.
But it's been 36 hours now, and the sun still hasn't risen.
|
In 1984, an oil painting was recovered from an abandoned house somewhere in Lousiana. Mahagony frame, weathered and neglected. No signature of the artist. Perhaps it was the work of the homeowner.
What was the painting of?
The upper torso of a brunette, eyes tightly closed, mouth hideously wide open, the background colored a pleasant cerulean.
It was later brought to a pawn shop, where it hung on a wall. Days later, the owner of the shop was reported missing.
The investigation came up with nothing. The trail had gone cold.
They should've looked at the painting.
| 2015-06-09T09:15:22 | 2015-06-09T07:11:34 | 168 | 69 |
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