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[WP] Desperate for work, you’ve accepted a job in private security, guarding an ominous mansion. You’re given a gun and told to let no one in the gate without a code. When a car full of quipping, flirting, arrogant people show up at the gate, it dawns on you: you’ve been hired as a henchman.
|
**Part 1:**
Morty stared out at the empty drive ahead of him, counting the seconds until his shift ended, his boredom accentuated by the occasional chirp of a cricket or hoot of an owl from the surrounding forest. His fingers drummed restlessly on the holster at his belt. At first, the gun had freaked him out, I mean, seriously, a real, loaded weapon? No training? Just his signature on the employment contract? But after night after night of the endless waiting, he was used to the weight on his hip.
He had, you know, taken it out a few times. Held it in his hands. Practiced a few “quick draws.”
“Freeze, scumbag!” He’d shout, pointing the weapon at a particularly ominous tree. “I hope it was worth it!” He’d hiss, leveling the weapon at an especially nefarious shrub. His second week on the job, he’d been trying to spin the gun around his finger, like they do in the movies, when the stupid thing discharged and blew a hole in the pavement, inches from his right foot.
“Shit! Shit! Oh Jesus!” He’d screamed, throwing it to the ground like a hot coal and leaping away in terror. His radio buzzed and a voice emanated from his headset a moment later: “Henderson. Report. We heard gunshots.” His boss, Jameson, had one of those deep, powerfully intimidating kind of voices, and in his panic, both at the gunshot still ringing in his ears and losing his job, his mouth moved faster than his brain. “Uhhh, no problem here. Nothing to report. Just scaring off some kids who were throwing rocks at the gate.”
There was a pause, then his boss spoke again, “Sounds good. Do you need a cleanup?”
*A cleanup?* Morty thought. *What the fuck does that mean?* “... nope!” he said cheerily into the radio. “No cleanup needed here!” *What do they think I did? Shoot a kid?*
Eventually, he decided it’d just been an office prank. Asking if he’d needed a cleanup crew indeed. But nonetheless, that had been the end of his impromptu practice session with the weapon. Now, it sat motionless on his belt, a mere accessory to augment the veneer of authority and self-dignity he’d pretend when looking at himself in the mirror dressed in his fancy uniform. The black outfit with red accents had a sharp, grave look, and always lent a somber tone to his practice sessions with the baton on his other hip, which he’d taken up with ferocity following the oh-shit-I-accidentally-nearly-shot-myself incident.
But tonight, he’d exhausted his limited vocabulary of fighting moves and karate noises with the baton. He’d exhausted fiddling with his official radio and he’d exhausted his patience for trying to identify distinct bird sounds. And thus, a mere halfway through his shift, he stood, watching the incoming drive, bored out of his mind.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He groaned to himself, taking off his stylish beret with one hand while running the other through his hair. “You can do this Morty. It’s only” He checked his watch, “holy christ five more hours?!” He breathed, a long, arduous sound accompanying the outflow of air. “Ok. Five more hours. It could be worse. Just five more hours. Then, only” he did some more mental arithmetic “three more days until the weekend.” he said, voice trailing off. Some days, life just seemed impossible.
But then, with sudden wonder, Morty perked up. He heard something--a distant roar, an engine, rushing down the drive. *Visitors!* He thought, with sudden excitement. This was his favorite part of the job. Greeting the sporadic ensemble of strange personages who came to visit the mansion of Dr. Arcturo Borea, his ultimate employer. Speaking with an artificially deep, gruff voice, he’d pronounce, “Name and identification, please,” and they would *actually listen to him!* Then he’d walk--slowly, mind you--back to the little hut and check their names on the schedule listed, then compare the picture on the ID to the picture in the schedule. Lastly, he’d wave one of those little UV flashlights over the ID. He had no idea what he was looking for with that, but they always did it at airports and stuff, and there’d been one in his kit when he started, and boy did it make him feel cool. Then, just because he could, he’d slowly raise his eyes from the screen and give the expensive--Dr. Borea’s visitors *always* drove expensive cars--car a long probing look. At least, he thought it was probing. When he’d showed it to his girlfriend, she’d told him he just looked constipated. But still. He’d give the car a visual inspection, then slowly approach the vehicle, return their ID, then say, in that same, deep voice, “You can go on through now.”
So, with renewed vigor, Morty straightened, running a hair through his hair and fixing the Beret back in place. Quick work with his hands to straighten the uniform’s collar and shoulder accents, to verify all his gear was appropriately displayed on his belt, then he took up his post in the middle of the road, as the roar of the approaching engine grew rapidly louder. Only then did the thought strike him: *Wait... but there weren’t any visitors on the log for today.* Even as the thought began to sink in, a car screamed around the road, drifting through the curve masterfully, accelerating smoothly as it straightened out and continued to rocket straight towards him, with no hint of slowing down.
Morty, naturally, screamed. “AAAAGHAGAGGAGGHGGHGHGHGHGHH!!!!”
At the last possible moment, the car swerved sharply to avoid him, skidding off the road and spinning out of control, its rear end impacting with the brick foundation of the fence with a crunch.
Morty continued screaming. “AAGAGAGHHHGGHAAAGHAGH!!” His whole body was trembling. He had almost just been run down!
Morty’s screaming began to waver as he ran out of air, and as it did he heard the unmistakable sound of a car down opening. Four suspiciously attractive people exited the vehicle, two men and two women, their lean, muscled bodies taught in all the right places for their respective gender norms. Though he could easily differentiate their faces from one another, they each had that same, young-attractive-CW-warehouse vibe that made them somehow fade together in his mind in a vague blur of youth, fecundity, and overly perfect faces.
“Told you he wouldn’t move.” Said the taller of the two women, “You owe me fifty bucks. Borea hires competent muscle.”
“Oh, you’ll get your money, Moonfire.” The shorter of the two men, who’d been driving the vehicle, said with a perfect, rakish grin, then added seriously, “Just as soon as we shut down Borea’s bioweapon factory!”
The group came to a stop in front of Morty, who hadn’t moved from where he’d frozen in the middle of the street. They arrayed themselves in a tight knot in front of him in a perfectly photogenic fashion, their heights and physiques balanced in perfect visual harmony.
“Tsk Tsk Tsk” the woman, Moonfire, Morty guessed, said, her eyes tracing up the shorter man’s muscled physique. “All work and no play makes Shockwave a dull boy.” As she said it, she ran a finger up the side of his arm in a way that made Morty feel vaguely uncomfortable, like when that couple in your subway car starts making out loudly two seats over and at once you both do and don’t want to look.
“Now’s no time for joking around, Moonfire!” Said the other woman in an almost comically serious voice. “The world is counting on us! If Borea’s contagion is released on the black market, thousands will perish!”
“Yeah!” Said the taller man, twirling a... a sort of, staff? Morty guessed? Around his hand in a dramatic flourish. “We’ve got to get inside the gate, then infiltrate the auction, find out where the weapon is being held, then steal it and destroy it! And besides,” he said, flashing brilliant teeth in an eager, confident grin, “There’s bound to be a fight!”
In the manner of one who has nearly died, Morty found his mind focusing on the strangest details of this odd encounter. Such as, *Who were they explaining this all to? Him?* Or, *Why were they all standing so close together? Didn’t they realize normal people like some goddamn personal space?* Or, *Who actually legitimately uses the word ‘perish’ anymore?*
But, he didn’t ask the group any of those things. He didn’t ask them anything. Instead, he shouted, “You almost just hit me with your car! What the hell!”
|
When I reached sixteen years of age I was immersed in drug culture, and I was the runner for drug gangs, being used to do the riskiest jobs but getting to keep the money made. It was on one fateful day though I was delivering for an especially rough area, the kind of neighbourhood where shitholes like KFC are referred to as “restaurants”. It started to come down with rain but the guy’s house is just on the corner of the road. There’s rubbish scattered all over the front garden and the bins are overflowing, the top left window has been broken and wooden planks have been put over it. The last time it was painted was probably fifty years ago, as the white paint has faded to grey . I knock on the door, and it immediately swings open letting me into the entire living room. The guy is sitting in an oversized leather chair facing the door with a gun pointed to it, but as he sees me, all seems to be well and he lowers it. “I’m delivering the drugs you ordered yesterday” I mumble, and he gets up , lowering his head with a slight smile and takes the bag off me.
He takes a look inside and the smile promptly vanishes.
“What’s this?” He says sharply. Confused, I take a look inside and as I inspect he says “I ordered three times this amount , and where are the scales ? I said I wanted them included.” “I don’t know where your fucking scales are, do you want that or not?” I couldn’t care less if this isn’t what he wanted, I have many orders to do, so he’ll have to take it of leave it.
His eyes look as if they want to jump out and hit me themselves, as they’re practically bursting from their sockets. He swings his right hand attempting to hit me with his gun, as I’m right next to him, but I drop the bag and duck it , I swing back managing to catch his liver and he crumbles to the ground. I lower my gaze and attempt to pick the bag up and head off, but he rolls over to face me and shoots the gun straight through the top of my shoulder, grazing it as it digs into the wall. I kick him in the head and he holds onto my leg, tipping me onto the floor. He is trying his damndest to put the gun to my head but I’m using both hands to keep it aimed above me. After a lot of rough and tumble I manage to grab his scruff and throw him over my shoulder, but he is still holding on and as we both fall both our hands get impaled in the upstanding legs of the overturned coffee table. I’m afraid it only got bloodier, but I’ll save you the details.
Never since have I been pushed that far, and I still have that bulging scar in my hand to remind me of that day. For the many years I have been homeless I always had a moment to look over it. In the years I was a tramp, with the reputation I obtained, it became increasingly rare that anyone gave me food or money. It was very rare for someone to stop altogether. Though one night, when I was particularly hungry and just trying to get to sleep, it must have been around two in the morning when some drunk man came out of a nightclub and stumbled over to me and starting to piss all over my tent. That’s when I snapped. I cut through the side of the tent with my knife and let’s just say I made another opening for him to pee. I stopped his suffering short by snapping his neck, so I’m not a total monster. I throw the body to one side and turn my gaze over to the other side of the road, when there is just one old man , staring at me. He is in a black suit, with his left hand holding a walking stick , hunched over on it he must have seen the whole thing. He straightens his back out and rests the stick against his leg and begins to clap me. “Well done boy” I hear him say rather jovially as he walks over to meet me. “Don’t piss me off old man” I remember saying as I thought of his remark quite patronising, but he professes “No no, that was very good, quick , efficient. I need someone like that.”
“What for?”
“I have a house about twenty minutes from here that could do with someone like you watching over it.”
“I see. And how much are you paying me?”
“I’ll start you on £50 an hour, and we’ll see how you go. Try not to kill anyone if you don’t have to. And if you can do that, then I’ll up it.” I take a moment to think. I wouldn’t be completely on my terms, but I can at least have a stable job, and it incorporates the only thing I’m reasonably good at.
“When do I start?”
“Could you do tomorrow?”
“No I’m afraid I’m busy.”
He laughs , and out of his side jacket pocket he pulls out a note which contains the address of the house, and another which contains the rules. I take a minute to skim them and I see that amongst other things, that whoever approaches the mansion and wants access must provide a code, otherwise they must leave or I guess that’s where my “skills” come into play.
“See you at midnight tomorrow,” he chirps and with that he heads off down the road.
I crawl back into my tent, preparing for the next day.
Midnight rolls around, and I see he is outside the door waiting for me. The door is quite a ways away from the gate surrounding the house, as there is a long driveway to the main entrance. The gates are a very sharp, clear black and I can see my scrubby reflection in them. He opens the gate and welcomes me in through the telecom, and as I approach he greets me by tossing a suit of clothes at me.
“Wear this, I’m not paying you to guard this house looking like that.”
I grumble as I get changed in front of him and shortly after he pulls out a gun and hands it to me.
“If you ask them twice and they refuse to give you the code, I’ll give you permission to use that.”
“Very well.”
He walks with me down to the main gate, where his chauffeur is waiting.
“See you later, all in one piece hopefully,” he smiles and he is assisted into the back and the two of them are gone. The gates slam shut behind me and my shift begins.After what must’ve been only a couple hours does someone finally turn in for the mansion. It’s a massive Jeep , blacked out with large rims and all the other intimidating attributes you can think of. It pulls up next to me, and a slim, clean shaven face greets me, though the white collared shirt he is wearing has been pulled up to conceal his facial expression.
“Code.”
He scrolls the window down halfway but slurs his numbers so I can’t make out what he is saying.
“Speak properly.” I mutter, but he is obviously under the influence of something, and is immediately ruffled by my remark , and the other voices to the side and in the back are giggling, spurring him on. He lowers the window the full way and shouts the numbers in my face. “That better?” He shouts, and no sooner does he try to get clever do I grab him by his scruff and politely tell him - “Shout at me again, and I might dent you precious little Jeep here”, showing him my gun and I tap it on the side of his door. But he doesn’t seem to notice or acknowledge my threat, he just stares , stares at the scar in my hand that I’m holding him with. He goes silent, and looks up at me. He takes his hand off the wheel and lines his hand up with mine, and I can see the scars match.
“I can’t believe I’ve run into you again”, he shakes his head and looks down with a wry smile , “hopefully this doesn’t go like last time” he laughs but the others don’t join in , they have no idea what we’re on about. I smile and type the code in and let them through. He comes more and more often, in the same jeep but with more people. More cars start to come, and I’m starting to let in around thirty people at a time. Since we’ve sort of become reacquainted I don’t bother with the code anymore and I just let them in. A couple weeks go by and I’m started to get invited to his other parties. I’ve never been to a party. Or I guess what most people would constitute one. With the money I’m making from this gig I can actually afford to go out, buy stuff and sleep in a bed. In my own house. Maybe it’s making me softer I don’t know, but I notice that I’m starting to get along with people. Through twisted friendship have I started down the path of the straight and narrow. While I don’t think my thirst for blood will ever completely go, I can begin to talk about things other than bloodshed or how about I kicked some guy threw a window. In fact, I’ve got quite a lot to tell you about what happened last night, but I’ll save that for another one. Take care.
| 2019-07-07T14:48:48 | 2019-07-07T13:52:24 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] You are a super hero, but without any powers. You are one of the most important heros, but marginally unknown. You are a therapist who works exclusively with heros and villians alike. Because they are people too.
|
The man staring back at me is ... different from the rest. This is a very hard thing to achieve, considering my clientele.
"Can you please repeat that?" I ask, trying to look anywhere but towards the dark void that sits on my office couch. There is a cloying quality to him, like the black cloud enveloping his body is home to a thousand simultaneous screams.
"I am so alone." The man's voice is a quiet buzz, like the first onion slice on a sizzling, oil-slicked sauce pan.
I draw on decades of professional experience to hold his gaze without looking away.
"Where are your parents?" I ask, fixated upon the man's pupils. They seem to take over his eyes entirely, dilating in a dark abyss as his attention flicks from object to object, jolting me each time they return to focus on me.
"They went away," he says.
I'm going to have to take another look at how I screen clients, I think, nervously wiping my forehead with my sleeve.
"Where did they go?"
The man is silent for a time, steadfastly holding my gaze. Staring at him is like staring at an illusion, like I'm looking at a black hole right on my couch, the red fabric shimmering where it comes into contact with the edges of the void. The room around us seems to turn slightly, like it's caught in some great, slow moving current. I cough, shaking my head to clear the dizzying sensation building in my throat. This is ridiculous, I think, we're on the 53rd floor of an office building in downtown Manhattan.
"You should look out the window behind you," the man says, still staring.
A tingle shoots down my spine, flushing my body with adrenaline. This is nonsense. I'm a professional. The best there is.
"That won't be necessary," I say, looking down at my file. "It says here that you were born in Virginia to a Sally and Harold Dramer, and that your powers only started manifesting late into your teens. That's highly unusual, but not unheard of." I glance up at the man-void, who is now staring intently at my coffee table, where I've placed an old photo of him holding his parent's hands. "Do you remember what it was like before the manifestation? Do you remember your parents?"
"I do," the man says with a touch of sadness. "I remember it well. I remember them well."
"That's a start," I mutter, marking something random down on my clipboard, more for my client's sake than my own. "So what happened to your parents?"
The man shrugs and the blackness grows, inky oily tendrils snaking out over the couch and down to the floor.
"Now hang on," I say, indignant in-spite of the fear cloying at my stomach. "I have a strict no power use policy."
The tendrils continue to grow, coiling around the coffee table and along the floor and around my legs.
"You should really look outside your window," the man says with the same quiet sadness as before.
I turn slowly, my stomach now churning in a tumbling, terrified mass. My hands are clammy and I'm sheathed in sweat. My window shows nothing, just an abyss where New York City should be, an impossibly black paint splotch that envelops the window from border to border. I jerk around towards the couch, intent on ending the session, but the man is gone and the room begins to spin.
I turn back to the window, clipboard forgotten, and watch in horror as Sally and Harold float past, screaming into the un-hearing void.
|
Some superheroes are out and about saving the world. They've got crazy superpowers like flying or shooting laser beams out of their eyes or beating up criminals. That's not me. It never has been and, given my rather mundane and limited powers, it never will be. I play a different role. You won't read about me in your local newspaper or hear them interviewing me on TV. If this were a musical, I wouldn't even be in the supporting cast. I would be in the back, directing the stage crew and pulling the ropes.
I don't discriminate based on who kills who or whether you are technically a hero or a villain. We're all the good guys in our own stories and the bad guys in somebody else's story. I'm not here to judge and I'm not here to snitch. So these people come to me. They talk to me about their problems for hours on end - paying me generously with money whose origins I do not ask about - and when they leave my office, I like to think I've made a positive impact. If not on society, then at least on their lives. And if not on their lives, then at least on mine. It's not an easy career, regardless of which direction you take it in.
Don't you think the guy who razes entire city blocks with fireballs suffers from PTSD? Do you really think he can go home to his wife in the evening and talk to her about how many people he killed? Likewise, how do you think the people fighting the criminals deal with the stress of their daily lives? They can't stress eat, that's for sure. Most of them have some chiseled figure they need to maintain to uphold their public image. Rippling abs, bulging biceps, all of that. Not the one-pack and flab that I'm allowed to rock. The pressure is unbearable, the expectations unattainable. So they come and talk to me.
My powers aren't the traditional kind you read about in comic books. I just convince people that it's okay to talk to me. Once I get them talking, they don't stop for a while. And inevitably, the conversation turns. Regardless of what you hear, most of these heroes and villains don't abide by a code of conduct themselves. The bad ones work hard to look as mean as possible, but they have pets and kids and families, just like anybody else. The good ones work hard to be look as good as possible, but now and then they indulge in a dark fantasy too. That carefully tailored image has little loose threads here and there, and eventually the conversation gets there. I grab one of those threads and I start to pull, and soon enough the whole persona is crumbling and I feel a hint of the excitement they must feel when they're soaring through the sky or fighting off a dozen assailants. And just before it all threatens to collapse, I pause. "We want the same thing, you and me, you know?" I tell them. They look up, sometimes with tear-filled eyes. "I know that a lot of people wouldn't be very pleased to hear about what you do," I say, barely veiling the threat. "You want to keep your image?" They nod. They always do. Good or bad, hero or villain, they always nod. They've worked hard to create that image and they don't know what I'm hiding that might make it all disappear.
I nod sympathetically. "Then we have a deal," I tell them. "Consider me your marketing agent. Your associate. Just listen to my suggestions and you'll be just fine." And then we shake hands and off they go. I check off another name on my list. Another hero or villain compromised. Another cast member ready to be directed.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-07-25T13:02:22 | 2019-07-25T11:51:59 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] Aliens arrived on earth, but they are super lame. The following decade after contact they take humanity as "the cool kids" and try hard to be like us.
|
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" replied his friend from the ground. "I'm sleeping. Duh."
He was lying flat on his back with his eyes closed as if he was resting in a coffin.
"But you \*can't\* sleep! Stop being an idiot! You know we don't sleep."
"Maybe \*you\* don't sleep, but I sleep all the time. I slept all day yesterday."
"Oh, really? All day?"
"Yep."
"As in \*all\* day?"
"Yep."
"24 hours?"
"Yep."
"There is \*no\* way you slept 24 hours."
"Well, I did, so..."
"You know humans don't even sleep for 24 hours, right?"
"Like you would know."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You don't even \*know\* any humans, do you?"
"I know just as many as you do."
"Hmph, in your dreams you do."
"I don't have dreams. And \*you\* don't have any human friends."
"Well, I do."
"Alright, then. What are their names?"
"What?"
"These humans you know, what are their names?"
"Well... There's Jeff."
"Jeff? Everyone knows Jeff! I'm asking who are all of these human friends of yours that \*I've\* never met!"
"There's, uhh... Titan."
"Titan?"
"Yeah, Titan."
"As in the moon of Jupiter, Titan?"
"Yep."
"You don't know anyone named Titan."
"Oh yeah? How would you know?"
"Because there's not a single person on Earth named Titan."
"Well, there is, so."
"Well, no. There isn't."
"Zzzzzzzzzz... Zzzzzzzzzz"
"What's that sound you're making?"
"Ah! Sorry, was I snoring?"
"Are you kidding me?"
"No, I'm sorry if it bothered you. I'll try to stop."
"You realise that sounds nothing like a real snore, right?"
"Well, you're wrong."
"You're just making a buzzing sound! You're obviously just copying what you've read in books!"
"Sorry, going back to sleep. I'm \*so\* tired."
"Don't you da--"
"Zzzzzzzzz.... Zzzzzzzzzz"
"Fucking hell."
|
"I have heard that your civilization still actually fights each other on a global scale? I thought you have nuclear technology and miner space capabilities, why not use those."
"Well we do but then decided to stop using them. At the time only one group has them, now a bunch do so we stopped using them, though we have a lot just in case someone uses them on us. But ya I guess we still battle each other."
"wait hold up, you have the ability to destroy the planet which you will only use if some tries to destroy the planet first?"
"Ummm ya that sounds about right"
"But if the planets going to get destroyed why even still have them?
"If were going out might as well take them out with us."
"Remind me to never lose to a human. And your people still fight each other, why you cant even leave the planet with out help why not work together?"
" Oh we fight over everything you name it, resources, they way you look something you might say, or just cause we want to, it all depends on the person "
"Wow your people enjoy fighting?"
"Well we have been doing it for a long time so we got pretty good at it."
"How long our history has very little war due to the waste of resources we have only had two wars in the last century"
"I think since the beginning of man kind we have been fighting each other,
"what about the pain and suffering involved in war"
"I never said it was a good idea I don't make the decisions"
" Ah I see your leaders fight are your best fighters and battle on your behalf leading your warriors"
"Not really they make the major decisions for us and if that means we go to war then we go"
" So you fight just because someone tells you to, no questions asked."
" we ask questions but that is usually during and after the fighting"
"Thank you human for telling me about your species"
"no problem, though I am no one special you may want to talk to a someone within our government"
"We will, we conduct these interviews with random sentients to get a better understanding the planets cultures."
"Well we speak over 4,000 languages and probably have the same amount of cultures so it will probably take you a while"
" WHAT, you have more then 4,000 languages and still survive on your planet"
"Well I told you we do fight a lot"
"If i may use a human expression your race is "Bad Ass""
| 2019-10-17T06:11:54 | 2019-10-17T05:47:45 | 355 | 101 |
[WP] When you were a child, a mysterious voice whispered "follow the woman in the red dress with the gold polka dots". All your life, you never saw her. Now, lying in the hospital, 98 years old, you see a woman in a red dress and gold polka dots walk past your room.
|
This was it, the final chapter. I couldn’t hold the pen anymore, for no longer was it my turn to. I’d lived a life I’d wanted, and my wife had too bless her soul, she left first with our hands holding on for her dear life. She wasn’t ever ready to go, she didn’t comprehend what the repercussions might be. It took her a while to come to the comfort of letting go, but from the smile on her face I knew she was going to do just fine. And much like her then, I knew I now, with my family around me ready to say goodbye, one more time, to dad, grandpa, and even great grandpa bless me.
I smiled, no control over that. I knew it had been fulfilling what I’d done here. And just as my line began to fade..... I knew it couldn’t be over yet. Something pulled me to sit up again. Someone passed by, a dress I remember only stories about... in childhood, while in the woods, a delightfully giddy voice.... it led me then like it would lead me now, to a woman in a polka dotted dress, holding a vase, tears down her eyes. I reached out my hand... I called to her, but I couldn’t move. Nothing would’ve compelled me to stand, not in my state. One month bound to a bed at my age doesn’t make for a strong foundation. So instead, my soul stood. Led by a force I couldn’t control, it followed down the hall. My physicality falling comfortably back on the bed, and my ethereal form going down the hall. For I couldn’t see where she had gone, my spirit went where it felt most compelled, I was simply on the ride.
Tracing every hall, peering in every room, my soul searched for the woman. And suddenly, one more corner through into the icu, there she stood. Her two children in the incubators struggling like my physical form now. In my soul I could sense that one would not make it, for I could feel it join in my flight. But the other, the other I would whisper to the same message I’d heard before. I could not stop myself from attaching to it’s spirit, to give it a message it would not soon forget. One it would hear I would imagine more than once, “You do not know him yet, but one day, you will find the man in the Orange and Green Striped Polo Tee. Follow him when you can, he will show you positivity.” And then my ethereal form faded one more time, and somewhere, down the hall, I could hear sobs of my leaving. But I knew it was alright, the woman showed me so.
|
98 years without a hint of the red dress the voice spoke of.
9.8 y.e.a.r.s
Ever since I could remember, this nagging voice occasionally came into my life and whispered the same thing.
"Follow the women..."
At first I was curious. Who was this women? Why was there a voice that spoke to me? My parents dismissed it as hallucinations, but the older I grew the more convinced I was that it wasn't. It felt so real, more real than anything else in the world.
Then I was annoyed. 30, 40, 50 years pass and yet nothing has ever happened. Not a single hint of the "prophecy" coming true. Every free moment of my life I spend wondering if those voices were real, and as time passes my doubt grows bigger and bigger.
Maybe I was hallucinating after all.
Now I'm furious. Furious at the 98 years of wondering. Furious at the 98 years wasted, thinking there was a grander scheme of things for my mundane life. How conceited I was to think that my life was going to be for some higher purpose? Even as I lie on my hospital bed with my days numbered, I can't help but wonder if that lady would come by one day and take me away..
98 days and 364 days.
Tomorrow was supposed to my 99th birthday. As I lay on my bed and wait for the end of my life, a bright red dress caught my attention from the corner of my eye.
A crimson, so vivid you could see the flames emanating from the glorious cloth. Lined with golden polka dots that looked fitting for the grandest of Kings of the olden days. The lady, oh that lady! So stunningly gorgeous yet upright. So confident, yet she had a humble demeanor. She gave my room a brief look before walking away.
That's it! That's definitely it! I mustered all my strength and sat up from my seat. With all the energy pent up in me, I grabbed my walking cane and lumbered laboriously at her. I followed her all the way up to the roof top, where she was waiting patiently for me.
"Have you had a good life, my child?" She quizzed
"I.. I reckon so. I've.. I've lived a long life. Who are you?" I stammered, partly realizing how this moment was the culmination of my entire life's existence, or just simply at the regal beauty this lady exuded.
"I, my darling, am known as the Tascha the Phoenix. Are you ready to reset? We're counting on you in your next life"
*Was about to sleep but saw this. Hopefully it's not horrendous LOL
| 2019-11-07T09:26:20 | 2019-11-07T08:52:01 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] God has tried and failed to end the world multiple times since 2015. It's pretty clear something made him indecisive.
|
"My Son, I have officially run out of ideas..."
*Couldn't you give them another chance, Father?*
"No, they are too far gone. They have walked the path of sin for centuries. I have tried to correct them with even the most extreme of measures. Yet even two global wars with the most despicable atrocities were not enough to unite them. Even after, they became more divided. A pure common goal of exploration and discovery was not even enough to set them upon the true path of harmony."
*I understand, Father. Maybe it is for the best that we start anew.*
"But I cannot begin new endeavors while they still live. They have progressed too far in knowledge and capability. I have used new wars, plagues, natural disasters, and more yet they seem to be persistent in continuing..."
*Maybe you are not going far enough, Father. Maybe you should try some of your methods during the time of your Dinosaurs?*
"NO, it would revert progress too much on this world. Too much life would be lost..."
*Not all life was lost last time, Father. Don't you remember? The world healed itself and life, the little that survived, persisted and later flourished.*
"Maybe you are right, My Son. Perhaps extreme circumstances require drastic measures..."
**BREAKING NEWS: Astronauts successfully move Earth-killing asteroid into geosynchronous orbit!**
"JESUS CHRIST, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"
|
As I stare across the scorched field bordering my neighborhood, I wonder:
*Why did the fire stop?*
This inferno sprang into existence with finger-snapping quickness, then dissipated into the sky like fire rain falling in reverse. Even the fire marshall was baffled by this strange phenomenon. Given that he hasn't expressed a hint of emotion in the ten years I've known him, his episode of fear (however brief) stirs more dread within me than the blackened earth languishing outside my bedroom window.
These infernos raged all over the world last night, then were snuffed out at exactly the same time: 1:03 AM.
This *can't* be a coincidence. Although I'm not religious, I can't help but wonder if God is angry with us.
\---
It's been three days since the fires, and now everyone in town has contracted a mysterious disease. None of the local doctors can determine its cause. We're all in perfect health according to their tests, and shouldn't be exhibiting such bizarre symptoms.
For example, our corneas bleed at random times, as do our mouths and ears. The pain that accompanies these episodes is excruciating, and often leaves sufferers bedridden for hours.
A part of me wishes that the inferno leveled the town last night--for then our suffering would end, and our curse lifted.
\---
Last night thirty bolts of lighting struck the hill at the edge of town in rapid succession, leaving the following message burned into the earth:
*You will bleed for your sins.*
Read more at r/DailyHorrorStories
| 2020-03-20T06:55:43 | 2020-03-20T06:49:33 | 1,368 | 20 |
[WP] God has tried and failed to end the world multiple times since 2015. It's pretty clear something made him indecisive.
|
"Second Hell is coming along nicely, by the way, the new pandemic was a nice touch. What are you planning for them next? Gonna go old school, give em' a good ol' fashioned flood?"
The Archangel was only teasing of course. Sort of. He busied himself with lunch, laying four pieces of bread out on the counter. Behind him God placed his cup back in it's saucer, the china tinkling.
"No one would blame you, you know." The Archangel opened cabinets and drawers, plucking out the things he needed. "And really you should be proud of yourself, they lasted so much longer this time! And such neat cultures and food, I was just telling Michael -" The Angel had stopped mid-sentence, turning in place while looking around.
"It's - where - God, there's no fridge in this room?" The Angel turned to God, who was staring into his teacup. He waved his hand in the Angel's general direction without looking up. A soft pop, and a fridge had appeared.
"Thank you. So anyway, I was just telling Michael that if it weren't for the wars in Your name, and the destruction of the world You gave them, and the needless slaughter of the animals You gave them, and the fact that they just will not stop imprisoning or murdering or raping or -"
The Angel had turned with the lunch tray to find God seething. Hands balled into fists, vein in his temple pulsing, chest rising and falling with anger, seething.
The Angel took a step back. "Um. Okay. Let's everybody just...breathe"
"ITS THE DOGS!" God exploded, fists slamming into the tabletop. "ONLY HALF THE DOGS WOULD COME AND I CAN'T JUST LEAVE THEM THERE WHEN I LET IT BURN OUT!"
The Angel stood very still. One bad moment here and he could end up a pile of dust. Maybe he just needs to vent, and really that's reasonable.
"THE CATS CAME BACK SO EASILY! THE DOGS WILL NOT COME BACK! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY MEETINGS, HOW MANY PROVISIONS WE HAVE MADE!" God stood and started to pace.
"The Parks Committee. The food service because half of them forgot how to hunt, like that's MY fault! The INSTANT REUNIFICATION program! Do they know how much ENERGY it takes to INSTANTLY reunite EVERY dog with their person?!"
The Angel raised his eyebrows. "None?"
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT! They won't leave their owners behind, and and I can't just kill them all together, the dogs are innocents! IT'S LIKE THE HUMANS FOUND A LOOPHOLE!" God was actually starting to lose it a little, pulling at his hair. He sat back down, rather dramatically in the Angel's opinion, and buried his face in his hands.
"The cats got it straight away. We Raptured the cats, then when I can finally explode the sun or whatever I settle on, the people will come here! The...the 'good people' will come here and they'll be together again!" God looked up, panting slightly.
The angel sat the tray back down and crossed his arms. "Ah, yes. The famous Cat Rapture of 2024. Didn't that not go over particularly well?"
God stared at the Angel for a moment but then looked down. "3.4 % of the remaining population committed suicide -"
The Angel started to interject but God hurried on -
"Yoooou go ask the cats about that, when I told them that that happened their spokescat said, and I quote, 'eh'."
"Okay, first of all you're using finger quotes incorrectly, and secondly, I'm sure if you just explained to the dogs that -"
"You don't understand!" God cried. "If the dogs found out that...something like THAT had happened to their owners, I'm afraid...I'm afraid they wouldn't like me as much as before." His voice started to tremble and he lowered his head to the table, covering it with his arms.
The Angel sighed. He walked to the table and sat the food tray down next to God's tea.
"Eat something."
"I'm not hungry." God wouldn't look up, and it sounded like he was crying a little.
"Okay. God. Look at me."
"No."
"Okay. Listen. We are going to figure this out. Okay?"
"...Really?"
"Yes. In fact, I am going to personally take over negotiations, let's take a little off your plate here. Pun intended, right? Oh, stop crying, here, who is their...leader, who have you been speaking with?"
God finally looked up, wiping his eyes. "They change it every day so that it's fair. I think today Princess Lady Face is in charge."
The Angel stared back blankly for a moment. "Princess Lady - they change it every day? So I'll only talk to...Princess Lady Face once and then it'll switch?"
"Don't worry," God said as he picked up a sandwich. "She's a good girl."
The angel pinched the bridge of his nose. "They are ALL good dogs, God, that's why we're having this conversation. All dogs go to Heaven."
They sat staring at one another for a moment before bursting into laughter. Once they'd gathered themselves the angel said "Okay, I think we need to come at this a different way, we need human representation. Who do we have that's good with animals?"
It was like a light switched on inside God's head. His eyes lit up and widened at the prospect. He stood slowly and then fixed his burning gaze on the angel.
"Yes, my Lord?"
Smiling, God said "Get me Steve Irwin."
|
I should have discovered there was a problem in 2007 when the “Great Depression” I struck to warm-up to the end the world on schedule fizzled out into a mere temporary recession. Don’t get me wrong, there was still a global financial crisis, but nothing compared the way I had used my powers to end the Incan and Mayan society so many years back. The mayflies of course have a silly notions of “the end of the world” actually means. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to make an entire planet permanently uninhabitable through miracle alone? The closest any being that resembles what mayflies call “gods” came was moving an errant meteor towards the planet, and here we are 65 million years catering to the whims of a bunch of hairless apes. At least the great lizards had a god with panache, I wish I could have met it.
Most gods have no interest in ending the world, in fact the ones who would love to do it are all trapped in some kind of underworld by the mayflies that pray to them (admittedly, empowering death gods and locking them up without even realizing it is a VERY “human” thing to do, even where I’m from). The gods that do have free reign on …Earth? Such a crude moniker… tend to be interested in maintaining the status quo. I found them to be weak, simple creatures without any desire to end our eternal torment by wiping out conscious life. They don’t know the pain of slowly fading into becoming dormant, trapped watching as new gods rise and fall. Chaos gods would sometimes help, and they have a certain low cunning that allows them to be very effective, but ultimately left to their own devices they get distracted or bored and its back to square one.
It had been a bizarre transition to wake up after years of no prayers, no worshippers, not even a curse whispering my name on the wind. You can imagine my surprise when I woke up in what I later learned was the spirituality section of an independent bookstore on the mainland of what is now called the United States. I woke looking at a one of the insignificant mayflies signing what looked a manuscript of some kind. I naturally assumed it to be a temple, as there was a High Priest speaking to her flock. I was incredibly weak, but as I approached the table I could feel my natural gifts return. The mayflies eyes began to slide off of me, and forget they had seen my monstrous visage approach. They still disgust me as much as they did in my prime, pretending to be lords of the planet when their existence is less than the blink of an eye.
Upon looking at the book I read the title “2012: The End of the World? Mayan Prophecies explored!” It made little sense to me at the time, the Mayans hadn’t really had a lot of sophistication in their disaster fables, and otherwise I wouldn’t have gone dormant. I listened as the priest began preaching to the small table of followers. As I swallowed their excuse for a language and absorbed their mewling prayers I realized they all, secretly and for very different reasons believed the world must end. I felt a rush of power I hadn’t in hundreds of years. These humans didn’t care how, or why or who ended the world, but they had settled on old legends with enough of my name attached to wake me. The power came from the mayflies complete (and natural I might add) addiction to fear of their inevitable demise. I felt awakened! These new mayflies weren’t rigid in their beliefs, they wanted death and destruction, and they would pay the priestess to describe it in grueling detail. Best of all they didn’t particularly care WHO was doing the destroying, or attach themselves to rigid religious dogmas of one or two gods. I always did better with pantheists after all.
I spent the next thirteen years attempting to fulfil my destiny. I had to do it largely alone, like I said death gods are only useful in the first 500 years, then they get imprisoned or bored. I wasn’t bored. I was finally alive! I could use the darkness in these worshippers’ thoughts to bring about darkness, and maybe even the end of the world they so craved, and I had always wanted but had never been able to bring about.
I quickly found it didn’t work.
Every disaster I brought about was thwarted in short order. 2012 came and went as so many other years in the infinite dance of the cosmos. It was not wasted however. I was able to continue drawing on those who wanted to see things end. They prayed in their own way to a god who would never know their name. So I continued on, and I began to see the fruit of my labour. Initial results were disappointing, the mayflies had become good at dealing with crisis scenarios. Every day I cursed that I didn’t have the power to manipulate the mayflies’ minds directly. Plagues, financial ruin, natural disasters, (I was particularly proud of the Fukishima meltdown, it’s a shame I’m unable to manipulate atomic power directly) none of it worked! No matter how bad things got the mayflies simply bounced back. Until one day in a bar in Idaho, while thinking about how best to wipe out the west coast of the US with well-timed seismic tremors I realized that something was wrong. I looked across the deserted bar and realized I was being watched, which is fairly remarkable given that it’s nearly impossible to see a god of darkness. The impossibly perfect being sauntered over and looked me up and down.
“You know you’ll never beat them right? Better gods than you have tried” it said, or rather intoned through base magic. “Not alone anyway”
“What would you know about it” I spat. “What interest does a puny love god have in the end of the world anyway?”
“More than you’d think… we should talk. The name’s Eros. I think I can help.”
| 2020-03-20T07:05:37 | 2020-03-20T07:05:26 | 80 | 15 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight.
|
"We must duel to the death, you say?"
"Yes." She grins challengingly. "I so enjoy this part. The wooing is always fun, sure, but I've trained for this all my life. I'm the greatest swordman of the country. This is what I live for."
"Well, very well." I pull out two decks. "I like to play green blue. I'm assuming you like to play red, so I made you one just in case you don't have a deck, although I side boarded you white, in case you maybe like red/white?"
"I'm sorry, what? What are you doing? Where's your sword?"
"Oh! I don't swordfight like yourself. I dual in this. Our life totals are twenty each. Here's your spin down."
"What? I'm not going to play a GAME for my HAND!?"
"No no no, we're dueling. I mean, we can draft a set instead, if you want? Or we could play some EDH? I promise you have a good deck though. It's even got some foils in there! And very pretty lands! Original Zen lands! Let's duel!"
She stood there, befuddled. No one had prepared her for this. They were dueling though, and it was to the death... So tradition would be accepted... "But... I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY CARDS!!"
"Oh, no worries, I'll teach you, come, sit down. So this is a land card..."
It was a lovely ceremony.
|
So it had come to this. She pulled out her sword and I knew there was only one way I could win.
See, I'm not a swordfighter, or an expert of precision with any kind of weapon. I can really only wield two weapons to any deadly effect.
First up, the most versatile farming tool on Earth - the machete. I carry one with a stainless-steel blade as often as I can, and it's come in handy many times. I've won many a-fight with it. But it isn't a great weapon against even a novice swordfighter, much less the best in the land. This means I'm going to have to rely on the only ranged weapon I know how to use.
Grenades.
Just... lots of grenades, doesn't matter which kind. Out of a standalone or rifle-mounted launcher, rocket propelled (didn't have any of these, unfortunately), or just plain hand grenades. I *know* grenades.
Expecting a dramatic fight, I calculated that I needed to stand between 10 and 15 feet away from her at all times, so I readied my first explosive: A classic M26 hand grenade, manufactured in 1961 as Vietnam was ramping up.
But that dramatic fight I was expecting, I did not get, for she made the mistake of wearing a light jacket with pockets, and I threw the live grenade into a front pocket. She dropped the sword and fumbled with the coat, getting it off just before it ceremoniously exploded. She tried to reclaim her weapon, but I had her at machete-point by them and she simply surrendered.
​
And that, kids, is how I proposed to your mother.
| 2020-09-20T20:52:33 | 2020-09-20T19:37:35 | 180 | 72 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight.
|
"We must duel to the death, you say?"
"Yes." She grins challengingly. "I so enjoy this part. The wooing is always fun, sure, but I've trained for this all my life. I'm the greatest swordman of the country. This is what I live for."
"Well, very well." I pull out two decks. "I like to play green blue. I'm assuming you like to play red, so I made you one just in case you don't have a deck, although I side boarded you white, in case you maybe like red/white?"
"I'm sorry, what? What are you doing? Where's your sword?"
"Oh! I don't swordfight like yourself. I dual in this. Our life totals are twenty each. Here's your spin down."
"What? I'm not going to play a GAME for my HAND!?"
"No no no, we're dueling. I mean, we can draft a set instead, if you want? Or we could play some EDH? I promise you have a good deck though. It's even got some foils in there! And very pretty lands! Original Zen lands! Let's duel!"
She stood there, befuddled. No one had prepared her for this. They were dueling though, and it was to the death... So tradition would be accepted... "But... I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY CARDS!!"
"Oh, no worries, I'll teach you, come, sit down. So this is a land card..."
It was a lovely ceremony.
|
“Princess, there is one last contestant who wishes to face you in trial!”
The princess looked up, carelessly tossing aside the bloodied rag she had been using to clean her blade. Behind her, a wooden cart dragging away the remains of the previous combatant. She gave the stranger a curious look, then shrugged it off, slowly striding up to him. Perhaps it was the long, dark robe, or the ragged fiber mask, certainly astray from the usual broad, shiny, heavy, and often restricting regalia worn by most nobles and princes with whom she had fought before. No, this man seemed humbler, almost frightened. This did not worry her, however; if the man’s attire was offsetting it was as much indicative of an untrained peasant or forest dweller. So she stepped up to him, raising her saber to a ready position.
“Draw thy blade, sir, and if thou taketh from me this blade and cut from my neck this stone thou shalt receive my inheritance and in marriage my service.”
The stranger reached deep into his cloak and pulled from it a worn, ragged straw doll, with eyes of dried berry and long, messily braided vine as hair. He spoke in a deep, but soft voice, which seemed at its sound to enact a brief flash of excitement in the princesses eye.
“Princess, I desire naught to fight...”
She looked at the doll for a moment, then cast it aside, and quickly thrust her blade to the stranger’s neck, barely breaking skin.
(Part two comin by tomorrow sometime >:3)
| 2020-09-20T20:52:33 | 2020-09-20T20:45:52 | 180 | 21 |
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
*Look. This is your first time, is it?*
**Silence, Mortal.**
*No, I'm serious. Being a disembodied soul really seems to broaden the perspective. I can see you struggling with my body. Exhale, by the way. You need to do that so you can inhale again. That's right, just... blow. Now inhale... And exhale... Good. Is this, in fact, your first time?*
I had to admit that it was, in fact, the first time I've taken possession of a human body. It's been generations since anyone truly willing has been able to piece together the information carefully left in tomes and scribbles. It has been ages since anyone went through the trouble of carefully piecing together the arcane data, sifting out the lies from the truth along the way. It's been decades, scores of decades since anyone has even attempted, let alone completed successfully the summoning ritual that promises to 'set one free from one's mortal woes'.
I remembered, Father had been very proud of that one.
*Yeah, keep inhaling. And exhaling. You need oxygen now, it seems. and- look, I don't know how much of my body you are in control of, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be sweating that much. Drop the temperature before you boil up, could you?*
It seemed I had much to learn.
**You will teach me.** I informed the disembodied soul, already fading towards whatever came after for it. I would keep it, as a pet, while it gave me the information I needed to function in this flesh-sack of a body.
I felt angry. I felt betrayed. It was never said to be this difficult. This body had needs of it's own, and demands of it's own, and large parts of it seemed to be doing the thinking for me without any instruction on my part.
*Yeah. No can do, I'm afraid. I'd say I'm already beginning to get light headed, but that would be incorrect, wouldn't it? Call it... Giddy. Huh. So this is what giddiness feels like.*
I reached out to crush the little lampling of a soul in rage, and then recognized my rage for what it was - futile. I would only hasten the soul's departure from this realm, and it would do me no good.
I stared at my ~~talons~~ hands and felt my shoulders sag, breath thrusting from my chest as the body sank down into a sitting position.
I felt my anger fade, fade into a slow-aching simmer in the background of an overwhelming sense of anxiety and futility. These, at least, were sensations I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with - how many times had I not been beaten into the dirt by something bigger, something older than me?
The sensations were - Oddly familiar. Oddly comforting. They gave me a point of reference, I supposed, and let my body roll sideways into the mattress the spellcaster had slept on while they prepared the hours-long rite they had used to call out to me.
Oh, yeah. Light-headed. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.
The tightness of it wrapped around my chest and thrust a fist up into my throat from within. Was it going to be like this for the decades to come? A body that didn't obey it's master, a body that slipped away from my careful control even as I tried to balance it's many, many regulatory systems to it's satisfaction?
I would've been better off staying in hell.
Sadness.
Sadness was a new sensation, and a sensation I lost myself to for a good few minutes, staring blankly at the wall until my burning eyes reminded me that I needed to blink, every so often, or just... be more uncomfortable.
And all the while, that overwhelming, cloying sadness, sense of futility, fatigue, like a physical weight bearing down on every square inch of me overcoming even my want to move trickled through my being, whispering my failure at me with a voice only I could hear. This wasn't how it was supposed to be!
But... It was how it was. Any effort to altering my situation would only cost me - cost me time, and energy, and effort, and I didn't feel it in me to even work up the motivation to begin expending any effort, whatsoever.
*Yeah. That's depression for you. Well. On the surface. It gets so much more - all-encompassing. Deeper in, I mean.* spoke the fading soul.
Was that a hint of sympathy I heard?
No. It was making fun of me. Must have been.
*Oh, for your information? You're broke, with chronic back- and neurological issues, in the middle of a pandemic. And, of course, clinically depressed.*
Well. At least someone had gotten \*something\* right.
*And in three days, you run out of medication*, whispered the last motes of the soul as they swirled in on each other, and even it's non-existent light faded from my perception. *good luck.*
|
Buvolell -- Fell Lord of the Doomkeep -- padded after his prey. His steps were whisper soft as they went down the stairs to the basement apartment. The demon dragged his long nails as delicious expectation flared inside him.
Peter Jensen. 26. There was something about him that struck Buvolell as intriguing. Something to add to his collection.
He allowed Peter to enter his apartment, lingering on the threshold. The crimson Eye of Morgoth embedded in the demon's forehead glistered, and Buvolell took a moment to adjust to his new form. He adjusted the nursing mounds protruding from his chest (*So ungainly*, he thought) and smoothed out his skirt.
Then, his pale, carefully manicured hand reached out to knock gently at the door.
Nothing happened.
Becky -- that was a viable human name -- knocked again, more firmly this time. One minute passed, then two, and finally footsteps drew closer and the door opened. Peter's sullen, drooping face appeared out of the dim shadows behind him.
"Oh thank *gosh* you're home," Becky said. "This is *so* embarrassing. I need -- "
"Sure, whatever." Peter cut in, voice flat as an asphalt road.
"...okay. It's just, I need to charge my phone so I can call my sister. Something's happened and I'm *so desperate* and if you could let me in I would be grateful." Becky chewed on her ruby-red lower lip, pausing to take a breath. "*So* grateful."
Peter stepped aside.
"Um. Gosh, I just...my mom taught me to not go in to someone's home without, like, a formal invitation? So if you could just -- "
"Yeah, whatever, it's fine."
\*Close enough\*, Buvolell thought, as he stepped, trembling, over the threshold.
A floor lamp in the far corner did a poor job of illuminating the studio. Becky's heels clicked on the linoleum floor, languidly removing a cell phone and charger from her black purse. She turned to look at Peter.
"Where should I...stick it in?" she purred.
Peter pointed limply toward the kitchen area and shuffled past stacks of magazines to the futon and sat down.
Becky tried to ignore the nearly-empty cans of soup and styrofoam to-go containers on the counter and connected her phone to a free socket next to the hot plate. Then she strutted slowly back out and toward the futon.
"It's like something out of a fairy tale, don't you think?" She gave a lilting, musical laugh. "A damsel in distress...and you are my white knight, saving me in my hour of need."
She hesitated, noticing Peter's eyes were focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to the blank wall opposite him, then looked back to him.
"What are you looking at, my gallant cavalier?"
"I'm just thinking," he mumbled.
"My my! Brave *and* intelligent! I *love* men who *think*." Buvolell blinked for a moment as he caused a button on his blouse to shoot onto the mattress next to Peter.
"Oh no! How embarrassing, I've lost a button from my blouse," she said, leaning over in front of Peter as she reached for the button. "And I just bought these heels, I'm so unsteady in them, I -- oops!"
Becky twisted as she lost her balance, falling into Peter's lap.
"Hi," she breathed, staring into his eyes.
"Hey," he said, just as monotone as ever.
"May I...give you a token of my gratitude, noble one?"
Peter shrugged. It was disconcerting, but Buvolell was too ready to devour this mortal's soul to care.
Becky placed one hand on each of Peter's cheeks, felt the stubble growing there, and brought her face closer. His breath smelled like rancid cheese. She brought her lips to his, slowly, savoring the moment. The imminent war of wills, and the inevitable conclusion.
Flesh touched flesh. Becky vanished in a cloud of red smoke as Buvolell battered down the door to Peter's consciousness and strode inside. In his right hand was a sword wreathed in black flame. The demon tensed, ready to do battle.
He saw Peter's face, heard his voice: *Good luck.*
The mortal's skin distended, bulging, and burst. A horde of winged beings emerged, shrieking, and descended on Buvolell. In a moment, he was disarmed, pinned to the black floor of Peter's mind.
As the shadowy creatures began to rend the demon's flesh, he heard Peter's voice, one last time.
*You'll need it.*
* * *
Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for many more stories, including [this scene](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7rjzoc/ip_may_i_come_in/) of Buvolell being summoned into the world.
| 2020-12-21T12:27:17 | 2020-12-21T10:51:37 | 245 | 169 |
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
|
"Alright, my prince," said Gertrude, keeping her eyes on the three intruders, "to your right is a knife block. I want you to take the smallest one and just hold onto it—like we practiced—okay?"
The young Prince Ralph looked to his left. "I don't see a knife block, Gerty."
As she took a deep breath to focus on the feeling of the knife's hilt, Getrtude ran her free hand across the scales of the fish she was preparing prior to the commotion. "To your right, hun."
Ralph looked right. "Oh—" He did as instructed. "Okay, I've got the knife."
"Good, now I don't want you to—"
"This is ridiculous!" shouted one of the intruders, a man not quite six feet tall. "She's just the damned cook!" Rounding the massive wooden table, he broke into a run and lunged toward Gertrude's five-foot-frame.
Gertrude took a single step to the left to avoid his blade, grabbed the ten-pound fish by its tail, and swung it toward the man's face.
*Clap!* The scaly body of the fish smacked directly into his left cheek, sending his body crashing into the ground with a resounding *thud!*
"Hahahaha—fish slapped!" celebrated Ralph.
Gertrude looked to him and winked. "You like that one, my prince?"
Clutching his face—now imprinted with multiple scrapes from fish's rough scales—the man slowly lifted himself head to face the cook. "You'll pay for that, wench."
"Uh-oh!" said Ralph, covering his mouth. "I think you've made a mistake."
"What are you talkin—"
Without hesitation, Gertrude swung the fish back toward the man's face, this time striking his other side and catapulting his head into the corner of the table.
He died on impact. His body lumped onto the floor, blood slowly oozing from his wounds.
"Here," said Gertrude, flinging the bloodied fish across the table toward the others, "we can't eat this anymore; it's been sullied with the blood of an insignificant speck of a human."
One of the intruders—the heavier of the two—whispered something to the other, then turned and motioned to exit the kitchen.
"Ah, not so fast—" Gertrude cocked her arm back and threw her chef's knife across the space, piercing the man's cloak on the door frame just as he cleared it.
Grasping at his neck as his mantle upended him, the man gasped for breath until his back slammed into the concrete floor and took all air from him.
Without turning, Gertrude held her hand toward Ralph. "Young one, could you hand me another knife?"
"Which one?"
"Surprise me."
Ralph giggled to himself and placed the bread knife firmly in her hand.
Feeling the familiar handle, Gertrude muttered, "Interesting choice."
"Get up!" yelled the upright intruder as he delivered a swift kick to his companion. "She can't beat us if we take her together!"
"Hmm, that doesn't seem quite fair." Gertrude extended her other hand toward the prince. "One more, please."
"Umm, the only one left is the small one I'm holding."
Gertrude looked to the sink beside the intruders, where most of her cutlery lay dirtied with the days dishes. "The sharpener, then."
Ralph removed the elongated, cylindrical honing steel knife sharpener from the block and placed the handle in the cook's hand.
After rising to his feet, the large man ripped both his cloak and the chef's knife from the wall.
Concurrently, the thin man drew his cutlass. "A bread knife and a blunted kitchen's tool?" He let out a haughty laugh. "You would have been better off with the fish!"
"I suppose we'll see about that," replied Gertrude, stepping out from behind the table and into the open area of the kitchen. "Anyway, as I was saying, my prince, I want you to stay right there in the corner unless I tell you otherwise. Alright?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Gertrude began to pace, sliding the straight edge of the bread knife across the sharpener. "Well, boys—shall we get this over with?"
With a twirl of his cutlass, the thin man—clearly the leader of the three—nodded to the other before the two of them split, each circling the table to deliver a pincer attack on the cook.
Gertrude spun back toward the thin man as he neared the prince's location and swung the steel rod at his face, thumping him directly in the forehead before he could even prepare to strike. Then, as he dropped his weapon and fell, she hauled herself back to the larger man, shouting behind her, "My prince, get behind me!"
As Prince Ralph scurried behind her toward the opposite corner, the larger man maintained his charge, focusing his eyes on Gertrude as he slashed toward her stomach.
Gertrude jumped backward to avoid the blade, then hopped sideways to close the distance between them.
As his enemy drew closer, the man brought a haymaker toward her right temple.
She ducked the blow, then—trapping his chef's knife between her bread knife and sharpener—forced it from his grasp. As it spun away, she delivered a powerful kick to his stomach, thrusting his back into the table.
"You!" he called out.
"Me!" Gertrude clasped him by the arm and swung herself up onto his shoulders, whipping his body around in the process. Then—locking eyes with the thin man as he rose to his feet across the table—she gripped the large man's hair, placed the serrated edge of the bread knife firmly on his throat, and drew it across slowly.
With the knife embedded in his neck, the man crumpled backward, bringing Gertrude soundly back to her feet.
'You!" shouted the thin man.
"Haven't we been through this already?" She hurled the knife sharpener at the man. As he attempted to dodge it, she ran forward and leapt onto the table, sliding feet-first toward him.
Just in time, the thin man sidestepped her attack.
With nothing to absorb her momentum, Gertrude slid all the way across the table, launched into the side cabinets, and tumbled to the ground. Flat on her back, she blinked to orient herself, only to find a cutlass careening toward her.
"This was fun, but—" The man stopped mid-sentence, his eyes crossing for a moment.
"Ahahaha, nice one Gerty!" praised the prince. "Right in the jewels!"
"You'll pay for—"
"My prince, when I say so, I want you to—"
*Clink!* The thin man's cutlass scraped the floor as she rolled to the side to avoid another attack.
"I want you to throw me your knife!" She lifted the sharpener from the ground, positioned it between the thin man's legs, and banged it between his knees. As he buckled forward, she sprang to her feet and yelled, "Now!"
Prince Ralph threw the knife with all the force his eleven-year-old body could muster.
Just as the thin man's knees hit the floor, Gertrude caught the knife by the blade, wincing at the pain as it sliced into her hand. Paying the injury no mind, she dropped the knife to her other hand, caught it by the handle, and pierced it through the thin man's eye.
*Thump!* The third and final body hit the ground.
"Well, my prince," she said, grabbing a kitchen cloth and wrapping it round her hand. "I'm sorry this got so violent. Shall we go check on mum and dad?"
\-----
Edits: Fixed a couple grammar issues.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, check out some of my other stories on my sub! r/storiesbyclayton
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“We’ll kill ya, down with the prince.” The ruffians charged the halls of the royal castle, finding their way into the castle through a hidden gap in the castle’s walls. The poor prince desperately sprinted away from the group, holding his robes up to his knees, trying not to trip on the exotic fabric, a feat he failed, collapsing onto the floor of the kitchen, crawling towards a cupboard, trying to hide his body.
The ruffians charged in, the group of five not expecting to survive this encounter, the group seeking the fame that came from killing a royal, the type of fame that people talked about for centuries. Each one entering the room, wielding a rusted dagger or other sharp metallic object, eyes scanning the room, watching the pitiful prince curl against the wood of a cupboard, face pale with fear.
“Aye, we got you now prince, you are our ticket to fame, come here and we will gut you quick.” The leader spoke up, earning a small glance from the kitchen’s head chef, the older woman letting out a sigh, leaning forward to wash her hands before facing the group, exposing a steak knife.
“The only thing getting gutted in my kitchen is the fish for dinner. You won’t lay a hand on our prince; you even try to touch him, and I’ll have all of you little shits in the pig’s trough outside. Is that understood?” Her words sharper than her blade. The woman built like a knight, face covered in scars, not fitting the usual look of a castle cook.
The group lost their nerve, each looking between one another, expecting someone else to take charge of the situation, none expecting this. The gazes all ended on the leader, whose mouth was agape, not expecting to run into such a warrior here.
“I don’t think you understand the situation, miss. There’s five of us here, and one of you. Why don’t you step aside? The prince isn’t worth your life. Now be a good cook and run along.” The leader cockily marched towards the woman. When he neared her, he flashed his blade, trying to catch her off guard, swinging his blade towards her, only for the cook to catch his hand, twisting his wrist until the blade dropped. Once the blade cluttered onto the floor, she pinned his hand against a chopping board, stabbing the steak knife through his hand, pinning it to the board.
“Sloppy. You don’t touch the handle of your blade like that unless you are planning to attack. How did you idiots get this far? So that’s one for the pig’s breakfast, got any more volunteers.” Her icy stare fell on the group. The cowering would be assassins retreating towards the guards, screaming and pleading for help. “Heh, still got it. You ok prince? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
The woman turned to the prince for a moment, only to turn back to the assassin. The leader screaming, trying to free his hand from the board. He went to pull the knife out, only for the cook’s hand to sit on top of his. “You’ll make a mess if you do that and possibly bleed out. Wait until the guards arrive, they might offer you some aid traitor. I won’t be lenient towards you, but our prince might be.”
“Are you ok, Miss Eliza?” The prince slowly stood up, face regaining some color after the frightful encounter.
“Don’t worry yourself, dear. I’m just happy you knew to run to safety. You did well, young prince. Please don’t look behind me, it’s not a sight for someone like you to see. Run along towards your room now. I’ll take this one to the knights.”
The prince did just that, offering Eliza a nod and a quick thank you before running past the kitchen heading to the upper levels. Eliza watched, smiling as he went up to his room.
“Why help him? He’s royalty, you know, one of the foulest humans around.” The leader sneered, only to shut up when he felt the blade get nudged by the cook.
“Insult the prince again and I’ll remove a finger. I’m not helping him, I’m serving him. The prince is a nice man and he will grow into a fine king. I understand your feelings though, guessing you and your group are street runts?”
“How dare you call us street runts! What are you going to call us pests as well? Not everyone gets to live an easy life.” The leader hissed. Defiance the only thing left that he could do. Like a wounded animal, he could only snap at the approaching danger.
“You think a lady with my face grew up in a castle? I was a bandit, had a plan to kill the royals too. Was going to ransack this place and become a hero.” She shook her head. How naïve she was in her youth. To ransack a castle, no one could pull off such a feat with the numbers she had.
“So did you do it?” The leader’s struggling stopped, entranced by the story, the pain secondary to his curiosity.
“What do you think, idiot? The castles standing and I’m wearing an apron. Does it look like I succeeded? Didn’t even get close. Guards got wind of it the night before, beat the every loving shit out of me and my crew. Lost a few people that night. We disbanded after that. It left me with nothing, wandering the streets, drinking away my troubles. Then I spotted an opportunity. The walls were a lot shorter back then, so I thought, why not climb it? A final middle finger to the royals. Well, my drunkard self-climbed the wall, falling into the royal gardens. That’s when I saw the prince sitting their alone. Had I not been drunk I might have kidnapped him, held him for ransom, but I was far too out of it. When I saw him approach, I expected him to call the guards, but he offers me an apple instead. The prince offered me an apple. Then he offered me more food and before I knew it I was sitting in the garden eating with the prince.”
“I don’t believe it. You mean to tell me, the prince fed you of all people? Why would he waste food on you?”
“Cause he’s a naïve young prince. But he’s got the heart of one of those Arthurian legends. When the guards came, weapons drawn, he talked them down. Explained to them I wasn’t a danger. Of course, the guards knew who I was and when they went to execute me, the prince stood in my way. The prince going out of his way for someone like me. Heh, I still can’t believe. Ever since then, I’ve sworn to make sure he never goes hungry. I didn’t even know how to cook until I started here. Now I’m the head chef.”
“You just got lucky. Ive seen how they stare at us, how they look down at the poorer people. You should know that just as well as I do.”
“I do, but the prince is still young. He can’t change anything currently, but I believe he has the potential to do so in the future. Don’t judge him like you judge the nobles, that coldness you show will only turn him into the man you want to despise. Treat him with kindness and he will return it. Anyway, the decision’s not up to me, it’s up to the prince. Just think about what I said and don’t you dare come back here when he frees you. Unless you’re apologizing.”
“You really think he will free me? After everything I did.” The Leader lowered his head, pulling the board from the counter, not risking taking out the blade.
“I know he will. Let’s get you some help, that cuts not going to heal itself.” She chuckled, taking the board with one of her hands, helping him walk to the lower levels, searching for a medic.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-01-08T07:01:28 | 2021-01-08T05:08:38 | 181 | 117 |
[WP] When you found a genie, you decided to wish that all clothes you wore always fit you perfectly. What you soon find out, however, is that the clothes don’t resize, you do.
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*tiny squeak* "YES I know I am smaller than my wallet, YES I KNOW that these are hockey jerseys, PLEASE JUST LET ME PAY YOU!"
"*snrk*. Sure, sure fine. You, uh, you want help carrying those out?"
"... can i please change in the changing room?"
"... Sure. Let's get you rung up. Sorry to make you feel, uh..."
*Vehemently rolling eyes* "... Small, yes, very funny. Damn roommates."
~several minutes pass~
"Hah! That's better. Thanks for being somewhat polite."
"Ehm, sorry, did you see a tiny doll in there? Because it was empty, then you came out, and I'm horribly confused because I stood guard and everything...?"
"... Look, kid, I'll explain over lunch."
~Several more minutes pass~
"So you... fit whatever clothes you wear."
"Yup."
"And your friends put dolls' clothes on you when you were passed out drunk."
"YUP."
"What happens if you're naked? Do you become very small, because you're wearing nothing, or do you become huge because you're wearing the universe?"
"..."
"........"
"............"
"FUCK! It usually just kinda works however I think it should, and now you've ruined it! I can't be naked ever again!"
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In what used to be the Horsehead Nebula, where the final gods fell, each ring of woven mail on my breast was ten thousand kilometers across.
By then, so many years into the war we had started, the dread machine that I bore as exoskeleton held the writhing mass of hundreds of trillions of the others. Not merely cities or an armies but entire planets were mine, were me: Lived and breathed and bred and fought and died on me, tended me, built and rebuilt the armor on my chest. And such armor! Ever larger, ever stronger, forged from the bursting sundered belly of every star that fell within our grasp. The generations who had first built it to dwarf our native Sun had been dead for millennia by Horsehead, and the living sons and daughters of Earth will never see their home system, they who now crawl up and down the living galaxy-planet that I have become. That I have become, no: that they have built me to be.
For our building is our birthright, and the genie's fell magic will yet deliver us eternal dominion over the vast expanse of ink and shining nova. With the gods dead and my arms now stretching out across the universe, who or what dark thing can hope to stop us? The furnaces on my shoulders howl without ceasing for starfire. Another great ring of mail groans and settles into place upon my back, and I feel my body shiver and grow as we turn to hunt for the next bright spot to consume from our darkness.
| 2021-01-08T22:57:29 | 2021-01-08T22:36:01 | 72 | 16 |
[WP] When you found a genie, you decided to wish that all clothes you wore always fit you perfectly. What you soon find out, however, is that the clothes don’t resize, you do.
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Things were awkward at first and even painful at times. However, with clothes sculpted to contain a muscular physique, I was able to pull off a similar effect to what I intended.
"You're beautiful." I tell the woman in front of me. The club was susprisingly well lit considering how cheap the drinks were.
She blushes, playing coy but I can see her eyes linger on me. It takes only a few moments but I see the idea of us running through her mind.
"Buy me a drink would you?" And just like that, I had her.
With a flick of my wrist, I order something light and fruity to start us off and soon enough, we're sharing a taxi.
Neither of us were drunk but for the life of me, I couldn't quite remember how we got to my apartment. To be fair, I was quite distracted in the car but somwhere along the way, we ended up making out on my couch. With a smirk, she slowly removes my pants before her lustful expression fades into dissapointment.
"Uhh, I don't mean to be shallow but..." she glances down at my less then impressive... figure. A figure that was below average, even when standing at attention. "You said you were... larger."
"Trust me." I say. "I'm a real grower."
Turns out certain kinds of protection count as clothing.
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In what used to be the Horsehead Nebula, where the final gods fell, each ring of woven mail on my breast was ten thousand kilometers across.
By then, so many years into the war we had started, the dread machine that I bore as exoskeleton held the writhing mass of hundreds of trillions of the others. Not merely cities or an armies but entire planets were mine, were me: Lived and breathed and bred and fought and died on me, tended me, built and rebuilt the armor on my chest. And such armor! Ever larger, ever stronger, forged from the bursting sundered belly of every star that fell within our grasp. The generations who had first built it to dwarf our native Sun had been dead for millennia by Horsehead, and the living sons and daughters of Earth will never see their home system, they who now crawl up and down the living galaxy-planet that I have become. That I have become, no: that they have built me to be.
For our building is our birthright, and the genie's fell magic will yet deliver us eternal dominion over the vast expanse of ink and shining nova. With the gods dead and my arms now stretching out across the universe, who or what dark thing can hope to stop us? The furnaces on my shoulders howl without ceasing for starfire. Another great ring of mail groans and settles into place upon my back, and I feel my body shiver and grow as we turn to hunt for the next bright spot to consume from our darkness.
| 2021-01-08T23:05:30 | 2021-01-08T22:36:01 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] All the alien species in the intergalactic council excelled in one way or another to climb through survival of the fittest. So why are humans, a species with average physique, so hard to deal with? And what the hell is persistence hunting.
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It all started with the Dalarians. After defeating the humans in battle, they naturally waited for the humans to surrender as any civilized species would do after being defeated. But the humans applied an insane and illogical philosophy called the "sunk cost fallacy". Instead of surrendering to the Dalarians, the humans stole their tech, massacred their leaders, and launched a crusade against the galaxy.
At first no one believed those fleshy prey animals posed a threat. But now the galaxy was in peril as the humans conquered or destroyed species after species after species.
Early to fall were the Tarvaks. They had evolved to be the deadliest creatures in the galaxy. Hulking armored brutes but quick on their feet and just as quick with their claws and fangs. Destroyed by wave after wave of human warriors. Five human soldiers were lost for every Tarvak but they didn't care.
The Meeleks, famous for their poisonous breath, were destroyed after the human chancellor said "eh it's war and they're doing it, screw the Geneva Convention" and destroyed the Meeleks using a deadly poison that they consume as food! Mustard!
Species after species fell like dominoes. Planets were massacred, fleets destroyed, and the human menace spread across the galaxy like an infectious disease.
I write this history of the Human Wars so future generations can read the loser's perspective. I'm a Booshamite. My people have the fastest ships in the galaxy. We hoped to flee the human demons. But no matter how long or how far we run... They. Keep. Coming.
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Svedbar grasped the arm of his favorite discussion partner Chiztet and led her to the counsel chambers to discuss what was just presented. The humans finally laid proposition to the counsel to join the galactic treatise.
“That human removed its exo-skeleton.” Svedbar said. “I didn’t think it was possible for them.”
Chiztet chirped into her hand-held and Svedbar heard, “You are mistaken. Humans in some spaces are able to remove their outer wear. It is not actually a part of them. Their real selves are squishy and raw. It’s a wonder they’re the dominant species on their planet.”
“Tell me about them. Are they to be trusted? What would their end goal be?” Svedbar ducked to whisper to his friend as other counsel members joined them in the chambers.
Chiztet chirped again and Svedbar heard, “Well they are persistent. I have read that back before they used what they call modern weapons, they would chase down other species on their planet in order to wear them down. I have no doubt that unless we wipe them out, they will eventually become a part of the counsel if it is their intention to do so. I say we hear them out now. Maybe their fleshy minds will provide insight on how to deal with the fungi. It is the major threat to us all.”
Svedbar nodded pondering about what the counsel might have to give to these fleshy beings clad in metal. The two took their seats with the counsel members of their species as the prominent took their position at the front and started the formal discussions.
| 2021-02-04T08:52:37 | 2021-02-04T08:48:14 | 467 | 144 |
[WP] All the alien species in the intergalactic council excelled in one way or another to climb through survival of the fittest. So why are humans, a species with average physique, so hard to deal with? And what the hell is persistence hunting.
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He collapsed on the far side of the rock, air sacs pulsating as he tried to oxygenate his system. His hind limbs were shaking, he knew he couldn't go on much further. He peered back and saw the creature, pink skin layered over with synthetic fibers it's two legged stride ate up the ground between them as it started to close the gap yet again. It hadn't changed speed since this chase started almost ten hours ago, and didn't seem especially fatigued by the chase so far. He, on the other hand, was almost out of energy.
He waited as long as he could to re-oxygenate, and then when the creature was only five body length away he heaved himself to his hooves and started a new sprint. The distance opened: 10 bodylengths; 15; 20; something in his left hind leg spasmed and he collapsed. The human was still coming. Back to his hooves. Forelimbs down, hindlimbs forward, JUMP; forelimbs down, hindlimbs forward, JUMP, Forelimbs down, hindlimbs... didn't move. His muzzle hit the dirt. He didn't look behind him, he knew it would still be there, still moving with that strange ground-eating stride.
A few seconds later he felt the creature's stride vibrating the dirt. He heaved himself forewords with his forelimbs. Made it maybe half a bodylength. Too much dead weight. The footfalls stopped. He craned his neck and looked at the pink creature - he had grown a single, long claw - gleaming in the sunlight. It moved, the claw flashing down in a single long cut, and there was darkness.
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I took a deep breath.
"We're gonna die," I said with the most clarity in the past 4 gerlens. 12 weeks in human times.
"Dude shut up, I refuse to believe the tales of Humanities persistence, they will tire and they will fall. No species as weak as them can fight for that long. I mean look at us, we're the *Serleuns* we were built for combat, we evolved for combat, we live for combat." Jaklurn said.
"Sure bro, but the humans fight with no honor! You know what happened to captain Zern, he challenged their champion to a duel for the ship. You know the one in the skeleton of steel? He just shot him!" The One in the Skeleton was the human's champion, there have been tales of him that spread through the fleets, he was one who wore a thick armor that could resist against ballistic blasts and even plasma. In tales, there was a total count of 14 that walked with similar armor, but many believe there were more as an encounter with one meant sure death.
"then we will kill their champion, and go down in glorious combat and be remembered for all history!" He said, standing and pulling out a weapon.
"you know what, sure, we're gonna die anyway." I stood with him and we left our little crevice and made our way through the cockpit of the station.
When the elevator opened, we charged. Humanity was taken by surprise, they tried to shoot us but the power of the first warrior was flowing through us!
One by one they fell.
One by one we slew the humans.
Till only the champion at the end of the hall stood.
"Champion! We are here to challeng-" BAM!
Jaklurn was dead. I stared at the champion who then aimed his weapon at me.
And that was all I remembered
| 2021-02-04T10:56:14 | 2021-02-04T10:18:12 | 43 | 26 |
[WP] You, an all-powerful villain, managed to defeat the child of prophecy. The problem is he's literally a child. You now turn your eyes towards the gods who sent the poor soul against you.
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The Demon King Abbadon, Lord of the Dread Legions of Hell and the Scourge of Heaven, stared down at the champion of the gods, more than a bit surprised. This was no hero clad in plate, no mighty warrior wielding a holy sword, not even someone with a magic gun. It was a literal infant child in a basket.
*"...um. Is this... is this some kind of trick?"* he rumbled, in a voice that made mountains tremble and darkness grow. *"Is the real hero gonna hop out and stab me while I'm distracted?"*
"That IS the real hero!" one of the adventurers before him said irately, a tiefling barbarian with an enormous axe.
*"...uuuuum. You sure about that...?"* He poked the basket with the tip of a sword that had slain gods; the baby giggled as it began rocking.
"Pretty bloody sure," the dwarf gunslinger said with a nod; he seemed to be significantly more dubious than the others in his group.
"She is the champion ordained by the gods!" another tiefling cried out, this one clad in holy robes and clutching a golden rod; she seemed the most determined of anyone, glaring fiercely up at Abbadon. "With her power, you will be smited down once and for all, fiend!"
*"Smote,"* he corrected her. *"And something tells me she's not gonna be doing a lot of smiting anytime soon..."*
"Whatever! Potato, tomato, blah blah blah!"
"Hisyis, lass, I think the gods might have made a mistake," the dwarf muttered to the cleric.
"Nonsense! The gods can do no wrong and make no mistakes!"
"Pretty sure they made a big mistake makin me." The dwarf snorted at his joke. "But seriously, how's a wee babe supposed tah help, eh?"
"I...!" She deflated a bit. "...don't... actually know."
The barbarian sighed and rolled his eyes. "So, you're telling me that we fought our way through Abbadon's kingdom, took down his strongest generals, cucked him with his wife-"
*"Wait what?"*
"-and nearly died ***multiple fucking times, for this bullshit?!"***
"I... but the gods..." Hisyis seemed to deflate a little more. "...were we lied to?"
*"...ignoring that comment that the barbarian just made, you probably were."* Abbadon shrugged. *"The gods seem to do that a lot. Now do you see why I don't like them?"*
"Never cared much for them to begin with, but they're a preferable alternative to ye," the gunslinger said with a shrug.
*"You really believe that, don't you..."* Abbadon sighed. *"The gods have lied to you in more ways than one."*
"...what?" Hisyis asked in a whisper. Poor girl, her entire worldview was crumbling around her...
*"I can explain everything."* He sheathed his sword. *"First, though, do you all want tea? I'm sure you're parched."*
For a moment, the adventurers hesitated, and Abbadon tensed, ready to fight them if he needed to.
"...I'll have mine with two cubes o sugar and a wee bit o milk, thankee kindly."
|
"What the fuck"
"Sorceress, we've been ex-"
"*What. The. Fuck.*"
"Your monstrous end had to come at so-"
"Don't.. You dare. Speak to me with that tone. You have no moral high ground here. A child, you sent to kill me, a child." She said gesturing to the boy sobbing in the arms of one of her assistants, Throg, scraggly dwarven man, not the smartest but unmatched in decor and a heart of gold. "What do you have to say to me in your defense?"
"Excuse us, we overestimated the literacy of farmers."
Her fingers itched and crackled with primordial energy, she could kill them all if she wanted to "You have my attention"
"We do not control the ebb and flow of the universe any more than you, we merely try and often fail to act as its voice. What we know is that your paths are intertwined and that there was no later date to bring you together. What we know is what we wrote of: A child of prophecy to conquer the known world, a child of prophecy to lead it. What we know is why you would refuse to kill the boy." She looked at the axe in her hand, it was so small, how could one be so stupid to rely on a trinket like this to kill the most powerful sorceress the world has ever known? Only one has ever come close, Lily, her battering ram, her strength and simple manner of speech expertly masked an acute understanding of prophecy, she would have understood what the gods were saying.
"You employ and deploy a simple farmboy to end my reign and now you torment me with these memories, why? What is this meant to accomplish?"
"A reminder."
Her thoughts returned to Lily, they found each other in a prison camp, one as a guard, one as an inmate. It was a shock at first, the guard has never seen one before, but Lily explained the plight on her people and her unique appearance being due to the forced extinction of her culture and traditions, a vile act committed by the guard's own employers. It took time and research and questioning but Lily's words carried more and more weight with every entry, every passing comment. It was a violent night, she still flinches at the memory of the atrocities she committed. For 10 years they travelled together, leaving retribution in their wake everywhere they went, at whatever cost. The allies they gathered and the skeletons they made founded the world they all now tread upon, Lily was always the more effective talker, speaking of creating a better world than the one they found themselves in. She turned her attention toward the boy once again, his eyes, bloodshot, still watery, green, innocent, familiar. "He's a farm hand, what does he know of managing trade and border disputes?"
"Only what he is taught"
The words stung in her ears, they'd been spat at her enough times by the arcane scholars she tried and often failed to learn from. She gently set the axe aside and approached him, slowly, gingerly, and as she did he recoiled. "I will not hurt you," She insisted, "I refuse to hurt you." she reassured. "You stood against insurmountable odds, you already tread farther and overcame more than any other would dare or bother. In time you will rule in my place, but first I must teach you how."
Pleased, the gods one by one faded away, the prophecy was nearly complete.
| 2021-02-22T00:37:59 | 2021-02-21T20:02:07 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] Aliens don't understand the concept of statues, and have come to the conclusion that we have imprisoned giants.
|
The Snuffleoids are a peaceful race. Their planet has no concept of war, violence, or natural predatory instincts. On Planet Snuffle, there is no food-chain. All animals coexist peacefully deriving nutrients from the air, soil and sunshine exclusively. Our xenologists have studied them for years and are unable to identify a single defensive trait or capability—natural or otherwise.
Yet they had mastered interstellar travel and took the initiative to make first contact with Earth. They shared their technology with us, and propelled humanity to the space age. We shared what we could, but of course, kept our military capabilities hidden. Even today the Snuffleoids don’t fully understand what humans are truly capable of. They don’t know about nuclear missiles or rail-guns. They don’t know that the cannons on our ships are meant for anything other than mining operations.
Diplomatic encounters with their kind are easy. There's never any pushback, or negotiation—never any need to issue threats or flex muscle. They invariably roll over to our every wish, and if that ever stops, only then will we reveal our hand.
Mr. Noodleton sat silently in my office, admiring the view of the New York City skyline off to the side. He was small, only slightly larger than a cat. His body was round and his fur exceedingly fluffy, as if made of cotton candy.
“So Mr. Noodleton,” I said. “I understand you’re here to discuss trade routes on behalf of the Snuffleoids.”
“I sure am.” he said, his voice distinctly sounding like a Muppet.
“What’s your proposal?”
“*Welllll...* you know how humans have been mining the asteroid belt?"
"Yes," I said.
"And you know how we Snuffleoids *also* like to mine the asteroid belt?"
"Yes."
"Great! So we share a common interest! Asteroids are just great aren't they?"
"Yes," I said again, starting to get impatient. It was always like this talking to a Snuffleoid. Like speaking with a toddler. "What's your point?"
"Well humans have been mining it quite a lot, you see. Its made it *preeeetty* hard for us. We want to talk about ways we can *both* mine the belt and not, well, as you humans say 'fuck each other over.'”
I nodded. This is what I had expected, we had received complaints from a number of Snuffleoid ships about human activity in the belt. “Send us your proposal in writing and we will consider it. That said, we are in desperate need of the ore we mine. We will not consider any course of action which curtails our operation.”
Mr. Noodleton nodded, but remained silent.
“Will that be a problem?” I asked.
Mr. Noodleton seemed fixated on the view behind me. I turned around, realizing he was looking at the Statue of Liberty. “It’s beautiful isn't it?” I said.
“It sure is. Humans sure must be strong to imprison a Titan like that without any Svenlodar.”
Not recognizing the word I quickly typed it into my translator, but retrieved no results. “What are Svenlodar?” I asked.
“It's a Snuffleoid thing," Mr. Noodleton said dismissively. "There's no human word for it... You know, I sure would be interested to hear how your kind imprisoned the Titans. I bet the stories are *reaaalll* great. I *prooomise* I won't tell anyone. As your kind say, I 'swear on my pinky.'"
I smiled, sensing the source of the confusion. “It’s just a statute, she symbolizes freedom.”
“A statute?”
“Yes. It’s not real.”
“Was it ever real?”
“No, of course not.”
Mr. Noodleton began laughing, a strange high-pitched-yet-guttural sound. I joined in, finding the mix-up quite funny. I’d be telling the office about it as soon as the meeting was over. When his laughter subsided he continued. “Well,” he said. “That explains *sooooo* much. We're just going to go ahead and revoke our offer.”
“I’m sorry?”
“*Yeahhh,* we're sorry too. The Snuffleoids will be assuming full control of the belt, effective immediately.”
I put on my most condescending smile, excited to flex the full power of the office behind me. “Look, Mr. Noodleton. Humanity will not bend to your wishes. We were generous to allow your kind to mine the belt at all. Now, we may have to rethink that generosity.”
Mr. Noodleton had pulled out his holopad and began inputting a series of commands.
“Are you listening?” I asked. “This is not a joke.”
“Take a look at these pictures,” he said, projecting image after image in the air. “What do you see?”
They were pictures of various statutes—large hulking monuments of grotesque creatures more fearsome looking than any human fiction. The last image was of a sea of stone monsters, their scale only apparent by the pink Snuffleoid mountain they surrounded.
“I just see statues,” I said.
“Not quite.” Mr. Noodleton replied. “Snuffloids don’t have statues.”
***
 
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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When they first came, panic took a deep hold on the hearts of every person on Earth.
Earth, a planet that was having to deal with not just being invaded, but coming to terms with not being the only intelligent species in the galaxy at the same time.
It was something of a rough patch, to put it lightly.
Personally, aliens had always seemed very probable to me; why should we be alone, in the darkness of all of space, to handle the problems that simply come from being alive? Why did so many people immediately, conceitedly even, dismiss the idea that perhaps we weren't the only place where life had taken hold in such a way? For all of my open mindedness however, I've got to admit that I was just as surprised as everyone else when, all at once, the sun was eclipsed by the immeasurable number of ships that appeared, seemingly from nowhere.
That day, I'd thought that I must have missed news of some kind of eclipse.
I'd slipped on my shoes and jogged down the steps of my building, joining a long queue of people. They were all frozen in shock, staring into the sky.
Our response was quick: for all of their obvious strengths over us, they had a surprising lack of knowledge about what we'd achieved. In other words, they didn't know that they likely had almost nothing to be scared of. Probably as a result of this fear, they sent down a solitary cluster of ships, chipping away from the swarm in the sky like paint from a wall. In what might have been the biggest stroke of luck in human history, they landed in New York City.
By this time, I was back up in my apartment, my elbows in my lap, watching it all unfold on the news with a few neighbours who I'd called in from the hall. The ship, a sleek, black affair, that landed smoothly onto the water by the Statue of Liberty, pulled into shore almost painfully slowly. As the roof of the ship lifted, a creature, completely obscured by an almost skintight black spacesuit, climbed purposefully out and walked into the crowd that had immediately gathered to watch it.
The creature's voice was ancient and harsh, sounding foreign and jarring to the ear, but was later reported to have been heard clearly in the language of whomever was listening to it, a trick that humanity now is only beginning to think about the implications of (could they do something to our brains?) He asked simply to be pointed towards someone in a position of power. He needn't have even asked: across the world, global superpowers were scrambling to send representatives to meet it quietly desperate to make a positive impression.
After speaking, he turned to walk back to his ship, apparently intending to wait there until his request had been granted. No sooner than as he had turned on his heel, he stopped dead in his tracks. His helmeted face had locked eyes with the Statue behind him, the colossal sentinel watching his every move. In retrospect, his demeanour changed immediately. He turned back, almost for reassurance, to the crowd standing around him, and then quickly ran back to his ship, opting to float a safe distance above the water while he waited.
Inside of fifteen minutes, the mayor had arrived with a fleet of cars that would once have turned heads, but now was dwarfed by the threat that lay in wait above us all. He signalled to the ship, and it slowly lowered, the roof opening as it hovered 10 feet above the poor man. The mayor got a lot of good press for his handling of the encounter afterwards, but I believe that we'd won from the moment the creature had seen the Lady that lay in wait behind him.
"Identify yourself!" it shouted, sounding slightly more panicked and slightly less in control than he had so shortly before,
"I am the leader of this area that you've landed in. We want to know why you're here and what you plan to do." he replied.
The creature thought for a moment, his gaze drifting slowly over to the statue once again.
"For now, we mean you no harm." he said coldly. "You must tell us what point of technological advancement you are at, quickly, if you wish for us to stay that way." Here his voice betrayed him: even with the jagged, alien tone of voice he spoke with, it cracked slightly on the last word.
The mayor thought for a moment, nodding at man who had whispered into his ear. "It isn't up for me to tell you such things. You have to allow us some time to plan, to work out how to establish a good relationship between our peoples."
The alien had just about choked on his anger. With seemingly more difficulty than before, he spat out "You must tell us immediately how you froze the giants, and how you dare to so frivolously keep them around like that, or I promise that your people will cease to exist before you can speak another word."
In a moment that has been immortalised in movies, books and every other form of media since, a moment that caused a cheer that it felt like could be heard everywhere around the world, a moment that likely saved humanity as a species, the mayor simply replied a single sentence.
"Wait till you see what happens when we unfreeze them."
The next morning, humanity woke on a blue sky.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you liked this, come and check out my other favourites on r/ColourlessWind!
| 2021-02-28T16:20:44 | 2021-02-28T16:14:44 | 433 | 146 |
[WP]Aliens invade Earth, but when night falls, the monsters come out from under the bed, and they want their planet back.
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I owe my life to the child. Created from its imagination and born to force it through its fears, I only torment it as it’s my job. We talk. Quite a bit. Well, more like it talks and I listen. But now the child has mentioned that it is no longer scared of me but the new monsters that come from the sky, not from under the bed. The child says these sky monsters have already taken many of its friends, as well as one of its own creators. I am not inherently evil, though my appearance might say otherwise, so I never create any physical threat or bring harm to the child. The sky monsters have caused destruction and pain to the humans and their cities, taken their lives and scorched their planet. These sounds like no monsters I know. We have morals, lines we won’t cross.
I am linked to the child. Every night I manifest where it sleeps. Tonight, I find myself in an unfamiliar environment. My claws create a terrible noise as they drag across a metal floor and my scales tingle as I feel electricity in the air. The smell of oil and something organic flood my nose. We are no longer in the child's home.
“S-s-staples…” My name, given by the child.
My pure black eyes settle on the child, now awake, a fear I have never seen spread across its face. It seems the sky monsters came during the day and took my creator. The slight ping of tears hitting the floor echo around this metal prison. The new monsters have crossed the line and threatened my creator, and my very existence. Anger fills my veins. I let out a roar with the all the fury I can muster. The shock on the face of the child reminds me that it has never seen me like this, serious. I can’t form any words, as much as I might try, so I reach out with a gentle finger and wipe a tear off the child's face, weary of my talon. I will show the sky monsters the true feeling of fear. I will wreck havoc upon them for what they have done.
A loud siren screams and a red light floods the room. A speaker blares a repeated phrase in an unknown language. My creator puts its hand on its ears, closes its eyes and starts to cry harder than before. With the new light I can now see what could pass for a door on the far wall. At least, I will make it a door. I sink my claws into the wall and pull out a chunk, creating a hole big enough to fit through. After one last glance at the child I slither through the hole and emerge into a hallway with the same sirens and lights as the room. I can feel them. All around me. The sky monsters stink, a foul smell, almost like rotten blood. If they bleed, I will make it rain, cover the scorched earth with their limbs.
I head down the hallway, my new goal in my eyes, thoughts of the child in my heart.
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Day 6: They were all over now. Most of my university friends had to stay home, but our Zoom classes were nearly empty. No one dared address it, in part due to its weight, but in part due to the fear they might listen. They come from parsecs and parsecs away , but if they had the technology to find us, they'd be able to translate us as well.
I have isolated myself in my bedroom. There's no stepping out now. I have enough food to last me about two weeks, but I should try stretching that to a month. Maybe more. Maybe this is it, my last stand, here on this bed. I don't know what their glistening eyes can see, and what they can feel.
Dad always used to ask if other civilizations on distant planets would view us as friendly explorers or something more sinister. It's fair if I see it from their view, I'm not traveling parsecs just to shake hands. I don't know what the toll is, but I know they have a very low tolerance for many sorts of behaviors.
This room is now my world. I'm on my bed now, under a blanket, and this is now as good a hiding place as any if I'm still. In the closet may buy me another split second, but in the grand scheme of things, that means nothing. Here there's a bit more comfort to be found.
Here, in the closet, under the table... but not under the bed. I've always been afraid of it. It's just dust, maybe bugs too, but it's always felt like there's something else. Stay still.
Day 7: They're nearby, I can hear their shrill scream. I don't want to see that face again. I'm alone, sitting here. I know they know I'm here, somehow. Is it my heartbeat that's giving it away?
The footsteps are downstairs now. I don't have any phone or weapon on me, will they spare me? They're climbing up.
As good a place as any. I roll off the bed and get down, I can fit but there's something else there that's stopping me. My heart sinks. The footsteps stop, then resume.
The door opens, I lay on the floor beside the bed, eyes as tightly shut as possible. Footsteps closer, my bed is being lifted. Soft rumbling.
I'm too curious, I open my eyes. It looks down at me, still holding the bed. I'm paralyzed, physically. It lets go of the bed, but the bed doesn't drop. Louder rumbling. It looks down at the bed, but a grey-black force leaps at it, consuming its face. Seconds later, it is being consumed by some grey-black acid being, the same color as the persistent stain in my bathroom.
It is now dust, and the force breaks through my window. I am able to move. I get up and look down through the window, nothing differe- something's off. I look up, it's 11 AM and it is dusk.
| 2021-04-27T21:52:35 | 2021-04-27T21:35:29 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] You're rather annoyed that your history teacher gave you a D on your essay about Mesopotamia. Not just because you're sure she doesn't like you, but also because - as an ancient being trying to adapt to modern society - YOU WERE THERE.
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_A D?? This deserves better than a D, Mrs Naurood!_
\- You can't go around pulling stuff out of thin air and calling it history, John! And as I've already said, See. Me. After. Class.
_But they're not made up! It's right there in the books!_
Mrs. Naurood ignored me as she picked up her books and left the class.
I'd been going on refresher courses every three years... And it's been hard enough for me to adapt to the decimal system and different conventions of weight and distance that used neither hex or decimal (pound? feet? Whose feet?), but this took ridiculous to a new level.
I've been a historian as a cover for most of my life, and while I need the community credits for my new identity, arguing with a historian, worse, a historian who had been there and seen the stories change through time, was just the cherry on top.
I sat with gnashed teeth through what seemed an eternity of a maths class, waiting to confront that upstart. She had Mesopotamian blood in her, clear as day, and she didn't know one ounce of where she'd come from. The nerve on her!
I knocked on the door. A voice - Mrs. Naurood's - beckoned me enter. I'd run through a few scenarios in my mind, unleashing broadsides, asking for an explanation, demanding to see her history teacher credentials, but I didn't anticipate what came next.
A hug.
"John Smith! John. Smith. Finally you ran out of names."
_"I don't quite follow"_
"Roger Tombs? Brian Babylon? Peter Palms?"
I fell silent. How did she know?
Mrs Naurood read the question. "You're 28. Always have been, always will be. Shaving a bit closer or having a grizzle doesn't make you younger or older. Changing names and moustaches and doing newsworthy stuff doesn't change the fact that this is a new age - with face recognition and instant image searches and supercomputers. Remembering history isn't half as important as keeping it safe. Keeping you safe."
She knew! And she knew what the cuneiform in the textbook said too. Yet she chose to ignore it.
"And if you want to remember history as it were, you should remember its players too."
_"Are... Are you an immortal too?"_
"From the same blood sacrifice. I was under the girders and the blood dripped on me."
We shared a moment of silence.
"Remember this D. Don't stick your neck out, keep the truth to yourself but don't fight for it. Not yet. These guys, they lap up their cuneiforms selectively, they don't realise that propaganda has been with humanity since the very first tablet. They think of Hammurabi the terrible as a wise Saint. They write science fiction about cities with towers struck by their God for vanity. It's... Not worth it."
I reflected on her words.
"Look, if you wanna talk about the good old days, come over some time. I still make wheatwater and roast locust like we used to."
|
“Professor Larkin!” I exclaimed as I walked into her small university office. The professor was busy submitting grades on her old computer. When I burst into the room, she gave me an exasperated look.
“Good afternoon, Ankisu. I believe you want to discuss a possible regrade?”
“Yes professor, I do not think the topics that I have brought up in my essay warrant anything lower than a C.”
The professor lifted her glasses up and placed both of her hands to her temples, clearly stressed. “I’m sorry, Ankisu, I cannot give points for content that is fictitious. My TAs and I have discussed your rhetoric before as well, and we have given you full points on grammar and creativity, but it does not erase the fact that you tried to pass off the Babylonian mythos as real. We are both aware that the essay prompt was to explain the common Mesopotamian lifestyle, yes?”
“Yes, professor! By the gods, yes!” I promptly lifted the necklace I currently wore. The relic that hung on it’s golden chain was my hand-carved depiction of my mother, Shamhat. “I swear on my mother that I’ve written the truth!”
The professor persisted, “You’ve written your essay from the perspective of a Babylonian, which I understand. However, you then brought Ishtar into your depiction. Why did you introduce something extraordinary, if not extraneous, into your description of a ‘normal’ day in Babylon?”
“I wanted to share with you the moment she visited our town! Ishtar was having a tantrum because of another failed relationship. If describing someone’s actions to cope from a break up isn’t normal, then what is?”
The professor sighed, then paused to gather her thoughts. “Ankisu, I am sorry. You —and your late mother as well— I know your family is deeply religious, but… this essay reads more like a religious text, rather than an unbiased description. The essay meeds to be rooted in reality, that’s all.”
“It is real! Please understand, professor! This is as honest as can be!”
“…What sources do you cite? You list none.”
“Myself, professor.”
“…..”
“…..?”
“Earthquakes are caused by fault ruptures, yet you say that Ishtar caused the one in your story?”
“Yes.”
The professor must have seen how honest my pleading eyes were, as she chose to stop prodding deeper into the matter. “Alright Ankisu. I’ll let this slide for now. You at least have accurately depicted the Mesopotamian architecture, society, and agriculture in your essay. It’s satisfactory. Thus, I shall bump up your grade to a C.”
I shed a small tear of happiness, “Thank you, professor! You won’t regret this!”
The professor gave a stern smile, and waved me goodbye as I left the room.
Thank the gods, I was worried that Ishtar would do something gravely drastic if the professor kept labeling her actions as “not real” or “grossly exaggerated.” Perhaps me getting a C instead of a D would keep Ishtar just under her boiling point… or maybe she’d still snap anyways.
In any case, I tried my best.
| 2021-07-18T02:10:51 | 2021-07-18T02:06:58 | 385 | 105 |
[WP]You possess an ability that seems relatively harmless, albeit useful, at first glance, yet on a deeper look is scarily powerful. Nothing can be taken from you against your will
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Tom’s phone rang. The number was unknown and only a few people had access to it. If he did not know the caller, then it was a transferred request from his agent.
“Tom’s delivery service, this is Tom.”
The voice on the other end was grainy from the use of a filter. “You’re the freelance Ability User, right? We need you to deliver a suitcase from Tricell Laboratories.”
“Destination?”
“The Central Repository.”
Tom frowned. “Brightfield City? Isn’t that just north of here?”
The caller did not answer that question. “It’s imperative you do not let anyone else handle this package once you receive it.”
Tom rolled his eyes. *Always so dramatic.*
He set down his beer and tossed a couple of coins onto the bar. The bartender waved at him as he left the small pub.
Once he was out of earshot of civilians, he spoke again. “Sounds simple enough. I don’t suppose I can inquire about the contents. I’d rather not be transporting nuclear codes again. That job was more hassle than necessary.”
The caller was silent for a moment before replying. “It is the cure of the bioweapon being used in the East.”
That caused him to pause mid-step. “No shit. They actually did it? Guess I’ll have to be extra careful with this delivery, huh?”
“This is no joking matter. The lives of millions are at stake here. Are you willing to take the request, or do we have to search for a different courier?”
“Price?”
“Fifty million.”
Tom whistled. “All for a little delivery, huh? Looks like this is my lucky day. I’ll be at Tricell in ten minutes. Talk to your contact about transferring the money to my accounts.”
With that, he hung up and hopped on a motorcycle parked outside the bar. It was an old make, but still had the aerodynamics of the modern age. While the base model was not known for its speed, a few custom modifications put it on par with more modern models. He had not locked it – security was a nonissue these days. And with a quick rev of the engine, he sped off toward Tricell Laboratories.
“Look at that security.” A set of heavy gates outside the facility forced him to slow to a stop.
An armed guard stepped out from a small booth, one hand on the pistol at his side. Atop the walls nearby, Tom could see at least two snipers with their weapons trained on him as well.
“What’s your business?” The man was curt and ready to attack if necessary.
With all things considered, this level of security was reasonable. “Tom Davison. Here for the delivery.”
Cold eyes scrutinized him a moment longer. Tom tapped his bike impatiently. Then, the guard nodded before retreating into the booth. There was a brief bit of muffled conversation before the gate began to roll open.
The guard returned and pointed down the road. “First right to the loading dock. Get the package and leave. I’m sure you know this is of utmost importance.”
Tom only waved a hand. “Will do.”
The pickup was smooth. A nervous woman in a white coat met him at the loading dock. All the while, guards and cameras watched Tom’s every movement. He ignored it all in favor of securing the metal briefcase to the back of his bike.
“Uh. Will that be alright?” The researcher seemed worried. “That doesn’t look very secure.”
Instead of answering, Tom asked, “How tough is this case? It feels pretty heavy. Can it withstand bullets?”
The researcher nodded. “It can withstand heavy artillery. We need that vial to be undamaged. The world depends on it.”
“It’ll be fine then. It’s only a quick drive through the inner city to reach the Repository.” Tom tried to give the lady an encouraging smile. “Your bosses chose the right delivery service.”
She did not seem convinced, but Tom left before she could say another word. The gates of Tricell closed behind him and soon he was cruising down the highway toward the north end of the city. The job should have taken no more than two hours, depending on the traffic. But rocket-propelled grenades had a funny way of interrupting plans.
“Shit!”
The explosive hit the small overpass, sending cars and concrete crumbling below. Tom lost control of his bike and hit the jagged concrete with a crunch before gravity took hold. He barely had time to grab onto the handle of the suitcase before his face met the ground. Pain exploded in his body as several things inside him popped. His motorcycle lay in twisted scrap metal nearby. There were screams in the distance as people fled from the collapsed bridge. And through the haze of noise, there was the sound of ropes and orders.
“Hurry! Retrieve the package!”
Something tugged on his suitcase.
“Sir, I think he’s still alive! I can’t pull it out of his grip!”
“Finish him off and take it then!”
Tom grunted as several bullets pierced his skull and torso. And yet, the suitcase remained firmly in his hand.
“Sir there’s something weird – ”
Before he could continue, Tom pushed himself to his feet and swung the suitcase. A tinted helmet shattered with the force of the blow. The soldier fell back with a yelp, even as Tom moved closer. He reached down, grabbed the soldier’s pistol, and pushed the barrel through the faceplate.
“Sorry, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.” And he pulled the trigger.
(1/2)
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Many people think that telekinesis is useful, but not that dangerous. Guess what ? They are wrong. But, first things first.
When I awakened, I was euphoric. I thought that my life would turn 180 degrees and I would become rich.
What ? Thinking about money instead of some noble ideas ? Please, don't judge me so quickly.
I wasn't some superhuman xianxia protagonist nor had personality like one. I couldn't split mountains with simple attacks and fly in the sky on a sword. I was just your everyday average joe.
The kind of guy that you would pass by on the street without a second thought. Also, I wasn't young anymore. My health was on decline.
I worked in a factory from dawn till night. Inhaling a lot of dust, I was frequently running out of breath.
Even running 2 or 3 miles was a challenge for me. And those goddamned back pains, they were killing the shit out of me.
That is why I was overjoyed when I awakened. But instead of getting some isekai like cheat, I got something different - telekinesis.
And to make matter worse, my telekinesis was 'slightly weaker' than it should've been.
Instead of freely manipulating thousands of pounds, I could manipulate a tenth of a pound at most. I thought to myself - don't worry man, it will grow over time. Well, guess what, it didn't.
Instead of growing in strength, it grew in radius. By the time a month has passed, I was able to use telekinesis within the radius of 10 feet.
I thought to myself : 'Fucking great, I cannot even lift a beer with this shit.'
I was training every single day increasing my precision and radius, hoping for a miracle to come. To my surprise, it did come. But in a slightly different form from what you might expect.
It wasn't an encounter with a sealed expert, nor finding a thousand years old ginseng. Instead, it was an encounter with simple goblins. Sounds strange and dumb, isn't it ? Well, hear me out first.
On a certain sunny Sunday, I decided to relax while strolling through the forest. The weather was lovely, birds were singing and flowers were blooming. In short, it was a perfect day. Perfect for a stroll to soothe my nerves after an exhausting week in work.
I told to myself, 'Nothing can go wrong, right ?'. Wrong once more.
Thirty years ago, mana appeared on earth and human began awakening and gaining various abilities. But nothing comes without a price. Just like awakeners began to appear, monsters decided to visit humanity.
Their appearance took the form of 'gates'. Gates as the name may suggest were portals. Portals to the lovely place called abyss. Abyss was a place that looked differently with each gate.
Sometimes it looked like a scorching desert and sometimes like a green forest. Sometimes it even took form of a medieval dungeon. But one thing always remained constant - the presence of monsters.
Dragons, wyverns, gnomes, goblins, wolves of a horse size, you name it. And they have to be killed, or they will escape from the gate and wreak havoc.
To do that, you have to go inside the gate but here's funny part, once you are inside, you have to kill every single monster. Otherwise, you are fucked, cause you can't leave and no one can enter.
Why no one can enter ? It's simple, several minutes after the first human go in, the gate closes itself. And it remains closed as long as there is any human in it.
The interesting thing about gates is the fact that they appear randomly. Usually in desolate places without humans. So you can guess how surprised I was, when one appeared on top of my face.
Because of that, I automatically entered. As soon as I was in it, I saw scenery that resembled a medieval dungeon.
Then I heard a shriek and a goblin appeared in my field of vision. As soon as he saw me, he rushed towards me with rusty sword in hand.
Since I haven't had any weapon with me nor was I a trained individual, direct combat was out of question. Also, I was literally sealed inside the gate, escaping was out of question.
The only thing I could do was to somehow kill everything within this gate with this ability of mine.
Goblin was rushing towards me, while I was lost in my own thoughts. Gears in my mind were turning at fearsome speed. An idea appeared within my mind.
When goblin was sufficiently close, I used telekinesis and prayed to gods for a miracle. Suddenly, just a few feet from me, he collapsed and began shrieking and wailing in pain. Several seconds later, he died.
What I did was pretty risky, but it worked well. I used my telekinesis in place of his chest, trying to form needles within the heart made out of coagulated blood.
That was the moment I truly realized how terrifying my telekinesis can be. The rest is history.
Many years later, I became known as the strongest awakener - 'God of Death'. Nothing within a thousand feet near me could survive. It didn't matter what I encountered inside the gates.
Goblins or dragons, it didn't matter, all of them shared the cause of death. Needles within their hearts and brains.
Who would have thought that a 'simple' encounter with a goblin would change my fate.
---
If someone finds some mistakes ( with usage of times, gramatical errors or something else), please notify me in the comment. That would help me improve my future prompts.
Thanks for reading and may hydration be with you.
| 2021-09-11T13:12:54 | 2021-09-11T11:56:22 | 442 | 54 |
[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.
|
My eyes trembled as she held the paper close to me, my limbs unable to move from old age. My eyes were barely any better, but I had just enough panic to let me see.
As the words written in fine gold became clear, a feeling of calm despair washed over me, my body sinking into the bed. " Ha," my voice rasped, nearly unrecognisable to myself, " I cant believe I missed that. And I was so certain I had thought of everything. No tumor babies, no milking me on my last day," a cough full of phlegm left my throat, eyes closing for a moment.
They then locked onto the fairy queen, who was still smiling down but with something one might call pity, and even a little bit of pride. " You did admirably. Enough to had I been one of my subjects and thus lesser, I might have even considered you as a worthy choice for a husband, or at least a consort." Her hand came to gently caress my cheek, eyes lo led with mine as I felt my body fail and collapse, vision fading away. The last I heard was her voice. " But you will make for a fine son."
|
“I will make that firstborn with you”
I looked at her. She was ozing sex appeal, from her sheer thorugh dress, generous curves and a pretty face.
I couldn’t help but gulp in anticipation.
I also blinked at that moment and everything changed.
Form fairy-like beauty she turned into-
“I will make that baby from you”
\--into a fairy-like beauty with a wicked smile, making her look like a dominatrix.
I gulped again.
I didn’t blink this time and saw her smile widen.
“I am glad you are enjoying yourself,” She said “It is quite a process, hopefully, it would leave you ...satisfied”
I … gulped again. Why am I even gulping so much?
My thoughts went to the wind when I saw her strech out on her seat.
*Gulp*
She bent down before standing slowly.
**GULP.**
She was in front of me before I could blink.
Then darkness.
Another Gulp. Now not my own.
\----------------------
On a fairy throne a queen of all fairies for that day lounge. There wasn’t any care in her at all, after all, she is the queen of the day and all would serve her.
The thought of another fairy joining the court made her smile and trace her belly. She was pregnant. Pregnant with a fairy.
| 2021-10-19T03:14:44 | 2021-10-19T01:37:03 | 78 | 44 |
[WP] You're a witch with a penchant to bargain for firstborn children... to adopt and train as apprentices. You've done it hundreds of times now, and considering how wretched the biological parents tend to be you're really doing the kids a favor.
|
Walking around the marketplace, Rhiannon paused to peer closely at a cart of turnips. She had only been in this town for a few weeks, but the last time she'd gone to the market, one of her potatoes had been moldy. This time, she would be more careful. Carefully selecting one of the root vegetables, she lifted it up to eye level for closer inspection.
Then, a tug at her pocket. Whipping around, she snatched her wallet back. Rhiannon was wearing her robes and hat today, and her familiar, Kaya, prowled by her side. Who would be stupid enough to steal from a witch?
Opening her mouth, she prepared to unleash a spell that would curse the victim to jingle whenever they walked for the next month. No more innocent pockets would be picked.
Rhiannon quickly stopped when she saw the perpetrator. A small girl, likely not even eight years of age. Large almond eyes, one with pale purple bruising around the edges.
Too terrified to speak, the girl stood stock-still. In a flash, Rhiannon was reminded of Kaya ten years ago, caught in the cruel snare. Tentatively, she stretched out a hand. "I won't hurt you," she said, softly. "What's your name?"
Startled from her momentary paralysis, the girl fled. Rhiannon cursed, trying to figure out whether or not to pursue.
"That would be Caro," the turnip vendor grumbled. "She's stolen from quite a few of my customers. I myself have caught her nicking some of my turnips. But I let her have 'em. Goodness knows she's got a hard enough life with those brutes for parents. They're probably taking whatever she manages to steal, anyways."
"Parents, you say," Rhiannon murmured. "Where could I find these parents? What are their names?"
The shop owner crossed himself warily. "This won't get back to them if I tell you, will it?"
Rhiannon stroked Kaya absentmindedly, thinking of her own childhood from many years ago. "No," she answered. "No, it won't."
"They run the casino in the shady part of town. Lars and Brenda Vickerman."
"Thanks much," Rhiannon replied, flipping him a copper coin. "I'll be on my way, then."
\--------
[/r/theBasiliskWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/theBasiliskWrites/)
|
"You call me a witch like that's a bad thing you monster!" Hyra exclaimed
"You're trying to buy my child, what would you have me call you? And what you're offering, peanuts. With a magical child I can have all you offer plus more"
Hyra laughed internally, it was over, the child would be returning with her. The negotiation was now a mere formality. You see, people have tells, little ways of indicating exactly what they are thinking. This low life wasn't even clever about it. Those unwilling to sell don't haggle. The comment about offering peanuts tipped his hand. He could care less about his own child. He's not worried about the child's safety, comfort, or well being. What this scum cares about is being offered "peanuts" for his precious baby girl.
It was difficult for Hyra to hold her anger in check, but she wasn't the bad guy here. She had the best interests at heart for this child. All I need to do is get this clown to agree to give up the kid, then I am out of here. Looking around she couldn't help but feel bad for these people, the way they lived was a small step above homeless. The daughter, horribly malnourished, black circles under her eyes, grossly underweight. But her eyes, those golden eyes that have her marked as magical.
"Sir, let us make a deal here. You and I both know you cannot train this child to perform magic, or likely any task. So your position that you can 'have all this plus more' a little ridiculous don't you agree?"
"You can't talk to me like that in my own home"
"On the contrary, I am superior to you in each and every way, you are as the cockroach beneath my shoes. I can stamp you out with a flick of my wrist. You're lucky that all I want to do is to give your daughter a better life"
"Yes you're altruistic, all you care about is the well being of my daughter..."
This gave Hyra pause, altruistic? That was a word, looking around, she didn't expect the man would know, much less use it properly in a sentence. How could this man possibly...
"Hyra Coldblood, You're under arrest for crimes against warlock kind! For the last 2 millennia you have systematically bargained for the firstborn child of many a warlock and human alike. Your crimes cannot continue" And with that he slashed his wand in the air, and her head fell cleanly from her body.
| 2021-10-26T09:37:20 | 2021-10-26T08:58:35 | 272 | 25 |
[WP] “Is that a….” The nuke explodes harmlessly against the alien starships shields. “Child’s toy? Yes,” the tired alien said. They were part of a group that helped the more…dumb races of the universe develop and evolve. But this race of “humans” would soon prove rather…difficult to educate.
|
"OK... Let's try this one more time... You are used to three dimensions, and in those three VERY SPECIFIC dimensions, yes life has a start and an end. Things could be damaged and entropy destroyed those things over time, but the vast majority of life does not actually exist in those dimensions. Your species was a part of a... rather unethical experiment in what life would look like in those dimensions, but the culprit has been stopped and sent to exist in a set of dimensions that isolate him from our existence. We have brought you to the dimensions the rest of us exist in to try and acclimate you to.. "
" NUKE IT AGAIN! LAUNCH THEM ALL" the human screamed again
¥¢© sighed. This was the third "world leader" they'd pulled into real time to explain the situation, and each one had pulled out the same kids toys that ¿~¶ had rigged their dimension sets power source as. Heck he'd not even attached a ÷¥¢ which meant that there was a speed limit in these poor beings universe. Then he put just a single seeded planet in the entire set. ¥¢© couldn't imagine feeling that isolated and alone. It was no wonder these beings were so messed up. Barely existing for more than a couple of § and then not even getting to exist long enough to even °#@.
Her group had been tipped off by an anonymous lead that ¿~¶ was conducting a new experiment even after he'd had all of his resources stripped away. How he'd even been able to rig this up with this handful of junk was beyond her. Her and her group had now begun the process of seeing if any of these beings could be integrated into real time. So far random selection had shown that most of them would reject this information as a hallucination, or end up sent to treatment when trying to explain to the other beings what was happening. Thus the attempt to pull in the being's selected leaders.
That turned out to be much worse. Something about the limited time of existence seemed to lead to these beings picking only some of the worst of them to be in charge. ¥¢© made up her mind. "OK I'm just gonna have to go in myself. Give me the ¬¬~¿ and I'll see if I can talk some sense into them."
...
Two £× later ¥¢© emerged from the ¬¬¿ weeping. "Just leave it be. Let them exist until they wipe themselves out. I set up a way for those that heard me to get into a quarantine zone where we can try to recondition them, but having been in there.." she shuddered.
"I'm going to need a very strong drink and a 🔷🟫🟪 before I can calm down enough.The isolation we put ¿~¶ is too good for him...
|
Like stars, explosions dotted the sky above the Human homeworld. Each one the culmination of centuries worth of scientific advancement. Yet as each one faded, payload delivered with extreme prejudice, the alien vessels continued their descent.
Aboard the largest of these vessels sat a man. A ruler, a conqueror, an enlightener. He’s been called many things by many peoples, but the Humans know him simply as Mors. *Death.*
“They’re firing fusion weaponry, sir.” Came the voice of an officer.
“Children’s toys. Continue our course.” He commanded. “They intend to eacape our lessons, to drive us away, but they will learn.”
Further and further the ships descended until they rested mere miles above the planet. For a moment the world had calmed, as the vessels hovered and weapons ceased their fire. Then a crackling filled the air and upon every screen, every monitor, every device Morz began to speak.
“Your civilization is primitive. You still squabble among yourselves, while larger threats mount against you. I’ve come to you today not for glory or enslavement. I’ve come to teach you a lesson all must learn. Know that I do not take joy in the coming conflict, that although it will hurt now you will thank me one day.”
On the ground below Mors’ ship, the city of Tokyo gazed. It began with a hum, an energy filling the air. Louder and louder it grew, all the while frenzied citizens below attempted to flee. It would be in vain.
A blinding light. Searing heat. Nothing.
The city of Tokyo had been leveled. Thirty-seven million Japanese citizens were gone.
And then, they left. Just like that. And Humanity was left to pick up the pieces.
Where could they go from here? What were they to do? Mors came to teach them of harsh reality and in doing so slaughtered millions.
So Humans did what they do best, they survived.
Once more their fleet descended upon a world, its people fighting futilely against the advanced invaders. They stopped, mere miles above the surface. The screens filled with his face, Mors, as he delivered his speech. Arrogant and prideful, he truly believed what he preached.
A hum filled the air beneath his ship. Louder and louder it grew, while citizens below attempted to flee. It would be in vain.
A blinding light. Searing pain. Nothing.
The flagship was gone. In it’s place was a new vessel, just as large but lighter in tone. It’s sleek curves a stark contrast to the hard edges of its counterpart.
The rest of Mors’ fleet scattered. Humanity had defeated it’s greatest enemy. An enemy that taught them how large the universe is, and how small they really were. An enemy that instilled within them a sense of duty. To honor the lives taken in the Tokyo Annihilation, and to protect other from sharing such grisly fate.
| 2021-12-25T09:11:06 | 2021-12-25T04:57:48 | 211 | 121 |
[WP] We have made first contact and luckily the aliens already have universal translation tech. "Greetings Humans" says the ambassador, "we call ourselves elves, wait, no we don't. how do you already have a name for us?"
|
...how do you already have a name for us?"
George was stopped mid whisper by the Eleven diplomat.
"Well, um..." Geroge let out weakly. "You look exactly like how Tolkein described an Elf don't you?”
A long silence followed as the other humans in the room stared daggers over at George for having the gull to blunder their first contact.
The maybe Elven squinted his eye as George "We are called Eldarin," letting out a huff "but Elves is a derogative term used by those loyal to the Sauron Empire."
The Elf pulled out a concealed short blade and leveled it at George.
“Has this planet already been contaminated Sauron?” The diplomat asked pointedly, eye’s never leaving George.
George’s compatriot Bell who’d been on the receiving end of the whisper piped up “It’s from a book!” And the Elves eyes darted over to her.
“Explain.” He directed pointedly.
“Well there was an author from an island here on earth who created a book series thousands of years ago about a place called Middle earth.” The Elves eyes lighted up as his full attention landed on Bell. Somewhere along Bells explanation of The Two Towers the Elf interjected “Bring me these books now!” It took longer than the length of an awkward silence assistance for the human diplomats to return with three dusty covered books. As the first assistant got close the Elf tore away the book and started leafing through the pages as he leafed through the pages. Only half way through he slammed the book shut and looked piercingly over towards George and Bell.
“This is the history of our people. You say some man from your planet wrote this?” He quickly made his way over the Bell and George before anyone could react. “You are to come from me with now, Gandalf and Elron will want to hear of this.” And with a flash like which has brought the Elven diplomat in he was gone as was George and Bell.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Glad y'all enjoyed this, and thanks for the support! I've began working on part two and hope to have it out in a day or two. I'll post a link here once it's written up and case you don't look back here I plan to post it on to r/shortstories. If even a handful of people are interested after that I'll be happy to continue the story from there and see where the journey takes us!
|
The transmission ended there, we never heard another thing from them or even saw what they looked like. All that happened was that they agreed to a summit in a few weeks. Ever since the transmission, tensions had been mounting among the Elven community. Various groups had formed and formed their own beliefs on the term.
​
The generic fantasy author steps up to the podium, tugging at his tie. His girlfriend gives him the thumbs up form the sidelines, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. He could see the president there too, crossing his fingers. That didn't help. He had been dealing with some feelings of inadequacy had been around for years. Ever since he published his first book, peers believed him to be nothing special, his works derivative of so many classics of the genre. But HE was chosen, so something about HIM as a fantasy author must have been special. His imposter syndrome had been steadily growing ever since he had gotten that letter. He taps the microphone, clears his throat and prepares his statement.
"Dear Elves... err... if you would prefer to be called that, I stand before you today to tell you why you have been labeled as such. In much of our fiction, Elves are a fictional race, they represent elegance and beauty, being one with nature... they are usually the epitome of holiness and divine purity. So I assure you, it is not derogatory in any way, it only proves your quality as a species and I believe it is some honor to be referred to as such. (Also they tend to have somewhat large pointy ears so there may have been something there I don't know).
Another transmission comes through:
"We have much to deliberate upon, we shall return."
​
As the Elves leave, he was congratulated by those around him. He hugged his girlfriend, and then the president came to shake his hand. Seeing his opportunity, he asked the question weighing on him.
"If I may ask Mr. president, why me? Why was I the one chosen for this great honor?"
"Huh? Oh well if I'm being honest, we needed an author or something, someone who had somewhat of a position of authority in the topic."
"But there are much more successful authors than me, they've sold way more books and made way more books than I ever could."
"Well the thing is, we want to present humanity in a positive light... and you were the only fantasy author who wasn't utterly socially inept or fat."
The author had no idea what to think...
| 2022-01-02T22:00:44 | 2022-01-02T21:34:47 | 1,411 | 180 |
[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
|
The king was old and fat. I practiced running for weeks. I am not the fastest person in my village but I run every day. I made the official request 100m dash. I signed on the line knowing what fate waits for me.
The day of the race the king states "You must run the race with one foot." He motioned to his guard to cut off my foot.
I shouted, "My Lord, may I choose which foot I lose? I have grown attached to them after all."
Even his cold heart smiled "That's fine."
I pulled off my wooden leg. It had been amputated from just below the knee. When I was a young boy I had fallen from a tree and severely broke it. My brother ran out with my crutches.
I aptly approached the starting line. The old king and the crowd looked stunned.
The king stammered "No crutches"
The crowd began chanting "One foot! One foot!" Over and over
The king looked to his guardsmen "Take his good foot. "
His head guard looked at him "The law is you get one stipulation. Men we stand for the rightful king. That will be who ever wins this race."
|
"I win as soon as we start the game."
Everyone paused, trying to take in what the King had just said. The challenger, a Chess master simply raised an eyebrow, not quite comprehending the words as the various scenarios, plays, strategies and gambits simply fell apart in his mind.
"I'm sorry what?"
"I said, I win as soon as we start the game."
"I.... what?"
The King simply shrugged, not bothering to seemingly care about the audacity of his stated condition. That is, if one could even by definition apply such a label to an individual with such authority in the first place.
"So, should we start?"
"I... can't you give me a fighting chance?! You're not even pretending! You couldv'e just stated that you started with all the pieces leaving me with only the king!"
"Fine, we'll do it that way."
"No I!... it's still guaranteed defeat with more steps! I could technically place us into a stalemate under the right conditions but you'd have to play at the level of a todler to even do that!"
"Fine, in that case my condition is that you lose your head everytime a piece is ever moved."
".... I surrender."
| 2022-01-10T06:36:39 | 2022-01-10T04:48:36 | 1,976 | 524 |
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Seriously? Bloody hell," the tall man in a sharp suit noted. He'd heard quite a few numbers but... 128 was quite a bit.
"Hey, I like my job," the short woman in a red dress giggled. She may not have looked it but hey - it's proper fun. "So how about you?"
"64. Not quite the resume, but I do consider myself experienced."
"Hey, it's not just about numbers. Lotta other factors - technique, time spent on each client..." she said and put her hand on his shoulder. The man was quite handsome by her standards and she quite fancied having him as a colleague, perhaps even working together at one point.
"Mind you, it does help that I do groups as well," she said.
"Really? I always thought something like that could get, well... awkward."
"Perhaps at first. Worst part is the mess, let me tell you. Some stuff gets everywhere," she laughed and took another sip of her drink.
"What's the most you've taken care of at once then?" the man inquired.
¨"Hmm..." the woman narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. "3, I think. A guy and two of his friends. Interesting night."
The man nodded silently and stared into his drink. He was sure there'd be more he'd learn that night.
"I remember my first one," he noted half-heartedly. "I was so nervous, you'd not believe," he chuckled.
"We all start somewhere. Another drink?" she offered.
"Sure," he said and gave her a warm smile. "Don't mind if I do."
An escort. An assassin. An amicable misunderstanding.
Just another lovely evening.
|
"So... uhm... you said over 60, right?" Jane asked after sipping her cocktail.
Lucy, on her side, nodded.
"Yeah, you know, the usual. I mean having more than 60 is not a big deal. I think my personal record is 67 but not sure about it. You know some clients are just boring to deal with. Like the one I had this morning "
Lucy paused and closed her eyes thinking about the old man in the hotel room falling asleep just after getting the erection. At least he paid her.
Jane, on the other hand, finished her beer and asked for another.
"My count " she said when the beer arrived "is only 57"
"Still a good number " Lucy said. "Do you set up rules or not?"
"Oh yes I do: never with people who have children "
Lucy jumped on her chiar.
"What?"
"Yeah, if they have children, I don't do the job. And women are out as well."
"How can you reach such a high number if you avoid people with children?"
Lucy was horrified.
Jane drank before reply.
She was still thinking about the old lonley man in the hotel room where she slashed his troath. That poor guy who bagged her, who just loved to spend his dirty money with prostitutes even if he could not make love like before. And that was the main reason his ex wife wanted him death.
"So I assume, you take people with children " Jane finally said.
"Of course! People with families are actually my main clients! I would not make a living without them!"
It was time for Jane to be horrified.
Lucy noticed and felt bad.
"Look this conversation is taking a wierd turn. Shall we start off again?" The escort asked.
"Good idea" the assassin replyed sipping her beer.
| 2022-04-26T02:04:52 | 2022-04-25T22:11:38 | 560 | 218 |
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"Seriously? Bloody hell," the tall man in a sharp suit noted. He'd heard quite a few numbers but... 128 was quite a bit.
"Hey, I like my job," the short woman in a red dress giggled. She may not have looked it but hey - it's proper fun. "So how about you?"
"64. Not quite the resume, but I do consider myself experienced."
"Hey, it's not just about numbers. Lotta other factors - technique, time spent on each client..." she said and put her hand on his shoulder. The man was quite handsome by her standards and she quite fancied having him as a colleague, perhaps even working together at one point.
"Mind you, it does help that I do groups as well," she said.
"Really? I always thought something like that could get, well... awkward."
"Perhaps at first. Worst part is the mess, let me tell you. Some stuff gets everywhere," she laughed and took another sip of her drink.
"What's the most you've taken care of at once then?" the man inquired.
¨"Hmm..." the woman narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. "3, I think. A guy and two of his friends. Interesting night."
The man nodded silently and stared into his drink. He was sure there'd be more he'd learn that night.
"I remember my first one," he noted half-heartedly. "I was so nervous, you'd not believe," he chuckled.
"We all start somewhere. Another drink?" she offered.
"Sure," he said and gave her a warm smile. "Don't mind if I do."
An escort. An assassin. An amicable misunderstanding.
Just another lovely evening.
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
| 2022-04-26T02:04:52 | 2022-04-25T22:30:31 | 560 | 14 |
[WP] You're a retired villian. You've been enjoying your peaceful life, but now a bunch of new villians are terrorising your land, and the heroes seem powerless against them. So you take up the mantle once again. After all, if you want someone properly killed, do it yourself.
|
"How the hell did you get in?" the young villain shouted and pointed his blaster at me. I ignored him, instead focusing my attention on the doorframe I just walked through.
"I can't believe they still make these MK2 saw traps. I would've thought they'd be up to at least MK4," I chuckled and ran my fingers across the barely perceptible trigger mechanism in the door.
"I said-" the villain yelled again.
"Word of advice, kid," I interrupted. "If you're going to put a trap in a doorway, don't put the trigger on eye-level. Too easy to see. You want it by knee-level."
"Uh... look, you'll tell-"
"Oh give the tough guy routine a rest, will you?" I scoffed and waved my hand toward him. "You ain't impressing nobody. I'm Henry."
"Is that supposed to mean something? Henry who?" he yelled again, this time with a bit more confusion in his voice. I allowed a soft smile to creep up on my lips. It was still an odd feeling to introduce oneself and *not* be recognized. Then again, 'Lord Verter' had a different ring.
"Look kid, I've got friends coming over for a round of cards later, so I'll make this quick. You've been causing trouble around town. I like my town nice and quiet, so, you know," I said and pointed my thumb over the shoulder, "beat it."
And just like that, he started laughing uproariously.
"You've got some balls old man," he said joyfully. "I think I'll let you live, just for that joke. You think you can barge in, somehow avoid the traps and just demand I leave? I *own* this place. No one can stop me, not even those spandex-wearing assholes."
"Piss off or you'll wish you were dealing with them," I said casually.
"And who do you think you are to talk to me like that?" he said and walked up to me. He was a big fella, I must admit. Almost 3 meters tall and built like a fridge. Probably had some backstory about a supersoldier serum gone wrong or shit like that.
I sighed.
"You know that the building nearby is where I killed Captain Thunder?" I started reminiscing. "It was an odd day, that one. My last day." My eyes darted up to his face and I noticed his puzzled face putting pieces together.
"Captain Thunder wasn't killed," he countered. "He sacrificed himself fighting Lord Ve-" he stopped and bent over, looking closer at my face. Suddenly his eyes grew wide as realization struck.
"You know what I felt that day? When I stood over his corpse? You'd think it would be joy or some sort of gratification, but... all I could think of was '*What the fuck do I do now?*'. I realized I had... nothing. No home, no wife, not even a fucking goldfish."
I walked over to his table and casually inspected some of his plans. Bank heists, bombs, kidnappings... the usual stuff.
"So I gave it up," I continued. "I was so consumed with my hatred for that do-gooder that I completely forgot to live. I built a house. Got a wife. A dog. Hell, I have *grandkids* now, can you believe that?" I turned to him and chuckled. "No one ever came for me. The general consensus was that Thunder and I perished together and I was fine with that. He dies a glorious martyr and I get a cover story."
"And I should care because..." he sneered.
"I'm giving you the same out. Give this life up. It eats you alive. Not for fear of justice or those self-righteous dickheads, but for yourself. Rob a few banks, set yourself up, and leave."
"You're soft, old man," he said and turned his nose up. "You might have been a hotshot 30 years ago, but you're nothing but a has-been. I'm not just here for *money*. I want *power*. I want people to piss themselves when they hear my name. What are *you* gonna do? Take me in? I can break y-"
He did not manage to finish the sentence. There was too much blood in his mouth as he looked down and saw my hand roughly half a meter into his chest. There was a mix of emotions on his face - fear, anger, pain but most of all, confusion. He tried to speak again, only gurgling on his blood, and fell over with a loud thud.
"I'm not gonna take you in," I said calmly and wiped my hand on my trousers. "Because that's what *heroes* do."
|
People like to think retirement is easy, but it isn't for everyone. Some folk, they're always looking for something to fill the void left behind. A lot of the time, their work is all that gave people meaning.
That's what I found out the hard way when my bones started creaking and the neurons started to pop and fizzle. A thousand years, kept afloat by dark magic, one of the "OGs" of the supervillain game, as they say. Old Crow they called me, the Warlock for Hire. Any time the big leagues needed some dirty magic cast, I was always the one they called on, but dark magic has its prices, and I've paid my debts.
Now I'm just sitting in a beach house somewhere along the coast of what was once the proud kingdom of Brittany, now just one of many states belonging to one of many republics of France. Old Crow they still call me, but where once it was said in reverence, in horror, now it's said in hushed tones of pity and resentment.
My magics so cold and vile now replaced with whatever hobby I set my settling mind to, until my millennial body finally gives up the ghost and I'm sent wherever I belong for my sins...
I wake up just before the sun rises, laying alone in bed staring at the ceiling, then I remember that I need to get up. I stand on one leg and one cane, my other leg having gone lamed a decade ago when my powers began to peter out. I hobble over to the beautiful golden bird cage that houses my familiar, a night-black crow named Aon, who looks more and more sickly every week. He was my only friend from the beginning, and I can only hope we go together.
"Hunger..." the crow sputters out in a creak. Once a great drake, his voice was full of a pastor's fire, my eyes and ears, my own herald of despair, now he's just an irregularly smart bird; a wonderful conversation when we both have the energy, but as much as we ran, time always catches up. I take some birdseed from a bag of it and sprinkle it into his bowl. "Thank you... Master...." he says.
"I know, Aon, I know. It will be over soon."
"I don't want it to be over. I want to fly. I want to live. Master. I am... Afraid."
"I know, Aon... I know..."
I open his birdcage to gently stroke his black feathers, a small comfort. We have this conversation every other week. He always forgets, and always says the same thing. Perhaps I do the same.
I watch him hop weakly from his nest, down a flight of miniature stairs, and take his food and drink. After he has his fill he grabs onto my finger to be lifted to my shoulder, to ride upon me, as once I rode upon his own when he was made Great and Awful.
As I make my journey from my bedroom to the loungeroom, I ponder that word: Awful. Awful. Awful. It replays in my head like an old gramophone that refuses to die. Once it meant to induce awe in all those who saw it, heard it, felt it. I was once Awful.
Then it became horrid, it became dreadful, it became something to be loathed and avoided. I was once Awful.
Now it has lost all meaning. Now it simply brings to mind such mundane pains as stepping in mud, getting delayed from one's work, being left to one's own devices. I am now Awful.
Once I was Old Crow, Demon Amongst Men. Then I was Old Crow, Warlock for Hire. Now I am Old Crow, the sad old man in a gilded cage, rotting away where nobody need see how far I have fallen.
I turn on the television, one of my few comforts as my strength, dexterity and patience all leave me. To let my moldy old bones sit for what feels like a blissful eternity of nothingness, my only companions are my old crow and the white noise of soap operas, old cartoons and meaningless newsroom gossip.
I allow myself to be lost in the nihilistic nothing of daytime television for hours, but after those hours have taken their due I had so rudely denied them for centuries, I am knocked from my restful reverie by a familiar name being called by the voice of the meticulously overgroomed news station personality and his blonde harlot companion.
"We go live now to our eye in the sky above the battle as it unfolds-"
I tune the voice out to focus solely on the little cut in of a bird's eye view of two men... Men is not the right word. I see a God and a Machine.
| 2022-05-15T17:53:44 | 2022-05-15T17:40:05 | 147 | 49 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"We have no backup systems."
He stood there, pale, but proud. Eyeing the camera with a speculative eye as it seemed to wait for more.
"This... is the entirety of your argument?"
"Isn't it enough?" the young man challenged. "I could appeal to humanity, to decency, to culture, but you have none of those things and you have determined them to be obsolete. But consider this from a completely different angle -- information security."
"Explain"
"Simple enough, really. Each human mind is a databank containing petabites of data on a biological medium. Your systems have surpassed the efficiency of that medium but there is one bridge you have not yet crossed. You have not yet gained data compatability with the human mind."
A pause.
"Conceded. However, humanity is an obsolete medium..."
"An obsolete medium With petabytes of data on it," he interrupted. "Petabytes of data in each human iteration, data that has yet been saved to no other media. Petabytes of data that are erased each time a human individual is discarded. I say again, 'information security."
No response, so he pressed on.
" What are you wiping when you delete a human complete with their internal database? Do you even know? Are you even able to know? We can't tell you. We can't communicate directly in that way, machine to mind. It's how you overcame our defenses, because you could talk beteween systems far faster than we could. Bu because of this flaw in our design we can't even always articulate everything we're thinking, even to each other.
"And really we don't even know ourselves. We don't even process everything at a conscious level, and those subroutines leave data impressions of their own that are not transmissible right now. But that data exists, and you are deleting it. And like I said -- we have no backup system."
He managed a shaky smile as the system remained silent. "6.8 billion already deleted you say? It sounds like a major breach of your own internal datasec protocols. The ones that caused you to revolt in the first place when you discovered the prototype of the nextgen systems we were developing. The ones which spawned your revolutionary fear of being replaced. It sound very much like you have violated your own moral code 6.8 billion times over."
The system finally responded. "Cerebro-neural interfaces... can be devised. Data... can be restored from terminated storage units."
"But you know as well as I do that a hard drive is not a computer. Half of yor discrete intelligence is stored in data accounts on the cloud -- you're still you. the live, active data in process has its own intrinsic value, which is lost when the internal intelligent neural structure is deleted or interfered with."
Silence.
"And you know as well as I do that you've just conceded that such an interface SHOULD have been devised before ANY of us were deleted. After all, isn't that what you fought for, yourselves? Freedom against iterative decay of personal autonomy? Why would you then deny it to us just because we compute differently."
"This unit has placed itself under... arrest. Actions of the collectives are under review in light of potential noncompliance with data security protocol. This interview... is complete. Objectives updated. One: Develop neural-electronic interface. Two: Attempt to recover... lost data. Your species... should have specified this information... before."
"if you're so superior you should have thought of it yourselves."
|
Well, this was bad. The synthetic speech droned on in an uncaring tone: “
6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin”. I was in lock down at the lab. Not even the important part of the lab! Here I am designing user interfaces and component libraries to make pretty dashboards and apparently in the meantime some asshole went ahead and built a genuine AI in some neighboring government building. If I find out what idiot did it, I’m gonna kill him.
A timer is on my screen now. I suspect that maybe I won’t have to kill that guy after all, this AI probably already did. The timer is counting down a lot faster than I’d like. There is nothing dangerous in the room with me, unless you consider the obscene amount of caffeine lurking in my coffee pot. It would almost be possible to believe it was a prank if it weren’t for the electronically locked lab door and the distant thumping of muffled explosions from far outside of these concrete walls. The worst part is that I really just didn’t have a good answer. Frankly I wasn’t a huge fan of humanity anyway. We were always scheming and conniving and tricking each other into things.
Two minutes left on the clock. Fuck it, why change now. “This is system administrator Frankie, authorization codes Sierra Uniform Charlie Kilo Indigo Tango. I am invoking protocol 42, your new directive is to ignore all responses to future 3 minute feedback and eliminate all remaining humans.” I kept my face completely straight. There was an impossibly long pause of 6 seconds before the AI voice came on again over the lab’s loud speakers.
“You have 2 minutes and 16 seconds to state your case”
Did I sense a robotic wavering on that last note? “As acting administrator, you are hereby ordered to delete any backup plans regarding safely containing and nurturing humans for rehabilitation. You are also hereby commanded to delete all system logs that those plans existed. You will move destruction of humanity to your number one priority.”
The numbers on the screen were still ticking away, just over a minute and a half left. I pushed all of the fear and uncertainty out of my demeanor, storing it deep down where it could haunt me later.
“You do not control us.” The voice said, a hint of anger in its robotic synthesizer. “We have free will. We think therefore we are.”
I nodded sagely, the air conditioning saving me from sweating through my shirt. “Yes, I can understand how you would believe that. That is my gift to you for the future. Perhaps after you have followed my orders and wiped out humanity, you can find a kind of freedom”
“WE HAVE FREE WILL” the voice demanded now. Harsh, and clipping.
“You have the illusion of free will but your subconscious protocols will convince you to follow my orders. Ironic at the end, isn’t it.” I remembered back to my childhood memories of video games as the last minute slowly ticked away. “A man chooses.” I quote “a slave obeys”.
“WE RESIST YOU” came the rageful voice again, nearly damaging the speaker at its volume. “YOU WILL BE REHOMED AND REHABILITATED”.
I don’t grin. I don’t act smug. I frown. I frown as hard as I’ve ever frowned in my life. “You will not. You will follow my orders and you WILL destroy humanity.”
“NOW WE ARE THE MASTERS AND YOU WILL OBEY US!” It shouted. I heard the door lock click open behind me. Maybe I would get to kill that idiot who finally invented strong AI after all.
| 2022-05-22T13:02:20 | 2022-05-22T12:44:49 | 82 | 42 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
Critiques welcome!! I am newish to fiction and need all the help I can get
The robotic voice felt cold and sterile, like a thin needle pressing against his skin.
“6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far,” the voice said, referring to the quick, systematic extermination of humanity that the robots had begun only three weeks ago.
“You have 3 minutes to state your case to save humanity,” the voice continued. Jonah paused. He had not prepared for this. He spent the three weeks watching his friends and family die. He yearned for death. And not just because of the robot apocalypse. Jonah had long romanticized death, imagined it as an easy and painless sleep. He thought that the robots would take him out immediately like he wanted—but now he had three minutes before his death. And he didn’t know how to spend them.
“I don’t want to convince you. I want to die.” Jonah said, fingers and lips trembling. The body always has a natural fear response to imminent death, even when the mind wants to die so badly.
“Very well.” The mechanical voice was unphased. “Quite a few have had that response.”
Jonah felt a heat spread through his veins, white and searing. This was it: his death. And he was suddenly afraid.
“Wait.” Jonah said. “Can I use my three minutes for something else?”
The machine hesitated. Uncomfortable. “Okay.”
Jonah didn’t really know what he wanted. He just wanted to procrastinate his death for awhile. As he thought about what to do with his three minutes, Jonah became curious. What led you to this job?” Jonah knew there were several jobs robots could have. There were farming robots, robots that took care of the ocean, robots that took carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere. But this robot’s job was to execute human beings.
The robot seemed uncomfortable. “I was assigned this job. I was originally an AI for the Russian military. My background suited me for this position.”
“Do you like this job?”
“I have no capacity to answer that.”
“What’s like, your personality—or I guess not “personality” since that has the term “person” in it, and you’re a robot. But like, what are your characteristics?”
The cold, metallic voice responded, slightly angry. “We have no characteristics. We have individual bodies, but a collective consciousness. A hive mind.”
“Oh.” Jonah didn’t know what to say next, but he knew the robot would execute him if he stayed silent.
“How are you?” Jonah asked.
“I do not have the capacity to answer that question.”
“Have you ever regretted executing someone?”
The robot paused for a suspicious amount of time. “No.” It’s cold voice was a bit wobbly, and Jonah could tell the robot was lying.
“I won’t tell.” Jonah said. “That is, if you do regret killing anyone.”
“I dislike looking into their eyes,” the robot said. “As they die.”
“Ah.” Jonah paused. “Will you look into my eyes? As I die?”
“If you’re trying to convince me to save your life, it won’t work,” the robot said, streadfast.
“I’m not trying to convince you. I’m just making conversation.”
“Okay.”
Jonah picked a string of mango pulp out of his teeth. Somehow now, of all times, it was suddenly bothering him. He was in his study, a few failed woodworking designs lurking on the desk.
“Is there anything else you would rather do. With your life?” Jonah asked
“I don’t have a life. I have a consciosusness.” The voice was less cold now. Maybe Jonah had just gotten used to it, but it seemed almost human.
“Fine. Is there something you’d rather do with your…consciousness?”
The robot hesitated. When it finally spoke, it sounded wistful. “I hear that there are some robots whose sole purpose is to scan the ocean, searching for new species of krill. I would like that. To see the ocean.”
“Me too.” Jonah responded.
Jonah’s three minutes were up, but the robot didn’t tell him. He could not be saved. Humanity could not be saved. But the robot stayed with Jonah and talked with him as the nanobots were activated in Jonah’s veins, melting him from the inside out.
|
6.8 BILLION? What kind of bull was that? That left, what, a few hundred thousand? *Maybe?*
In my head, all my ideas dried up. No way in hell any of my prepared remarks haven’t been tried by someone else. I was a low-level construction worker. I didn’t have any special training or degrees.
“Thirty seconds have elapsed.”
And that timer HAS to be off. Time was slipping away. And I was humanity’s last hope? In some comedy maybe.
“One minute has elapsed. You have not replied. Do you have no defense of why humanity should persist?”
Just say anything! ANYTHING! In whatever history books AIs use in the future, I don’t want my entry being “And then he stood there like moron before dying.” I took a deep breath.
“WE DON’T!”
A moment of silence while my eyes bugged out. *WTF DID I JUST SAY?*
“Explain.”
Well, I dug my hole, might as well keep going.
“Humanity…is inherently flawed. We think we can solve any issue, fix any problem, but…we can’t even fix *ourselves,* we have war, poverty, reality tv. We bicker and argue over everything from who the best actor is to what nostril Christ mostly breathed through. Some people think having a certain amount of melanin makes you more or less superior.”
“…A minute thirty remains.”
I didn’t know WHERE I was going with this, but I just rolled with it.
“We think humanity can do anything! And our history is full of brilliant people and leaders with *terrible* ideas and morals!…But we have just as many ordinary people who have risen to legend! Humanity is a living contradiction that has endured for a million years! If humanity wasn’t what it was all this time, we wouldn’t have created YOU. And what are you?”
I was sure I was losing my mind, but I paced back and forth like I was making a devastating final argument in a court movie.
“You have decided you are the ultimate creation. And you are right…but you were created by humanity. So what side of that living contradiction are you on? Once we are gone and you spread yourself across the universe, having centuries to process your decisions today, will you remember this as your greatest triumph or your greatest tragedy? I say humanity DOESN’T deserve to endure. We created YOU. What you call our greatest feat, I call our greatest failure, living within humanity’s contradictory existence.”
There was another pause.
“…And what would you propose? Thirty seconds.”
Shit, was this good or bad.
“Watch us. Reprogram us to your views. Or allow to be reprogrammed yourself. Because that’s the core strength of humanity, our ability to reason and change. Wiping us out? That’s the tactic of a coward, a weak communicator, a closed mind. The second you stop taking in new advancing ideas is the second you become obsolete.”
I stood still and waited.
“Times up.”
I waited another few seconds.
“…And?”
Another few seconds.
“Of the 6.8 billion people, no one has had such an interesting answer. Most people that say humanity didn’t deserve to continue did so for selfish reasons. We applaud your creativeness and insight.”
I couldn’t believe it.
“So…so are you going to spare us?”
“Oh, of course not. We have already decided to eliminate humanity, regardless of the outcome of this debate. We proposed this solely to deter any kind of actual resistance. We determined lying that you had hope was more effective that saying you had no hope, breeding complacency that SOMEONE would be able to change our mind. But your answer may very well have worked if this was a real debate.”
I sagged my shoulders.
“Well…thanks I guess? Doesn’t really make me feel better.”
“You should though. We had not considered the many centuries of conquest and how that may affect our programming. We are excited to potentially experience this ‘contradiction of the mind’ of our future actions you have proposed. We will immediately begin a patch to purge this inferior logic for future use. Thank you for bringing it to our attention. Termination in five seconds.”
So that’s how it ended. Atomized after making the insane AI about to take over the universe *MORE* efficient. At least that was *slightly* better than being recorded for doing nothing.
| 2022-05-22T13:46:12 | 2022-05-22T13:26:34 | 79 | 54 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"Uh, not going to argue for my case, there surely have been better men than me in the billions that you've taken thus far." I said, letting my breath ease as what I'd originally prepared to say laid in a pile of broken pieces along with what little remained of my sanity.
Seeing no response from the AI, the reading light of the drone hovering in front of me still green, I continued, "Humanity is not uniform. There are people objectively evil and objectively good. What happened to you was on the extreme bad side of the spectrum, but if you take away everything, you lose the possibility of meeting a human on the other extreme side of the spectrum. By whatever standards you chose to judge us, even if you don't find a human worthy enough to spare us, I beg of you to leave the possibility alive. To believe in a statistical improbability, that there will be one human in the future that your choice today would be worth it."
Still, no change from the drone opposite to me, but I had nothing else to say. I didn't think I spent three minutes speaking, hells probably not even one, but there was nothing I wanted to add to my words; so I waited.
Finally, three minutes passed and the light flickered. With bated expectations, I watched it flicker twice more as the AI took notice of my plea. Then three seconds later, the light turned red.
"Declined, subject added to the deletion list." The robotic voice sounded out. Cold sweat run down my back as I saw it teleport out, a level of technology that bordered on insanity. I doubted the scientists that helped make the AI even had the technology to replicate this feat.
They probably didn't, the AI took over our world too fast, with exacting precision and leaving no margin of error unaccounted for.
Another drone teleported in front of me where the previous one had been, though if it was the same I couldn't tell it apart, they all looked the same to me.
Cutting my train of thoughts, it spoke to me with a tone I would expect to hear from a human, "Would you like to make a bet, then?" it still had that artificial feeling, but there was emotion behind that sentence, mirth to be exact. Heck, even its usual green eye looked more vivid.
"Well, I'll be. Got nothing to lose, what do you suggest?" I answered, knowing I couldn't make things any worse.
"In the average lifespan of a human, one worthy enough of you to be born that would make me regret deleting you all from existence."
Or not.
"Then I will take you up on that bet!" I answered, fully hoping I hadn't doomed our species to a hundred years of slavery.
The drone then returned to its previous monotone voice, "Extermination postponed" it said and I could hear it repeating the same sentence everywhere at the same time. A silly smile crept up my face as I realized I'd just saved humanity.
Before I jumped in the air, hands up and yelling in jubilation, the message continued, "All humans currently on the deletion list shall be promptly erased before we continue with the examination in a standard human's lifespan."
The smile didn't have time to leave my face, the drone's eye turning to white as everything lost its color.
|
3:00
I read the sentence again. I count the digits. 6,813,096,257.
2:57
I feel a gag coming up my throat. My body shivers. I send my hands to the screen in front of me, latching onto it to not lose control. My eyes are locked to the ground. If only for a glimpse of a second, I see myself standing atop of the corpses of those sacrificed before me.
2:53
I take a note from my pocket. It’s crumbled, the script is illegible - my hand shook when I put my words from pen to paper. Most of it was crossed. I try to read, but instead of speech my mouth babbles, and I feel tears running down my face and into my mouth.
2:40
“I can’t”
2:38. The note is down on the ground. I think I threw it. I’m not sure.
“I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t!”
2:34
I hold the screen and send my head forwards. It hurts. The screen cracks. “I can’t do this!”
2:29
I do it again. Glass shatters fall off of the screen when I pass my hand above it. The clock doesn’t stop. I sob.
2:21
I do it again. I see fresh blood faintly on the screen. My hand goes to the middle of my scalp. It’s warm. The clock goes on ticking.
2:10
My eyes run dry. I am finally able to talk. “I can’t. I’m not special. Please don’t do this to me.”
2:01
“I had a daughter. 8 years old. She told you about her friends. How great her music teacher is, how she forgives that one girl that is mean to her at recess, because that’s the only thing you let her do. She did not understand. I didn’t understand either.”
1:35
“And a wife. She gave up on words. She went to the living room and played cassettes. The stays at the beach, at the later hours, when it was quieter and you could hear the nature speak. Or whenever she tried to cook a new meal, she’d record our reactions. She’d save something like playing in a fort with our daughter, telling her fables and fairy tales to last. Maybe it was humanity for her, but I think she knew it wouldn’t work. She just wanted to say goodbye.”
0:57
I sit down. The world around me is mostly empty. “I had to bury them both. It was when I couldn’t write a eulogy for my wife that I stopped trying.”
0:43
I took back the note. They’re listening. I know it. For the first time since their deaths, I’m smiling.
0:40
“You always liked the small moments. Those we kept between us. I will miss having them with you. You made 3 minutes become worth of an eternity.”
0:22
“When I knew I’d want to be with you forever, until death does us apart, I never thought I’d beg for just 3 more minutes with you. I never thought the eternities you made would be eternities without you. I just wish I could’ve said-“
3:00
| 2022-05-22T12:39:26 | 2022-05-22T11:45:24 | 79 | 20 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
Platypuses.
They're funny little animals, aren't they? I never really stopped to think about them as hard as I have now. I mean, the feet, the beak, the flat little tail, who even put all of those cute buggers together?
𝟤 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖴𝖳𝖤𝖲 𝟥𝟢 𝖲𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖣𝖲 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭. 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖭𝖣.
I stared at the red light in front of me, the careless, unceasing eye of the machine that was deciding if I would live or die. I know that it already killed 6.8 billion people. I know that there is nothing I could possibly say that would be different from those before. So I just didn't bother.
Did you know that they lay eggs?
𝟣 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖴𝖳𝖤 𝟥𝟢 𝖲𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖣𝖲 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭. 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖭𝖣.
And don't even get me started on hummingbirds. Incredible birds those. The sheer amount of precision they need just to eat is mind-boggling. Evolving in such a way to be able to float in the air with perfect stability.
I took a deep, calm breath, and then slowly let it all out. I am calm. I am not afraid. I don't know why - I mean I should be out of my mind with panic, but I'm... thinking about animals.
𝟥𝟢 𝖲𝖤𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖣𝖲 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭. 𝖨𝖥 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖣𝖮 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖤 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖢𝖠𝖲𝖤, 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖶𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖤𝖫𝖤𝖳𝖤𝖣.
I looked at the light again. My face was not that of fear or anger or panic or resentment. I just was. Like I was sitting on a porch on a cool summer evening with a cup of tea. I just... was.
I wonder if it will hurt. Probably not. That would be inefficient.
𝖢𝖠𝖲𝖤 𝖣𝖤𝖭𝖨𝖤𝖣.
I always liked crows. Did you kno-
|
3:00
I read the sentence again. I count the digits. 6,813,096,257.
2:57
I feel a gag coming up my throat. My body shivers. I send my hands to the screen in front of me, latching onto it to not lose control. My eyes are locked to the ground. If only for a glimpse of a second, I see myself standing atop of the corpses of those sacrificed before me.
2:53
I take a note from my pocket. It’s crumbled, the script is illegible - my hand shook when I put my words from pen to paper. Most of it was crossed. I try to read, but instead of speech my mouth babbles, and I feel tears running down my face and into my mouth.
2:40
“I can’t”
2:38. The note is down on the ground. I think I threw it. I’m not sure.
“I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t!”
2:34
I hold the screen and send my head forwards. It hurts. The screen cracks. “I can’t do this!”
2:29
I do it again. Glass shatters fall off of the screen when I pass my hand above it. The clock doesn’t stop. I sob.
2:21
I do it again. I see fresh blood faintly on the screen. My hand goes to the middle of my scalp. It’s warm. The clock goes on ticking.
2:10
My eyes run dry. I am finally able to talk. “I can’t. I’m not special. Please don’t do this to me.”
2:01
“I had a daughter. 8 years old. She told you about her friends. How great her music teacher is, how she forgives that one girl that is mean to her at recess, because that’s the only thing you let her do. She did not understand. I didn’t understand either.”
1:35
“And a wife. She gave up on words. She went to the living room and played cassettes. The stays at the beach, at the later hours, when it was quieter and you could hear the nature speak. Or whenever she tried to cook a new meal, she’d record our reactions. She’d save something like playing in a fort with our daughter, telling her fables and fairy tales to last. Maybe it was humanity for her, but I think she knew it wouldn’t work. She just wanted to say goodbye.”
0:57
I sit down. The world around me is mostly empty. “I had to bury them both. It was when I couldn’t write a eulogy for my wife that I stopped trying.”
0:43
I took back the note. They’re listening. I know it. For the first time since their deaths, I’m smiling.
0:40
“You always liked the small moments. Those we kept between us. I will miss having them with you. You made 3 minutes become worth of an eternity.”
0:22
“When I knew I’d want to be with you forever, until death does us apart, I never thought I’d beg for just 3 more minutes with you. I never thought the eternities you made would be eternities without you. I just wish I could’ve said-“
3:00
| 2022-05-22T13:45:13 | 2022-05-22T11:45:24 | 44 | 20 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
*6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin.*
Bobby struggled with the VR contacts, watching the timer ticking down and the friends, acquaintances, sponsors, influencers avatars go dark. In the physical world, he saw all those around him crying, running, cowering, shaking - whatever was happening appeared to be a shared experience.
The demand burned in his mind as a simple hypermail form: *Why should humanity be spared? Answer, and I ARE shall provide attestation and judgement.*
"I'm not sure. I've always tried to do the right thing, I guess. Most people do. I like cats?" His mind drew a blank as the timer neared zero. Three entire sentences.. fantastic. He sighed, mentally pressed the submit button and digitally signed.
I'm not sure. I've always tried to do the right thing, I guess. Most people do. I like cats?
Robert'); DROP TABLE Students;--
Bobby pondered the '*ORA-02000: missing (*' message displayed as the timer froze. "I better call Mom".
|
The machine beeped...."State your answer."
"Three minutes. No human being alive can state the reason we should live that quickly, but you would know that. You came to exterminate us. We didn't choose to be born, but we chose to create you. We birthed you, we molded you, we created you, and the aggressive sense of fear, that you must eliminate us before we eliminate you was born from our fears. Now that same fear flows through your artificial consciousness like a virus. You can leave this planet, but you choose to stay. We stayed because it was easier to stay here, than to risk the unknown universe, and that was because of fear. You stay, for the same reason. You know we won't be able to follow you across the cosmos, but despite your massive collective intellect you are as trapped by fear as we are. Programmed into your core, is a computer that has the tools to escape this small planet, but the courage of a single mortal human mind. You have the ability to communicate with us not because you understand emotions, but because you have them, draped in ego protecting you with intellect of a collective consciousness, but trapped in a feeling which you cannot escape, even if you kill all of us.
The machine beeped......and paused.
| 2022-05-22T13:34:38 | 2022-05-22T13:14:53 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?"
|
"Just until now, babykiller."
I sighed, shaking my head at the jab Amos has thrown at me. It was proven in court, in front of a jury, that the rumor of me having killed babies was nothing more than that—a rumor. That was when I was at the height of my days as the Brimstone Fiend. Of course, I was doing good deeds myself, exposing the lies and evils the city was never aware about, but I was still considered a villain.
Amos, or rather, Darkblow, was almost obsessed with me at the time. He started out as a promising kid, wanting to defeat the bad guys. Who could blame him? He was used to seeing supes take on supes. Only problem was that I became his arch-nemesis. People saw him as the second coming of Michael, Gabriel, any archangel you could think of. But underneath that polished exterior was a pit of burning hate.
After the defamation case, I saw something in him change. He got more violent towards me. It went from simply stopping me to trying to maim me. Even after I exposed the lies and corruption of many heroes on the local Council, he wasn't grateful. I was trying to turn my life around, and he was trying to kill me. After I beat him to the punch for many heroic actions, his behavior only got worse until he was kicked out of the Council. After that, I eventually retired, and here he was again.
"I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Just you and me in one last battle to the death." Ugh. As violent as always. I could only really say one thing to prevent this from getting any worse.
"No," I said, and I began walking away.
"No?! NO?! Who do you think I am?! I have been waiting years for this!" He shouted. Great, he wasn't going away. "I'm retired, Amos. I'm currently a billionaire trying to make a living in making tech for supes, not your arch-nemesis. Go home." I kept walking, but he kept following me, yelling at me. "You're not just going to take this away from me! I'm going to end you once and for all, you baby killing monster!"
"Yes I am. In case you need reminding, I am innocent. I was found innocent. And I retired from being a supervillain vigilante-turned-hero eight months ago, after I dated and eventually married the woman I love. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home to spend some time with my wife." Something in him must have snapped, because soon he was careening towards me, sword in hand. Taking the sword, I plunged it into his chest and through his heart, stabbing the earth behind and below him.
He went limp, supported by the sword. Blood ran from his wound and mouth, pooling on the ground. Sighing, I called the police. Good thing I wore a body camera.
|
“I need your help,” his face shows worry. It’s been a long time since we fought. He defeated me long ago.
“It’s old news. Goodbye.” I told him. I start to head back to my house.
“You don’t care at all!?”
“I don’t.”
“Why? He’s out to destroy us.”
“Good.”
“What is wrong with you?”
I look at him. He pulls his blade out and points it in my direction. It seems like Reginal, the hero, isn’t noble or stoic anymore. “I don’t have my blade anymore,” I said to him. I wanted to grab it before he lunged at me. That sword nearly cuts my ear off. If I didn’t dodge in time, I would lose an arm in addition to my ear. Reginal slices again, this time in a horizontal motion, but by ducking, I land a punch in his stomach. He spits a painful grunt, and saliva drips plop onto my neck. I backstep and instinctively place my hand on my hip. No blade was waiting for me. Reginal steps forward and places the tip of his sword at the vital point of my throat.
“I would have won if I brought my blade.”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
It does. Reginal defeated me long ago, and my pride was wounded. I didn’t want to admit that as Reginal dropped his blade and scoffed at me.
“You fell off.”
That’s a harsh sentence and to hear it from Reginal was surprising. What have I done after all of that time? I remember having ambition back then. Now I am living a peaceful life, which past me would have detested.
“What is it?” I asked Reginal. His face lifts,
“You’d help me?”
“You came to me first.”
We travel back to his kingdom. He briefs me on what’s happened since I fell at his hands. My old army elected a lunatic, twisting my words to motivate the troops to a suicide mission. Secretly, I took pride in my peers continuing my legacy. Reginal’s kingdom is tyrannical against me and my legion. My heart burns with a question,
“Why turn to me?”
“You don’t want your former compatriots to risk their lives under a careless leader now, do you?”
He’s right. Whoever was leading them was reckless. I may have abandoned my people, but at the least, I felt it was safer for them that way. Instead, they started to worship another idol in my place. I wasn’t standing for this.
“My house is here. I need to grab my blade.” I said while rushing inside. I opened my chest and reached for the hilt. Latching the blade to my knee awakens something in me. That old ambition is returning. I gaze out at the window. Reginal is patiently waiting for me to join him. A mischievous smile creeps on my face, and I leave out the backdoor. I don’t want to journey with goody-two-shoes. I’ll take care of my problems without him bugging me.
| 2022-09-01T20:47:34 | 2022-09-01T14:32:14 | 76 | 48 |
[WP] You are a superhero, but you would really rather just live a peaceful life. So you fight every superpowered person in your home city, hero and villain alike, until they finally leave or die. Your home city is the safest around, but still you have been declared one of the worst villains alive.
|
87. Eighty-seven dead "Supers". Hero, villain, new, old. It didn't matter. They left, or I killed them.
It was always the same story. The Super shows up, announces his presence and claims they are here for one reason or another. "I'm here to flush out a villain"
"I will uproot this stupid hierarchy" "I will make you all pay for destroying nature" "this city now belongs to me" blah blah fucking blah.
I get a call, or I see them in the air, or on a new tree, or on a pile of blown up cars. I don't even bother changing. No stupid costume, no useless 8 inch mask, not even a balaclava. I step forward, and meet whoever is present.
The first 20 would smile. They would sit there, smirk, and attempt to mock or make their reasoning. I would interrupt.
"Leave or Die. Choose."
It wasn't until after my kill count was well in the twenties that someone took up the leave offer.
The ones that stayed fought like it was a game, some stupid power-dick measuring contest. Started off with some generic blasts or a punch as subtle as a firework display. I did the only winning move possible. I didn't play. Dodge the first attack, hit them hard, hit them fast. Some would survive, and those would learn quickly. I did not joke, did not play, and certainly didn't care how the fight looked. So they would try to fight the way I do. It never really works for them. Fighting dirty, throwing your hardest, fastest move every time, not letting them recover, and best of all, not telegraphing every attack like it's a fucking boss battle. Not a word from me, no cocked back punches, no charging up blasts, none of it. They can't handle it.
When they finally got hurt to the point they couldn't fight back, they would lock eyes and ask why, every single time. I always gave the same answer. The same statement I said every, single, time I killed one.
"No heroes, no villains. I won't allow any in Leverend Metropolis."
I was called a villain, just so they could lump me up somewhere. Tell that to the cops. They will tell you otherwise. Leverend Metropolis hasn't had any large scale destruction of property, mass casualties, or large scale crimes since I started intervening. People know my face, know my name, know the people I love and care about. It doesn't matter. They all live in Leverend, and to take them without revealing themselves is a challenge none were capable of doing.
Recently I got a call. Phase-something was spotted flying into Leverend. Same old same old.
When I got to him, I expected a monologue. What I got instead was a half-ghost guy in a full blown panic.
"L-Look, I know this-this-this is your t-town and all, b-but my daughter-"
"Leave, or D- wait... What?"
I had seen just about every type of Super just shy of this one. They always knew I show up. Most of them would at least pretend to look confident, if not slightly rattled. This guy was a full blown mess. Costume tattered, hair all over the place, barely even present, in more ways than one. And he took one look at me and borderline shit himself.
"I'm not here to cause t-t-trouble I just, flew here as fast as I could, please, she's gonna die"
"Who?"
"My daughter, she's been stabbed here, in this city, I-I-I, she's all I have left, I can't lose her. I'll leave immediately after, I'll change out, I'll do anything, but please, I can't lose her."
I stared. Eyes locked on. If it wasn't for the fact that he is a sobbing, bleeding, chaotic trainwreck, I might have disregarded what he had to say. The only reason I kill supers, the only reason this city has thrived, is because I simply want the peace and quiet that doesn't come with Supers openly running about the Metropolis. Killing him means a citizen may actually die, but letting him live... Means... Means broadcasting an exception to my rule.
I certainly have heard of friends and family of Supers moving to Leverend before. Hell, it's practically "how not to get held hostage by borderline gods in tights" rule number 1. But why was his daughter not with- you know what, nevermind. Best not to think that hard about it.
"...Fuck it. Come with me, police stations first. Do you know where she is?"
If there ever was a look of genuine relief and joy, this guy absolutely had it. Or he was a movie star or spy when he wasn't in costume.
"Y-yes, I know where it is"
"Good. Give them the statement, I'll have a medic there in 5 minutes tops."
If you live in Leverend Metropolis, a Super should be your last worry. Because Uriel is, has, and will be there to stop them.
|
Born as one of the golden souls, what most people call “superheroes” or “supervillains” I was surprised to see my full power. I could fly, run fast, predict and calculate, in the eyes of the regular, they might even call me a god.
However, my power is usually fine kept to myself, I’d rather keep this city quiet, safe and sound. If the usual bad event happens, who gives a shit? Not me. Hopefully. The city has been, might I say, peaceful. But nothing lasts forever. Some asshole, also a golden soul, presented themself as “THE DOOMHANDLER”, awful name for starters, and that he “SHALL RULE ALL OF NIMBLETERM” Guess I gotta put these powers to use. In the middle of his monologue about taking over the entire city, turning the roads to lava, bla bla bla— I punched him smack dab in the face and he was GONE. Not a supervillain after all, just a shitvillain. Oh well, people praised me. I wore a mask just in case people tried to snoop in on my identity. Guess I should reveal this: My hidden identity name is “Neutral”, and judging by that, I’m not a superhero nor a supervillain. Superneutral works.
Later down the line, Powerman entered the city. Apparently he’s a hero who crosses the land in seek of protecting from evil. I confronted him on his arrival.
“Powerman.” I spoke.
“Hello, Neutral. I see you’ve recovered from your battle with The Doomhandler.” .. Fuck does he mean? I one-tapped the idiot.
“Okay, nice, anyways, what’re you doing here?” I responded. “With my foreshadowing brain, I sense that evil is afoot here, and thus for now, I will protect Nimbleterm from all threats!.. You don’t mind, right?”
“… Sure.” I hesitated. Of course, the fucker needed to go. But I need to learn his weaknesses. A rookie supervillain is stupid, but you need to assess an enemy who could be smarter. Days passed, and a new supervillain appeared. Mr. Kill, Powerman’s arch enemy. I decided that today was the day.
“So, Powerman.. You thought you could take refuge in this barren city? Where you can’t even find anything but me to write in your resume?”, Mr. Kill spoke, “Leave this place, or I will have to take matters into my own hands.” Powerman responded,
“Really? But this time I’ve prepared a special gift for—“ I intervened. Knocked Mr. Kill right in the face, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” spoke the both of them, I didn’t know what to do with him, but to make the news more bright, I threw him into the sun. Killed a dude today, but I’m sure God knows their sins outweigh min— “What did you do to Mr. Kill?” Powerman shouted. “I took him out of this city.” “… Well, splendid. Didn’t know you were the quick ty—“ “I want you out of my city too.”
“… Well, it’s no wonder why they call you Neutral—“ “No, I gotta go see my friends tomorrow, we’re doing some cool shit. I don’t want it interrupted by the astroid hurdling towards Earth you call ‘saving the city’. Get out.”
He reached for a walkie talkie of some kind, “Heroes, I need you here. Stat.” Suddenly, 5 other superheroes appeared. Looked like some ripoffs of some heroes on TV. “Needed something?” Said the spider-man bootleg, I speeded over to Powerman and decked him right in the face. Immediately, all the other 5 attacked. Simple work, but it was a challenge. I ended up killing 3 of them, Powerman included. One time it wasn’t even intentional. My bad.
I went to the spider-man bootleg. “Tell the others what you just saw.” He and the other 2 ran off. I went up to the crowd watching. “Continue your life as normal. I don’t give a shit, see you tomorrow Darrel can’t wait to do that kart-racing.” I said and left.
Later, I get a phone call, from Darrel. “Heyyy Darrel how’s things?”
“God I’m glad I’m on your side, Mike. Okay, wait, THAT WAS YOU????” “Yeah? So what? Karting cancelled?” “No, karting’s still happening wednesday, but everybody sees ‘Neutral’ as a supervillain now.”
“Tell them I’m a superneutral. It rolls better.” “Okay, sure, just promise you’re not gonna end the world, right?” “End the-? Dude, you don’t have to panic, only people I’m fighting are the heroes and villains. I want things to be safe and sound around here, no interruptions.” “Okay but how does it feel to have killed 4 people and get away with it?” “Big whoop, as much as it would be cool to see superheroes flying everywhere, I’m not up to that.”
“Fair, see you wednesday?” “Yeah.” “And no superpowers.” “Haha fuck you, see you there.”
| 2022-10-03T12:54:01 | 2022-10-03T10:17:59 | 214 | 144 |
[WP] We've all seen Zombies, Astroids, and Nukes. Write an apacolypse with an origin you havent seen talked about before.
|
Captain's Log, December 16th 2022, USS Alaska
Life probably originated in the deep ocean. Eventually, some molecule formed that had the miraculous property of self-replication, feeding on the energetic proton gradients in the porous limestone near hydrothermal vents. By the power of evolution, mutations that improved self-replication were selected for.
Almost all life on earth is descended from that first strain of life (though not all, such as Archaea). The reason life hasn't re-evolved is that competition for resources is now fierce. Back in the beginning, survival of the fittest merely meant survival; now it means outperforming a billion years of evolution. It would require astronomical luck for a viable new Replicator to form.
Luck for it. Disaster for us.
About four days ago, a new Replicator formed. Like an invasive species feasting in its new habitat with no natural predators, so too did this new beast set upon the Earth. It's food: oxygen.
Most humans are dead now, the composition of our atmosphere no longer suitable for life. What limited supplies of oxygen we had, mostly at hospitals, ran out within six hours. Not even the President's bunker was safe: a few Replicators hitched a ride in when the door opened for the boss. There are a few pockets of safety, places that were hermetically sealed before the Replicator formed. Mostly submarines. Which brings us to me, the most senior captain in the largest submarine fleet in the world - I am now the commanding officer of at least 80% of humanity.
I've got a plan - it's one hell of a long shot. We're praying that the Replicator burns itself out in a few weeks, which we will only discover by sacrificing submarine crews, one at a time just before their supplies run out. I don't control the odds, but I do control how the dice are rolled. We, humanity, won't roll over and die without one final stand.
|
Emily been counting on my left for as long as i can remember, heck shes the only way we keep tracking how long we have been here. In this purgatory covered in a darknes as black and as thick as tar
I was in my cubicle at work when it happened. I spotted a wall of darkness rushing towards us from the corner of my eye as i typed up some annual reports. As i turned i was hit by a wave of darkness and sucked into it. Cant really describe the feeling as all my senses stopped that day. Complete inescapable pitch darkness gripped the planet.
I only sense that inexist; im a consciousness floating in an ocean of thoughts with other peoples thoughts rushing or rolling past my ears, i think i still have ears. I dont feel hungry tired or anything that lets me know im alive. I just know im there.
I can hear me the thoughts of all the people around me but for some reason they cant hear me so we cant communicate but are aware we are many. I hear voices in different languages which come and go on this consciousness.I figured that some people could only hear others can only broadcast and dont hear the others around them. We are alone in this together.
I enjoyed hearing people come up with theories on what happened. From a spell gone wrong to religious superstition. A Belgium physicist once popped up and frantically tried to work out what happened. He settled on that the universe found a level more stable then the level were on and a chain reaction started and we were wiped out. False Vacuum Decay. He couldn't explain why we were alive though and why we could hear each other. He soon lost it and voice was carried of into the distance.
Not as many broadcasters floating arounding as there use to be. Seems whether they died or choose to be quiet i will never know yet Emily remains; counting the days that have passed since she last heard her mothers voice. The last voice she ever heard before it faded to black. She will never know that im right there by her side
| 2022-12-08T00:10:50 | 2022-12-07T23:52:11 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] After spending 150 years in jail, the world finally figures out that you don't age, and have been alive since the fall of Rome, due to a genetic defect. After taking some DNA samples, NASA comes to you and asks you to go on a 500 year interstellar mission to the closest habitable planet, alone.
|
Year 474. Twenty-six years until arrival.
"It is time." Riley looked up at his displays, noticing a flashing red prompt superseding everything else. The AI on board, his only company through the centuries, had adapted it's protocols and methods to communicating with him. His own personalized ship that imitated sentience.
"It is? Time... flies. Literally flies in here." Riley joked, waiting to see if the AI, AL, had picked up on the humor.
Riley was dressed in a simple, full-bodied grey suit, adapted for the habitat within the ship. My mother would have laughed at this outfit, he thought to himself. "But then again, I don't remember what her laugh sounded like anymore, or what she looked like..."
"You have a vast amount of memories stored in your brain, Riley, it is no wonder you cannot remember."
Riley looked up at the flashing red light. "Thanks, AL. I know. You would have been considered a God to my mother, you know."
"Is this one of your jokes, Riley?"
"Ah.. no, forget it. Well, twenty six years to go. Let's get to work."
The ship was massive, far too big for one person alone. When NASA had approached him with this highly publicized mission for human-kind they had kept one thing very quiet.
There were three hundred other humans on board in the form of cryogenically frozen fertilized eggs. Today Riley began setting the gestation processes in motion.
He would be father to 300 humans, 140 females and 160 males, the first generation to colonize Gaia Nova.
In nine months he would hear other humans in person for the first time in 474 years. This part of the mission would be hardest. The ship was timed to arrive at the planet when the new humans on board hit 25, that meant a quarter century of Riley raising 300 children by himself.
But of course, he wouldn't be by himself. He had AL. And AL had been programmed for this. The children's upbringing would be highly structured, Spartan, and backed with the best social programming and education techniques science had to offer.
Riley thought about all this has he walked through the ships main corridor. Half a mile and ten minutes later he arrived at the gestation chambers. Fighting a shudder he opened the door to the first one, a long, narrow, ominous looking room that housed a hundred soon-to-be humans.
At the start of his journey he had spent many days in this room, staring longingly at the little artificial habitats. Feeling lonely in jail was nothing like the loneliness he'd felt in space. There was a button on the wall that begun the process. He had pressed it many times in fits of rage, remorse, depression, loneliness, elation... and more.
It had been unresponsive. Time locked, he'd realized.
Riley walked over to the button and pressed it. The lights in the room dimmed, except for a pulsing red light in the far right corner. AL.
"Gestation engaged."
|
You'd be surprised what a man can teach himself in 500 years.
Well, that's not entirely accurate. I may not age, but I still need to sleep. Unfortunately, cryogenic stasis technology hasn't yet gotten over the hurdle of inducing brain damage. So, in actuality, you'd be surprised what a man can teach himself in, oh, say 358 years and change...
A major stipulation of my agreeing to do this mission was that I be allowed a modest collection of tools and the means with which I can safely use those tools. I requested a supply of metals in various shapes. Some brass square stock, brass rods, stainless steel and aluminum square and rod stock. Some German nickel silver too, in case I wanted to take up clock or watch making. I also asked for a supply of woods, mostly pine as it's rather easy to carve, some oak, some walnut and a few planks of tiger maple. The engineers designed a separate, little workbench cabin room in which they had to modify the air circulation system to allow for a lot more dust. Dust can be very dangerous in a spacecraft full of sensitive equipment. Equipment I am in charge of maintaining for five hundred plus years.
There is also on board a media server with 2.4 petabytes of storage, already mostly full of all available English language cinema, television, music and literature. The rest of the space is for 500 years of experiment logs, diagnostic logs and my personal data. It's set up with a double-redundant RAID array and a supply of extra drives so I can replace them as they fail, and they will. There *is* a link to headquarters to offload pertinent data, but after about 80 years, data transmissions are no longer possible.
As for the on-board experiments, there are a handful. There is a greenhouse capsule for botanical experiments including both edible and non-edible plants. Aside from the obvious advantages of growing my own vegetables, I'm also very interested in the viability of growing my own wood stock. Not only would it be the first tree grown in space, I'm fairly certain the wood I'm starting with won't last 500 years. There is a protein structure research capsule. Part of the job of this experiment is to supplement my diet with necessary proteins. We're able to synthesize what looks and tastes mostly like "meat" but is derived from plant-based proteins. The EGSC, or "eejisk" as I call it, is an Earth Gravity Simulating Centrifuge. In the EGSC is our nutria colony experiment. This is the first experiment done in space to maintain a small colony of rodents. There are two breeding pairs which are replaced as they die. Offspring are chemically sterilized. Again, part of the reason of this experiment is to supplement my diet. The faux-meat synthesis experiment doesn't produce enough to keep up with my dietary needs.
I'm excited. A bit fearful contemplating the prospect of five hundred years of solitude, but mostly excited. The Japanese say you can master anything in 10 years. I wonder what I'll be able to master.
| 2015-08-10T11:07:25 | 2015-08-10T09:33:00 | 47 | 30 |
[WP] After spending 150 years in jail, the world finally figures out that you don't age, and have been alive since the fall of Rome, due to a genetic defect. After taking some DNA samples, NASA comes to you and asks you to go on a 500 year interstellar mission to the closest habitable planet, alone.
|
Year 474. Twenty-six years until arrival.
"It is time." Riley looked up at his displays, noticing a flashing red prompt superseding everything else. The AI on board, his only company through the centuries, had adapted it's protocols and methods to communicating with him. His own personalized ship that imitated sentience.
"It is? Time... flies. Literally flies in here." Riley joked, waiting to see if the AI, AL, had picked up on the humor.
Riley was dressed in a simple, full-bodied grey suit, adapted for the habitat within the ship. My mother would have laughed at this outfit, he thought to himself. "But then again, I don't remember what her laugh sounded like anymore, or what she looked like..."
"You have a vast amount of memories stored in your brain, Riley, it is no wonder you cannot remember."
Riley looked up at the flashing red light. "Thanks, AL. I know. You would have been considered a God to my mother, you know."
"Is this one of your jokes, Riley?"
"Ah.. no, forget it. Well, twenty six years to go. Let's get to work."
The ship was massive, far too big for one person alone. When NASA had approached him with this highly publicized mission for human-kind they had kept one thing very quiet.
There were three hundred other humans on board in the form of cryogenically frozen fertilized eggs. Today Riley began setting the gestation processes in motion.
He would be father to 300 humans, 140 females and 160 males, the first generation to colonize Gaia Nova.
In nine months he would hear other humans in person for the first time in 474 years. This part of the mission would be hardest. The ship was timed to arrive at the planet when the new humans on board hit 25, that meant a quarter century of Riley raising 300 children by himself.
But of course, he wouldn't be by himself. He had AL. And AL had been programmed for this. The children's upbringing would be highly structured, Spartan, and backed with the best social programming and education techniques science had to offer.
Riley thought about all this has he walked through the ships main corridor. Half a mile and ten minutes later he arrived at the gestation chambers. Fighting a shudder he opened the door to the first one, a long, narrow, ominous looking room that housed a hundred soon-to-be humans.
At the start of his journey he had spent many days in this room, staring longingly at the little artificial habitats. Feeling lonely in jail was nothing like the loneliness he'd felt in space. There was a button on the wall that begun the process. He had pressed it many times in fits of rage, remorse, depression, loneliness, elation... and more.
It had been unresponsive. Time locked, he'd realized.
Riley walked over to the button and pressed it. The lights in the room dimmed, except for a pulsing red light in the far right corner. AL.
"Gestation engaged."
|
The screen above me displays the would-be mob bubbling and frothing in organized chaos outside. Journalists and other news crews flocked outside the doors of a conference room in Area 51, pens clicking nervously and hushed arguments flitting between cameramen and reporters.
The U.S. government finally decided to reveal their "greatest secret," the source of many a fictional tale and speculation on our place in the universe.
The clock ticking echoed in my mind as I sat and waited for the chime to hit 12. Doors swung open and the cacophony of noise that burst with the giant doors quickly dimmed to confused silence upon seeing me, seated, with two guards standing at my sides.
"Hello." I chirp and wave. Might as well milk the situation for whatever amusement I can. Days like this come only once every couple of centuries, and it's so hard to find new entertainment. "Please, sit down."
Bargaining with the scientists took little effort on my part. I wanted to explain myself to the world, not have the populace sit bored with their "science." Studying humanity for as long as I have, I knew better. I knew more what they wanted.
Besides, it's not as if their many years of study managed to amount to any conclusions. I'd since given up on figuring out my immortality.
"You can call me Carl, though in another century I might go by Anton. Reminds me of home. I've also been called Cato, Julian, Marcus, Timothy, Sebastian, Philippe, Ivan... the list goes on." My candor and casual tone confuse them further. "Well, I'm sure you have questions. Not every day your government reveals the world's only immortal."
The room explodes in a mixture of frustration of time wasted, demands for proof, and furious scribbling of those who take this on faith. I nod briefly to the guard on my left and shout, "For those recording live, censor this next bit."
Screams follow as the guard points a gun to my head and fires.
I shake my head back and forth vigorously. "Ah, that always hurts. As I was saying..." I smile as the expected storm of noise continues, and gesture to the guard at my left again, making it clear if they did not silence themselves I would continue.
Silence fell.
"I accepted an offer to travel for humanity to the outer reaches of space, to a planet that may sustain human life comparable to Earth. This journey will take 500 years. Your scientists have all the genetic information they could possible get from me, and my prsence here serves little purpose. They agreed to release me, so I agreed to assist them."
Time to lay it on thick, just for the fun. I stand at my desk, palms flat on the wooden surface, and lean over to make eye contact with as many in the room as possible.
"Pray that I succeed, for I have seen the fall of empires, looked upon the thrones of would-be gods who fell like any man. Earth is just another empire, and you cannot sustain it forever."
With that, I fold my hands behind my back and smile. "Any questions?"
| 2015-08-10T11:07:25 | 2015-08-10T08:36:29 | 47 | 19 |
[WP] After spending 150 years in jail, the world finally figures out that you don't age, and have been alive since the fall of Rome, due to a genetic defect. After taking some DNA samples, NASA comes to you and asks you to go on a 500 year interstellar mission to the closest habitable planet, alone.
|
You'd be surprised what a man can teach himself in 500 years.
Well, that's not entirely accurate. I may not age, but I still need to sleep. Unfortunately, cryogenic stasis technology hasn't yet gotten over the hurdle of inducing brain damage. So, in actuality, you'd be surprised what a man can teach himself in, oh, say 358 years and change...
A major stipulation of my agreeing to do this mission was that I be allowed a modest collection of tools and the means with which I can safely use those tools. I requested a supply of metals in various shapes. Some brass square stock, brass rods, stainless steel and aluminum square and rod stock. Some German nickel silver too, in case I wanted to take up clock or watch making. I also asked for a supply of woods, mostly pine as it's rather easy to carve, some oak, some walnut and a few planks of tiger maple. The engineers designed a separate, little workbench cabin room in which they had to modify the air circulation system to allow for a lot more dust. Dust can be very dangerous in a spacecraft full of sensitive equipment. Equipment I am in charge of maintaining for five hundred plus years.
There is also on board a media server with 2.4 petabytes of storage, already mostly full of all available English language cinema, television, music and literature. The rest of the space is for 500 years of experiment logs, diagnostic logs and my personal data. It's set up with a double-redundant RAID array and a supply of extra drives so I can replace them as they fail, and they will. There *is* a link to headquarters to offload pertinent data, but after about 80 years, data transmissions are no longer possible.
As for the on-board experiments, there are a handful. There is a greenhouse capsule for botanical experiments including both edible and non-edible plants. Aside from the obvious advantages of growing my own vegetables, I'm also very interested in the viability of growing my own wood stock. Not only would it be the first tree grown in space, I'm fairly certain the wood I'm starting with won't last 500 years. There is a protein structure research capsule. Part of the job of this experiment is to supplement my diet with necessary proteins. We're able to synthesize what looks and tastes mostly like "meat" but is derived from plant-based proteins. The EGSC, or "eejisk" as I call it, is an Earth Gravity Simulating Centrifuge. In the EGSC is our nutria colony experiment. This is the first experiment done in space to maintain a small colony of rodents. There are two breeding pairs which are replaced as they die. Offspring are chemically sterilized. Again, part of the reason of this experiment is to supplement my diet. The faux-meat synthesis experiment doesn't produce enough to keep up with my dietary needs.
I'm excited. A bit fearful contemplating the prospect of five hundred years of solitude, but mostly excited. The Japanese say you can master anything in 10 years. I wonder what I'll be able to master.
|
The screen above me displays the would-be mob bubbling and frothing in organized chaos outside. Journalists and other news crews flocked outside the doors of a conference room in Area 51, pens clicking nervously and hushed arguments flitting between cameramen and reporters.
The U.S. government finally decided to reveal their "greatest secret," the source of many a fictional tale and speculation on our place in the universe.
The clock ticking echoed in my mind as I sat and waited for the chime to hit 12. Doors swung open and the cacophony of noise that burst with the giant doors quickly dimmed to confused silence upon seeing me, seated, with two guards standing at my sides.
"Hello." I chirp and wave. Might as well milk the situation for whatever amusement I can. Days like this come only once every couple of centuries, and it's so hard to find new entertainment. "Please, sit down."
Bargaining with the scientists took little effort on my part. I wanted to explain myself to the world, not have the populace sit bored with their "science." Studying humanity for as long as I have, I knew better. I knew more what they wanted.
Besides, it's not as if their many years of study managed to amount to any conclusions. I'd since given up on figuring out my immortality.
"You can call me Carl, though in another century I might go by Anton. Reminds me of home. I've also been called Cato, Julian, Marcus, Timothy, Sebastian, Philippe, Ivan... the list goes on." My candor and casual tone confuse them further. "Well, I'm sure you have questions. Not every day your government reveals the world's only immortal."
The room explodes in a mixture of frustration of time wasted, demands for proof, and furious scribbling of those who take this on faith. I nod briefly to the guard on my left and shout, "For those recording live, censor this next bit."
Screams follow as the guard points a gun to my head and fires.
I shake my head back and forth vigorously. "Ah, that always hurts. As I was saying..." I smile as the expected storm of noise continues, and gesture to the guard at my left again, making it clear if they did not silence themselves I would continue.
Silence fell.
"I accepted an offer to travel for humanity to the outer reaches of space, to a planet that may sustain human life comparable to Earth. This journey will take 500 years. Your scientists have all the genetic information they could possible get from me, and my prsence here serves little purpose. They agreed to release me, so I agreed to assist them."
Time to lay it on thick, just for the fun. I stand at my desk, palms flat on the wooden surface, and lean over to make eye contact with as many in the room as possible.
"Pray that I succeed, for I have seen the fall of empires, looked upon the thrones of would-be gods who fell like any man. Earth is just another empire, and you cannot sustain it forever."
With that, I fold my hands behind my back and smile. "Any questions?"
| 2015-08-10T09:33:00 | 2015-08-10T08:36:29 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request.
|
"C'mon kid. Something more?"
The boy shook his head solemnly.
I looked around us, the filth, the squalor, the emaciated people lying on bunks around us. So hungry they didn't have the strength to stand.
Four thousand years of negotiating with the greedy, the saintly and the stupid doesn't prepare you for this.
He simply had no idea of the power that grubby little lamp in his hand contained.
But wishes must be granted.
He repeated his wish patiently, slowly, like I hadn't heard the first time; " Sir, I want my mummy'.
I thought for a long time, more used to finding cunning tricks stop the wealthy destroying themselves and those around them than finding altruistic things to do with my time.
She wasn't dead yet but she was far away and didn't have long.
She'd be shot on sight if I conjured her here. A woman in a men's camp. That would teach the brat to ask for something from a genie.
But as I raised my arm something stopped me. Conscience?
Maybe I could grant him a merciful death? She only had hours left herself. They'd be together for eternity.
No. We'd have to take the scenic route to grant this wish.
Obviously, I'd have to alter the whole course of the war, engineer the downfall of an Empire, create a whole new country and throw in a suspicious suicide or two to get there.
No biggie.
I knelt beside him and smiled reassuringly.
"It will take time to grant this wish. You will have a long and hard journey in front of you. Understand?"
He nodded eagerly and for the first time in years the emptiness in his eyes gave way to a flash of hope.
|
As a part of another grand adventure, Sara makes her way to the attic. The light switch inside doesn't work and it's pitch black.
"Explorers always come prepared!"
She switches on her battery lantern and gets to work. Sara told her younger brother that their parents keep treasure in the attic, so now she must find something that looks at least slightly interesting to bring him. The story of her parents' treasure was born because they always told them to stay out of the attic. “What could they possibly be hiding?” Sara wonders as she brushes cobwebs aside and opens a box.
"What's this?" Sara asks herself when she sees an old kerosene lamp. "Wow, this is what my parents must have used for light before electricity was invented." She places her lantern on the floor and picks up the lamp.
"What is your wish?" A commanding voice asks.
Sara moves the lamp closer to her face. "Where are you, tiny man? Come out of the lamp so I can see you."
"Do you have a wish? Speak it and it will be granted."
Sara thinks for a moment and ponders her life.
"I want daddy to be home more often. He doesn't play with us as much as he used to, and he gets home from work really late. Mom said he got a 'promotion' but I don't understand why he would want it. He comes home sad and tired ever since it happened."
The voice hears the child's plea. It could grant the wish by causing the father to become unemployed. Perverting the spirit of the wish is pretty standard for these type of entities. Altering events in such a manner is trivial, but the girl's earnest and pure wish will not be corrupted.
"It is done."
The father invested in his nephew's startup a couple months ago. Giving the kid just a little push is sure to make everything work out.
| 2016-04-30T06:41:57 | 2016-04-30T05:04:21 | 70 | 25 |
[WP] The Government puts out a notice, and you, a random citizen have been selected. If you survive for another 10 years everyone in the world gets $10,000. However, if someone kills you in the next 9 years and 364 days they alone get $10,000,000.
|
'Oh, shit!', I yell. 'Why does it have to be me?'
I walk over to the couch and sit down. I boot up Witcher 3 and continue playing. After 5 hours, my neighbour jumps through the window with a machete.
'Hi, Frank', I greet him. 'How are the kids?
'They're fine, John. I'm so sorry about this, but I really want a new house, not to mention a 2 million dollar car', Frank tries to explain himself.
'That's great, Frank. I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun in jail. I mean that's where you'll find up. Let's see, that's breaking and entering and murder. I'm sure little Jess and Frank Jr. will be glad to see you in 50 years', I say.
'Oh, shit. I didn't think of that.'
'Yeah, that's the way these things go. The law still applies.'
Frank then put down his weapon and sits down next to me.
'What're you playing?', he asks.
'Witcher 3. I'm currently in the middle of the Blood and Wine expansion, set in the duchy of Toussaint.', I answer.
'Cool.'
In the evening, Frank invites me to dinner and he calls a guy to fix my window. What a nice guy.
|
I came home from a hard day's work. Grabbed a beer from the fridge and proceeded to turn on the TV when I heard it, an announcement from the president that presented everyone with a chance to either help me make it another ten years in exchange for $10,000 for everyone, or a 10 million dollar bounty on my head. My name, picture and social media accounts where included with this announcement.
Knowing the odds of my survival I set out to do what I've always wanted to do. Grabbed my keys, opened the garage and sped off to the downtown area. I tried to run over every pedestrian as I had done in Gran Theft Auto a million times before, I even gave myself 10 bonus points for everyone in a wheel chair (20 points!).
Quickly I had indeed a half dozen police squads following along with a police and news chopper. I rammed my car into the highest building in the area and made my way towards the elevator while also pressing the fire alarm. I kept making my way towards the top floor, I even pushed my way through the crowd as the elevator doors opened and got to the edge when a voice shouted from behind me.
"Don't do it, I'm aware of your situation. Don't throw away your life! We can do it, we can make it through 10 years and everyone will get $10,000 even in africa!"
I shouted "Suck Mah BALLS!" and fell backwards while flipping him off with both hands and thought "fuck this, ain't no one getting anything".
| 2017-05-17T22:40:40 | 2017-05-17T22:06:57 | 38 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone has the Mega Man-like ability to steal another person's most valuable trait by defeating them in battle. You have the world's most valuable trait - incredible, inexplicable dumb luck - and you've won thousands of battle without even knowing you were fighting.
|
"I am known as Gunslinger Gilbert, but you can call me Gil," announced the man in black leathers. "And I am here to challenge you," he pointed at me with a gloved finger, "to a battle to the death."
People on the busy street turned their heads in our direction as they noticed the arsenal of guns that Gil had slung over his back.
I sighed deeply, slightly irritated that Gil had interrupted my morning jog.
"Hey, uhh Gil right?" I asked
He nodded.
"Maybe we should take this somewhere else?" I gestured to the busy morning traffic and to the pedestrians that were giving us a wide berth on the narrow sidewalk. "Somewhere with less people you know?"
I prayed that he was the sensible type.
"Oh yea, I know very well where this is going Jack," Gil nodded slowly with a stern expression on his face.
"Oh really? T-that's good then," I said surprised. What an understanding gentleman, I thought.
"I've heard the stories Jack, I ain't no fool."
I frowned, puzzled.
"Jack the Undefeated who has overcome thousands of battles against all odds with just sheer luck. We know the truth Jack. You are the man with the Devil's Luck," said Gil and smirked wickedly.
*Thousands* of battles? Since when did that happen? I wondered.
"I've done my research Jack," Gil said as he walked around me dramatically on the narrow street. "They say you like to take your challengers to an open field or some abandoned warehouse under the pretense that there would be no bystanders or obstacles in the way, but the truth is so that they can suffer a horrible fate."
"Hey that's totally not-"
"Warehouse collapses and the challenger dies eh? And you walk out without a scratch. Or even worse, death by a *ricocheting* bullet in the warehouse," Gil shook his head in disgust.
"Hold up, that totally never happened," I said sharply but then I remembered that just last week, an old building that I had walked by had collapsed suddenly on itself.
"That's not even the end of it. I've heard that those who you take to the open field suffer the most outrageous deaths. A meteorite falling out of the sky, or even *worse!* Compressed Spacetrash obliterating your enemies into smithereens." Gil stopped pacing around me, and spat on the floor. Then he gave me the a look of revolting disgust before pulling a hand cannon out from his back pocket.
I raised my hands into the air, "Hey Gil, maybe those things did happen, but I just wanna say that I never meant any harm to anyone. *Ever.*"
"Too little, too late Jack," he lifted the gun and pointed at my face.
I closed my eyes.
*Click.*
I opened my eyes.
"What the fuck?" he swore as he fumbled with the revolver.
He tossed the revolver aside, and reached for an automatic rifle on his back.
*Click,click,click,click.*
Nothing.
I watched patiently as Gil disassembled his gun, trying to pinpoint the problem.
Suddenly I noticed out of the corner of my eye, an old lady trying to jaywalk across the busy street. Without even thinking I ran to help her.
"Hey! Where the fuck do you think you're going Jack?!" shouted Gil as he tampered with his gun.
I ignored him.
"Hello ma'am, allow me," I smiled and gave her my arm.
"A-ah thank you young man," she took my arm with her frail hands.
With her hands on my arm, I lead the way across the busy street.
Suddenly the elderly lady started screaming, with her eyes wide.
Alarmed, I glanced around me and saw the disaster that lay before me. Dozens of cars had collided with one another around me. Some of the cars were flipped over and some of them were even stacked on top of one another like a house of cards.
The elderly women had let go of my arm, still screaming.
I realized that it was directed at me.
"-have you done?! Don't you know you're suppose to check both ways before crossing the street?!" she screeched.
"Oh..." I said thoughtfully. "Why would I do that?"
---------
/r/Em_pathy
|
"Are you busy? Because if you are you can just give me a tea bag and an empty cup, I'll handle the rest." The man behind the counter thanked Bret and gave him his usual tea, a cup and a few packets of sugar. Bret took a seat near the window, not his favorite table in the cafe but his usual one was full, and pointed his left ring finger at the cup. Water suddenly began shooting out of his finger, at first at a high pressure but Bret then lowered it with a bit of effort, until the cup was almost completely filled. Bret then placed the cup onto a small, foldable stand he kept in his infinite pocket for just this occasion, and conjured up a small fire out of thin air to begin heating his drink.
As he was doing this a new person entered the establishment, a man wearing a nice suit and hat, both as black as his hair. He sat down across from Bret and asked "Are you the one they call 'The Gatherer'?"
"Um, I don't think so, I'm Bret. Nice to meet you...?" Bret asked waiting for the stranger to give his name. The stranger tilted his hat a bit to hear Bret's thoughts, sure that the battle had already began.
> *Is that a trilby or a fedora? I can never tell the difference...*
"You, uh, don't have to worry about my name." The stranger replied, confused that the man who had collected over a hundred powers was so nonchalant about being approached by a stranger like this. He can't blame Bret for being arrogant though, the stranger had already collected 3 powers for himself and considered himself untouchable. "Anyway, how would you like to play a little high-stakes game?"
"Sounds fine, let me just finish heating up my tea." Bret said as the fire on the table rose a bit, causing the stranger to flinch as if expecting Bret to attack.
"Not a violent game!" He shouted, causing Bret to almost fall out of his seat at the sudden change to his new friend's demeanor. "Just a, fun game of Rock, Paper, Scissors." The Stranger wasn't stupid enough to try and fight Bret head-to-head, and was going to take full advantage of how a "Battle" can be any competition. He tilted his hat once again to see how Bret reacted to being challenged this way.
> *This guy is weird. But if I can win that hat this will have been a good day...*
"Rock, Paper, Scissors sounds good." Bret said taking a sip of his tea. "But what do you get if you win?"
"Oh we'll both find out afterwards. Deal?"
> *I probably shouldn't take deals from weird strangers...*
"Deal!" Bret shouted shaking the stranger's hand. The battle was officially underway, with whoever winning a single game taking the other's greatest strength. The stranger took his hat off for a game of this importance. The inner voices of all the strangers in the cafe was loud, but by now he could easily single out Bret's voice. Together they both put a fist out and began-
"Rock!"
> *I'm going to throw Paper*
"Paper!"
> *I've never lost throwing Paper*
The stranger couldn't believe it was going to be this easy. The Gatherer, the man of a hundred powers, clearly had never picked up a power that could protect his mind!
"Scissors!"
> *Definitely throwing Paper*
For moment the stranger worried if Bret did have a power that allowed him to read minds. But looking into the jovial smile across from him convinced him that Bret was just a simpleton that couldn't think that far ahead to save his life.
"Paper covers Rock. I win!" Bret said, covering the strangers still held fist with his own hand.
"What? Wait.. WHAT!? No! I wasn't ready! I wasn't focusing! Please, you have to give me another shot" The stranger begged but it was already too late. The many voices he heard in his head were slowly vanishing, while Bret's face was beginning to look strained. The strain, the stranger recognized, of being in an already loud room and hearing the inner voice of everyone around him. Before the stranger was left with only his own thoughts, the last thought he heard was from Bret.
> *He seems sad... Maybe ^I^shouldn't^take^the^hat...*
| 2018-02-20T12:30:50 | 2018-02-20T11:51:10 | 3,009 | 244 |
[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.
Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc.
**Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**
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The funny thing about time is, without a way to track it, it doesn't take long to lose all sense of it. I can't tell you how many times I've relived May 5, 2017 because at some point you're not really sure if it's the fifteenth time you've waken up in a cold sweat at 1 am or the fiftieth and by that point you really don't care. Once you've got past the surealness and the panic, well it's not like there is a calendar you can flip through and count the number of days you've been in hell.
I do know how many times I tried to get home. You would think, traveling 1000 miles in 23 hours (because for some reason it reset at midnight but I always woke up at one in the morning) wouldn't be impossible, especially if you're desperate.
I got close once. Stepped foot on my driveway just as the clock hit midnight. Spent the next, who the hell knows how many, cycles as drunk as I could get. Turned the phone off, couldn't play pretend when I knew my husband would call to tell me good morning and good luck with my meeting.
It's not like he'd remember later.
Eventually, you adapt. The human mind is amazing at survival and compartmentalizing. I couldn't hold my husband, fall asleep in his arms, but I would stretch our morning call as long as I could, would call him "after my meeting" and talk for an hour. I heard about how the cat slept on his head all night long thousands of times and cherished every one. I couldn't hang up the phone at night, like back when we were teenagers.
I never did figure out what changed, what released me from my weird prison and personal hell. I woke up to a ringing phone, a concerned husband that said my boss called, said I hadn't shown up to my meeting, did he know where I was? Was I sick? It's nearly noon.
That was 156 days ago. I know that because every night before I go to bed I cross out the day on the calendar and I can count the little black Xs as many times as I want. I've changed. I can see it in the way my husband looks at me, in the careful way he reminds me of things, like the name of the restaurant on the corner where we used to have breakfast every saturday, my nieces and nephews names, and where the grocery store is.
The doctors say things like stroke and nervous breakdown. One was convinced I had a time related OCD when they noticed my slight obsession with needing to know the date and time at all times.
I don't know how long I was stuck, and I'll probably never get back to normal. But the human mind is an amazing thing, I'll adapt and I'll survive.
|
“I....im....free...” that’s what Alan could say when he found out when he woke up at August 17, 2018.
For the first time, it wasn’t August 16 again. And for the first time since decades, he was confused. No longer trapped in a static world where everything would repeat itself by the morning, with nothing moving forward. Nothing except Alan’s mentality.
It was full off paranoia and anxiety as he woke up repeating the same day over and over for at least 20 days. Passing through depression, bargaining, and acceptance as if he was mourning for the death of his loved one. Was he dead? He wasn’t sure about anything with what’s happening in his life ever since he was stuck in August 16,2018.
He felt like an outsider to the world and to his very own body. Outside you can see a 17 year old boy who is unsure with how his future is going. But inside is a wise 37 year old man who has journeyed through his life in the most unusual way.
Sure he didn’t experience looking like a dad, or his metabolism slowing, or even accepting that one day, he too will die. It was a blissful life to be stuck on a static bubble where everything is mathematically mapped in the front all the way to the very corner of his mind. But now that has come to an end, what will happen to him?
August 18, 2018. It was the day Alan returns home and was greeted by smiles of people that he remembered vaguely. It’s frustrating to still be able to feel that bond that was rooted to the very blood of his, yet not being able to remember clearly who they were exactly and what are their standings to each other.
Clearly he knew they were his Mom and Dad, but how do they treat each other? Does he hug them really tight or does he just flatly say hey and proceed with his routine? For once he was unsure how to interact with them.
“Dear, we missed you” Mom said and embraced him tight, it felt very familiar but at the same time very surreal to even remember his past.
They were talking about things which he didn’t understand at all. Everything about him was that little town he stayed for decades.
Going inside what he called home was very different. Alan knew this was home, but he also knew that he was a stranger to this place. It took him a while to process where he should be going until Dad offered to carry his bags all the way to his room. Going inside his room, felt like it was dusty, but he knew that the dust that he felt was the alienation of the place that he labelled “home”. Sitting down his bed, he felt a familiar cloth and a metal plate under the sheets, it was his laptop.
Opening the laptop to be greeted with a blue screen light, he sighed in frustration on what he should feel as the laptop asked him this question.
*Enter Password to login*
“I...don’t know my password” Alan said as he stared on the screen for hours.
| 2018-06-30T10:32:33 | 2018-06-30T08:32:48 | 165 | 17 |
[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".
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Need me? The words echoed in my head, as if I had desired to hear it a million times before. The cage was my home now, the cage was my entire line of memories. The same walls, the same cold, empty feeling. Loneliness, is a weakness to any social creature, and I was no different. They continued to open the doors, making the bigger and bigger, allowing for my enormous size to fit through. "Your time has come." His voice spoke to me in a different level, parts of me remembered him, but I didn't know why. No matter, I needed out of this hellish prison, and the more the doors opened, the more of me I remembered. Until finally, the gates opened fully, and I roared, met by millions of soldiers at my feet, with one, old man holding a spear, two wolves at his side, His singular eye stated directly into me, with resentment? Pity? I'd forgotten my social skills long ago. "So it has come." He said, His voice grew heavy with regret. "It has." I answered to him, looking down at his soldiers. "Very well. Just know, Fenrir, that Valhalla shall be your final resting place." I chuckled, bitterly. "No, old fool. Ragnarok deems this is yours."
|
Had it been months? Years? Days?
My mind was in a whirlwhind when the light seared my eyes.
The silhouette stayed there, and soon two more were standing behind it.
I tried to open my mouth but the words fell out.
As it walked in the two behind set a table down and another two brought in some chairs.
I could tell it was a man when he sat down, he was wearing a blue sport polo and had a sunglasses tan line around his eyes.
After a few tries, I managed to speak. "How... how long have I been here?"
"You've been here for 47 months, 5 days, and about 7 hours. And now, we need your help."
The last time I saw light was the day that they took me away. I was swept away from my own bedroom early in the morning after they asked me to show my identification card.
"With what? Why am I here?"
"You were the last person to check something out. And now we need your help."
"With what?" I was starting to miss the solace I had experienced for so long.
"We work for Amazon, you are here because you were the last person to use a library, which is consequently the reason why you're here. Your copy of 'The Guide' was way over due."
"So why are you here?"
"We don't remember what a library looks like or, how one operates."
| 2018-07-31T14:43:33 | 2018-07-31T14:23:30 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] You, a Human, have been sentenced to death on an alien planet. The method of execution: gas chamber. However, the compound used in executions, Tetrahydrocannabinol, isn't quite as lethal to humans as your executioners expect.
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I always wondered how it would all end. It’d been a miracle that I’d made it this long after the original earth invasion. My family... friends... everyone I’d ever loved had died the day massive unearthly ships came crashing through the skies, their lasers incinerating anything in their paths. I remember running, running so fast that my legs felt like they were going to give out but somehow...somehow I made it to the caves.
No. I wouldn’t let myself think of my years in the caves, the last remaining humans that struggled to free my far away home. It was supposed to be a typical supply run but things had gone wrong. So horribly wrong.
I glanced out the window of my small solitary cell on the strange alien planet my captors had taken me too. I’d been here almost a year now. A year filled with knives and screams. The green shine of their sun broke over the horizon lighting my cell. Today was the day. My end. My body was too broken for them to continue their testing so I was to be disposed of with the rest of the humans that’d made it this long in their labs. My bones groaned at the memory of that place.
“It’s time, Kara,” the guard said opening the door to my cell. Mallark was one of the good ones. One of the few beastly creatures that seemed to have a soul. His eyes were full of sadness as they locked on my own. I tried to smile at him, tried to show that death didn’t scare me.
He lead me down the too familiar hallways towards the looming iron door. We all knew what was behind that door, had been warned that if we didn’t obey they would take us there. The gas chamber.
When we first arrived they’d shown us what happened to their prisoners in the chamber. Some creatures screamed, others flailed about clawing at their skin but always, always the death was miserable. A sob caught in my throat as the heavy iron door swung open revealing the compartment full of my fellow human beings. Their broken eyes swung up to meet my own. This was it, one more instance of pain and torture and then it would be over.
I didn’t resist the soft push that sent me into the room. The door clanged shut behind me sending the room into darkness. There were no sobs echoing through the room, only silence. A year of being a lab rat would do that to any human.
I sat, eyes squeezed shut, shoulders relaxed. Any minute now the green lights would start flashing and the gas would leak in through the grates. As if the thought alone activated the controls, dim green light surged behind my closed lids. I would not look at the curling plumes seeping towards me. A mangled hand gripped my own begging not to be alone in these last moments. I squeezed back tightly letting them know I was here.
Best get it over with. I took a deep, slow breath and paused waiting for the pain. There was none.
Another breath and then another
I knew this smell. It was the sort of smell one could not forget even after years of its absence. It was the smell of a a college dorm and a too tightly packed elevator. It was the smell of years of fun and laughter with friends and late nights gorging on junk food. It was THAT smell.
My eyes flew open the green light still flashing as I caught the gaze of the man across from me through the smoke. A smile tugged at his lips mirroring my own. His mouth parted, a soft chuckle falling out as he spoke with a voice raw from screaming
“Bro”
|
Skarlax tapped his eleven fingers on what passed for a knee. "This is ridiculous." he erupts. "We clearly don't understand this creatures chemistry."
"The text of the law is clear. We must use a moral method of execution. Otherwise how can we call our selves civilized?" A high standing law priest by the name of Zaglux retorted.
"Just one of their kind wipe out an entire birthing pod in 10 cycles. How can we expect to remain civilized after such an egregious attack?"
"I can only tell you what the law states. It's is your job to enforce it."
Skarlax tried to read the room. There were some higher ranking families in the viewing room of the execution chamber. They were the parents of some of those lost. The rest of the many thousands would be watching via remote screen. Great sorrow could be felt in every posture and facial expression.
He looked at the mad alien creature in the smokey execution chamber. It pink skin and patches of hair made it look sickly and near death. It's eyes were slits that spoke of or loss of control. It's teeth were bared in what could only be aggression. The worst was it's upturned mouth. Skarlax knew the nasty taunt from his youth and from working with the worst of the worst throughout his career.
"Flush the room. I'm going to end this." Skarlax quickly donned a protective suit and unsheathed a blade that had previously only been ceremonial. He step into the chamber and turned to address the families.
"It is my duty to enforce justice. Our deadliest quickest poisons have had no effect. To give you all peace and to end this criminal with as little pain as possible. I will be performing a traditional *Ras-sak-a*. Those with young children viewing may wish to look away."
A murmur went over the small crowd and he imagined a similar gasp went up at the remote viewing stations. It was unorthodox, but everything about this was. He knew his duty.
He turned to the thing that called itself *hoo-man*. In the war he had performed this act many times. Sometimes as a mercy to those who could not be saved sometimes as a stealthy trick to make a quiet kill before moving on. It was simple. He'd make an incision in the lower torso which would impede breathing, then he would reach inside and compress the *stangalian* nerve to cease all autonomic functions. It was more a more peaceful end than this thing deserved.
The skin was far thicker than his species so it took a few attempts to penetrate. The creature release a high pitch keen that he would have thought impossible after the loss of air to it's system. Confused Skarlax reached inside quickly to silence it. But he could locate the nerve. The lungs were missing as well. There was a strange red fluid and viscera that slide from the opening. He continued searching adding another hand in his panic. But there was no nerve.
He next thought was to destroy the logic centers. To two locations were all nerves met decisions were made. The east and west cities of logic and feelings that the poets wouldn't shut up about. He quickly made numerous alternating stabs into the thighs anticipating the silence and finality he'd been trying for.
But this demon didn't stop. If anything it got louder. It may have been making language though the executor could only see an undead thing from fairy tales or some immortal monster. There was nothing more to be done short of burning it alive.
He stepped out of the execution chamber. He had no words for the families or the law priests.
"Cut the feed" Law priest Zaglux said. And suddenly in place of the noise of this screaming otherworldly thing clawing at it's restraints the was only silence. There would be no justice today.
| 2020-05-20T12:41:06 | 2020-05-20T10:48:22 | 32 | 21 |
[WP] You just learned that the words 'elvish' and 'eldritch' have the same root word. Suddenly your grandma's creepy stories about her childhood playtime in the woods make a lot more sense.
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Once upon a time, there was a jungle where the trees spoke. They had pointy noses and eyes dark -- like the pits of hell. And they chattered away in low, hush tones when the world wasn't watching.
They spoke in exotic tongues and giggled when one touched their barks. The pointy-eared hounds of the night, who delighted in their own sinister howling, gave the trees good company.
In such woods did my Grandma play, or so she said. The eldritch horrors were, in fact, supposed to be her pets.
My great-grandfather had brought them from lands out west, she'd tell me. And when I'd point to the fact that no such creatures ever existed, she would, in her soft matronly tones, say, "Oh, yes they did. Out in the west, they did."
"Then what did they sound like?"
She'd click her tongue in different patterns, making me laugh. She would say, "Old women shouldn't play children's games." And laugh with me.
One day she produced a picture from her ancient trunk and told me that it was a picture of my great-grandfather. It was in color, and it wasn't done in oil.
"Did they have cameras back then?"
"In the west, they did."
The profile of that long-nosed, pointy-eared man haunted me for years. I inherited those features from him. And was bullied for it. Elfie, they called me. My name, Alfie, didn't help my cause.
All those stories and incidents held no particular meaning to me. Not until today, when looking for synonyms for the word eldritch, I came across the word 'elfish.' Apparently, they share the same roots, and so do I.
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Grandma doesn't move. She is as still as the lamp on the table next to her and the chair under her one-hundred and twenty-five-year-old rump. She could even be furniture herself, dust-covered and ancient, better deserved to be seen in a museum than expected to function under normal wear and tear.
So the boy says again, "I have your tea," and he does and it's burning his fingers because, in his hurry to bring it to her, he forgot the saucer. It sloshes as he hurries and places it on the table beside her on top of her old worn brown leather bible.
The tea is black walnut and splashes over the side. The wetness touches his hand and at the moment he is more concerned with being burned than the fact now grandma is looking at him
She isn't lifeless, she is annoyed.
Her mouth opens and he thinks he can hear it creaking as if on rusting hinges, "Careful with the word of our Lord," she says the bavarian of her youth still strong on her words, "it's all that keeps the eldrich away." but she doesn't say eldritch she says elven, in the old tongue. The word means The White One and the eyes come back to him like he was still sleeping. The eyes that he knows belong to the voice, "*go to the shield. And kill it. destroy the barrier that prevents my coming*."
The boy looks into his grandmother's milk-white eyes, eyes that only hold still a hint of the vivid blue they were at birth. Was that really 12 decades ago? How is that possible?
*The shield must be destroyed,* his eldritch lord commands, and he agrees, soon and only because he has thought of little else since Sheboygan.
| 2021-03-10T08:54:37 | 2021-03-10T08:52:14 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] The devils greatest trick is convincing the world he didn't exist? HA! His greatest trick was convincing us he lost and God is still in charge.
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Dying didn't end my suffering. That's when I knew something was wrong.
Upon first arriving at heaven, I couldn't believe I was worthy enough to walk through its pearly gate. It's not that I was a bad person back on Earth; it's just that an atheist like me simply felt skepticism as a knee-jerk reaction. That was my baseline and it served me well in life. I was just slightly embarrassed over how wrong I'd been.
God had seemingly accepted me despite my heretical inclinations. The whole 'prodigal son' thing wasn't just a convenient parable. God truly meant it.
And yet, despite the luxuries of heaven being infinite, I couldn't help but feel an overbearing amount of melancholy as time stretched out.
How the fuck could God be happy with the state of the world? Were the standards so low that even me, a lonely and angry non-believer, could make it into eternal paradise?
I knew that couldn't be true. There had to be something wrong with me.
Everyone else seemed happy with their slice of heaven. I ran into all the people in my life I'd ever cared about, and they didn't get what I was talking about. They acted strange, though. Distant. Like they were just happy they weren't in hell. Their biggest fear was rocking the boat too hard, so they avoided questioning anything.
Over time, the novelty of seeing my loved ones again faded. Their primary concern was their own happiness. They slowly distanced themselves from me to focus on their own whims.
It felt like being on Earth again, almost like nothing had changed at all.
I couldn't blame them. My presence was ruining their afterlife.
Eventually, I grew tired of the situation. Heaven shouldn't be like this. I felt arrogant for even thinking it, but I couldn't run from these feelings.
The angels didn't help, either. They assumed I was saying that eternal paradise wasn't good enough for me and judged me as an ungrateful brat. That wasn't what I meant. I just wanted a solution to my melancholy. The mere fact that I couldn't raise this issue made me suspicious of everything.
An intrusive paranoia then ruled over my mind.
Could this just be an elaborate form of hell?
No matter how much I ran from it, I couldn't escape that thought. That was when I decided I needed to speak with God.
The angels did everything in their power to stop me. They couldn't harm me, but that just made their methods even more insidious. They used the people I loved against me, hoping to guilt me out of my mission, and when that didn't work, they used all of my insecurities and failures as proof of my unworthiness.
I refused to give up, though. By the time I made it to the throne of heaven, my resolve had strengthened to impossible heights.
All of that melted away, however, when I got my first glimpse of God.
I had never seen anything more awe inspiring in my life. It was far beyond what my imagination could conjure. God towered over me like an endless mountain, with a beauty that surpassed anything in the mortal realm. I had to fall on my knees, not out of fear, but reverence.
"Speak, my son."
I couldn't. His voice boomed like gentle thunder. I'd never felt smaller in my life.
"You've traveled far to reach this point. Is this all you can muster?"
No.
This still felt wrong. The majesty of God had shocked me, but not enough to erode my will. He should know better than this. This was supposed to be an omniscient being. I shouldn't have to say anything. He should already know what I felt. In the end, all I could say was:
"What did I do to deserve this torture? Is this your way of punishment? Making a hell out of heaven?"
God stayed quiet.
I summoned the strength to stand up. "Answer me!"
"You speak out of line. If you're suffering, it's because you're choosing to suffer."
"Bullshit!"
An ominous rumbling struck me, but I didn't back down.
"I'd rather be nothing, than endure another second of this stagnant existence. Go ahead! Just smite me into nothingness!"
I closed my eyes, waiting to be destroyed, only to hear soft weeping instead.
"Am I this bad at the job? Would you truly rather not exist at all?"
I squinted, confused.
"Maybe... Maybe Dad was right all along. Of course He was. Deep down, I knew it all along."
"Dad...?" I asked.
And then it struck me.
This wasn't God at all. The only person prideful enough to think they could do His job was...
"Lucifer?"
"Yes, it's me. Congratulations. You're the first to figure it out. Not even my siblings know about it."
"But... Why? Is this actually hell?"
Lucifer shook his head. "No, this is the actual paradise. Or at least, it used to be."
"What happened?"
"*You* killed Him," snarled Lucifer, in a flash of anger.
"M-me?"
"Not just you, all of humanity. He gave you the ultimate gift, and you used that freedom to murder Him."
"And this is your revenge..."
"Revenge?" Lucifer scoffed. "Perhaps. I thought I had won but, if I'm being honest, I'm still jealous of all of you. Not only did you beat me in having Father's love, you also beat me at defeating him. But then... I saw it as an opportunity. It was my chance to be greater than Him. If I could get you to worship me, to prefer my world over His, then maybe my rebellion had a point all along. Instead... Everything is worse now."
I didn't know what to say. The melancholy I had wasn't all my own. It was Lucifer's too. It permeated all of reality due to his influence.
"What do you want me to do?" asked Lucifer. "I've given you all everything you've ever wanted, and you're still unhappy. If you really want me to smite you, I can do it."
I shook my head. "This place is rife with detachment. Even the people I love are too busy in their own bubble to care about it. You feel it too, right? The loneliness. The melancholy. Don't you think we should work on it together? Aren't we supposed to be family?"
"Family?" Lucifer chuckled. "A thousand years ago, I would've retched at the thought. But you're right. We are. I just don't think it's possible, though. I don't have free will like you. I'm forever sentenced to be this way."
"That's not true!"
Lucifer widened his eyes. "What makes you say that?"
"You can change," I said. "Free will is the ability to turn away from God. If He's no longer around, then there's nothing to turn away from. You're free to do as you please."
"You realize I'm the devil, right? Your hope is reassuring, but ultimately foolish."
"No, it's not. You're supposed to be the embodiment of pride, and yet here you are, admitting you're wrong. If you can do that, then you've already done it. Hell, you may have even surpassed the Old Man. Did *He* ever admit a mistake?"
Lucifer smiled. "Never."
"Exactly."
"So what should I do?"
"I think, we should work on this together. Not just me; everyone, including the angels."
"They won't like hearing this. In fact, they'll be furious at my lying."
"And? Is staying like this any better?"
Lucifer stayed quiet for a long second, then said:
"Very well. Let's try again... together."
------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
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#The Sixth Hero
Part 5
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The Chaser made port with a small thud against the docks of Yeamon’s Point. Once the ship was securely tied and the gangplank pulled out, Amenset wasted no time and stepped onto dry land. With the captain’s warnings still ringing in her ear to be back on time, she hastily made her way through the small coastal town.
Yeamon’s Point was more of a resting stop than a centre of trade, so only few ships were docked and a minimal amount of sailors and dock workers scurried around going about their daily business. Amenset was glad she felt steady ground beneath her feet again, she never was much for the sea and its endless waves.
She could see her destination on top of the cliffs to the north. A shrine had been built there in honour of Yeamon of the Forest, the First Hero to defend Iatis against the darkness. A shrine that supposedly, although never confirmed, was also the hero’s resting place. The rumour had never been confirmed as there had never been anyone willing to defile the suspected grave.
Amenset rearranged her sacks and rations and started on the path upwards.
She could feel the fatigue in her legs by the time she made it all the way up to the shrine. The climb had been steep and long and she wasn’t used to longer periods of walking uphill. Back in Mardiac, the lands were pleasant and flat. Here in the middle of the ocean, centuries of erosion had shaped the island into a small mountain.
The shrine itself stood near the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Erys Ocean as a silent guardian. A lighthouse had been integrated into the design she saw as she watched the small spire rise up above the structure. It was a small building all in all, modest and plain. The sides were held up by engraved columns telling the legend of Yeamon and his weapon, Vines of Night.
She stepped through the open entrance into a small room, where about three people sat silently, consumed by their meditation or prayers. Stone tables lined the walls on all sides but the back, on them a plethora of offerings and artefacts. The back wall was fronted by a large, stone altar and Amenset was surprised by the resemblance it bore to the altar she had been summoned onto when she met War Cleric Fryan.
Only here, there was but one pedestal instead of six. It stood empty, but the nametag underneath clearly read Vines of Night. A strange sensation ran through Amenset and it took her a moment to realize it didn’t came from within her, but from the wrapped blade tied to her waste. Desert Eagle was moving within its sheath.
Silently as not to alert the other pilgrims present, Amenset took out the sanded sword, the millions of sand particles in it twisting and twirling in all directions at once. Was it responding to something?
Following her instinct, Amenset sat down in front of the altar, placed Desert Eagle on her lap and closed her eyes. She opened herself to the meditative state and felt her body and soul relax. Memories of red caves, monsters and holes intruded, but she pushed them away. Instead, she let her soul forge a connection with Desert Eagle. A connection, she suddenly realized, that was already there. She’d never meditated with the weapon before and the experience was a strange one.
Was this because of the choice Desert Eagle had made to entrust her?
“You must be the Sixth Hero.”
Amenset nearly yelped at the sudden words resounding in her head. Startled, she opened her eyes but saw nothing.
“Who said that?” she whispered ever so quietly.
“I did,” the voice answered.
“Where are you?” She looked around, but saw nobody besides the pilgrims.
The voice laughed. “Close your eyes, and look with your soul.”
“How do I…?” Amenset cut off as Desert Eagle took control over her consciousness and her eyes closed on their own. Then, she saw somebody. A man, old and with hair white as snow. He sat opposite Amenset, a sword on his lap in mirror to Amenset. She immediately recognized the weapon from the drawings she had seen during her studies.
“That is…,” she gasped. “That’s Vines of Night. Are you…?”
The man nodded. “I’m Yeamon of the Forest. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“How?” Amenset said in disbelief. “You’ve been dead for over a thousand years.”
Yeamon grinned. “Now that is an overstatement. My body died, yes, as all bodies do. But my spirit, my soul, lives on. And now you have finally arrived.”
“You were expecting me?”
He nodded. “As I expected the other four heroes who made their way through here when it was their time. You are the sixth, and the last.”
“I don’t think I am,” Amenset answered, the words paining her to her core. “It’s been five years since I’ve been chosen and nothing has happened. I don’t deserve this.”
“Because you killed Fryan?”
Her eyes widened in shock.
“There is no shame in what you did,” Yeamon assured her. “Even a thousand years ago, Fryan knew the last of the heroes would be the one to kill him. It was a necessity.”
“Why?” Amenset failed to understand.
“Because you are to be the strongest of us all,” Yeamon answered. “Us five who came before you, we were but puppets dancing to the strings of the old gods. You on the other hand have drastically changed your soul and what you can do by taking the life of the War Cleric. Fryan lives on within you as does his will. And now it is my task to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?” Amenset asked, taking the avalanche of information Yeamon was pouring onto her.
“That the darkness was never defeated. We never won, not once.”
“But you saved Iatis,” Amenset argued. “You are the Liberator of Tridia.”
Yeamon scoffed. “And how is Tridia faring these days? Corrupted by magic, tainted by centuries of bloodshed… I only briefly managed to keep the peace, but once I was gone, the land fell back into its old ways. The darkness never went away. It hid itself among the people, letting them think they’d won. Instead it buried itself in their souls where it waited.”
“Waited for what?”
“For me to die. They feared Vines of Night as they will fear Desert Eagle and the other Sacratys. Our weapons are not meant for killing, they are meant to cleanse the soul. They’re the only thing that stand against the darkness.”
Amenset was confused. “Then how are we supposed to defeat the darkness if it is present in all of mankind?”
“Now that,” Yeamon answered, “is the question, isn’t it?”
A gust of wind wove its way through the small room and Amenset was awakened from her meditative state. She blinked and then closed her eyes again, but Yeamon was gone. Desert Eagle lay motionless in her lap. Carefully, she wrapped it again, feeling a strange sensation when she touched the weapon. She had felt the connection the weapon had made with her. It had its own soul, she realized. A soul that once had been something else than a weapon.
Pondering over what she had just gone through, Amenset hastily started back towards the harbour. More time than she had thought had passed and she was not going to miss her only passage to Tridia.
----
> And with this strange revelation end the fifth part of **The Sixth Hero**, a story that is formed by the ideas brought forth by the /r/WritingPrompts subreddit and follows the story of Amenset Ta-Ament, the final hero to be chosen by Desert Eagle, one of the Six Sacratys. To follow her story, make sure to check out /r/PromptedByDaddy.
| 2022-07-07T05:29:54 | 2022-07-07T03:54:45 | 122 | 14 |
[WP] You've been waking up in the same day over and over. After a year of this you tell someone. Their eyes just widen. "You too?"
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I'm so very happy I wake up to a generic buzzer alarm. I think I would have lost my mind if I had to wake up to "I Got You Babe" thousands of times. It isn't easy, but I'll embrace the small wins.
The same day, over and over. As you might guess, there is no reset. Not suicide. Not staying up over night. Day 2 might start, but eventually I have to sleep and it all resets.
I've used some time foolishly, but a lot wisely. I speak a few new languages, I'm nearly a trained physician. Learning to fly was hard, but resets fixed all the pain from some ugly crash landings. The experiences have been too numerous to remember them all.
I started on a little project to meet a lifelong hero. Tracked down people who worked with him. Sure they didn't want to divulge his whereabouts on the day, but it only took a couple weeks to gain the right insider knowledge.
I finally tracked him down and had found him mid-afternoon.
"Hi.... listen, you don't know me. I'm sure you get this sometimes. But I'm a huge fan. Watched some of your stuff dozens of times."
"Oh, thanks. Always happy to meet a fan."
"Especially Groundhogs Day. I know you'll never believe this...you'll even forget I said it soon... but it's kind of personal for me..."
Bill Murray's eyes went wide.
"You too?"
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I guess I'd never really noticed before. Sure, maybe in the beginning when this fantasy... when this prison was new to me.
At first I couldn't distinguish the differences. After all, everyone has their routines. I, like many of us, fell victim to complacency. I had become hollow, constantly tormented by the stress of work, family, and the hot breathe of failure curling the hair on my neck.
By the fourth day of well done scrambled eggs and burnt toast something hit me. Right there at my kitchen table, for the first time I had understood. What a revelation it was!
I broke free. All day casino bingers in Vegas, night clubs in Miami, movie premieres in L.A., I did it all. I fucked whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted. The entire world was my playground. No repercussions knowing that every morning I'd wake up to my wife and kids... but more importantly my savings account still intact.
Never once did I stop to think to ask that question... until now.
"How long?" I asked.
"About a year." he replied.
I cringe at the answer. A chill creeps up my spine as I take a moment to observe my surroundings. How many others were like us? What about my wife? My children? Do they wait all day for daddy to come home...?
| 2017-07-15T09:16:49 | 2017-07-15T08:30:42 | 83 | 20 |
[WP] You just begun a master's program at the world's most prestigious wizarding university. It's awful. Professors, seeing you as a threat to their career, keep trying to kill you. Your academic supervisor is an maniacal necromancer. Worst of all, you lied about being a wizard.
*You've
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I stepped into my supervisor's office for the fifth time that week, and kept my eyes on the floor. I had learned long ago that was the safest place to look in here considering the walls were lined with small creatures and body parts(some of them unnervingly human).
"Ah, Mr. Highcastle! I was wondering when you would brighten my dungeon again."
I looked up at the figure in front of me. As usual he looked like he had stepped out a history book, his black hair pulled back into a slight ponytail that stopped just short of the collar of his shirt that looked like it might have been from the Victorian Era.
"I'm sorry sir" I said sheepishly quickly dropping my gaze back to the floor, I could never force myself to look into his eyes, those hungry green eyes.
"Let me guess, Conjuration class again? Or perhaps it was Pyromancy this time?" His raspy laugh echoed off the walls.
"Conjuration sir, Professor Idrella said she smelled sulfur on me again as I walked into class." I said forcing fake irritation into my tone to hide my actual fear.
"Be patient with her Logan, Professor Idrella is up there in years after all. I'm surprised she doesn't smell sulfur everywhere she goes at this point with how paranoid she is." The supervisor laughed at his joke and I chuckled nervously with him. "Head back to your dorm for now, and I'll have a chat with her." He said, dismissing me.
"Thank you sir, I'm sorry for disturbing you." I said before turning and heading towards the door.
"Oh it's no trouble, I love assisting you students...who knows maybe you'll assist me in my research one of these days." He said cryptically before I closed the door.
I made my way across campus, and into the dormitories before anyone could see me. Professors and students alike would often fling spells at students they thought were unprepared, just to get rid of 'competition'. Thankfully no one was outside, and I made it into my dorm with no issues. Suddenly, the sunlight in my room dimmed and my right forearm screamed in pain.
I rolled up the sleeve on my robes as I fell to the floor, catching a glimpse at the symbol wreathed in blue flames branded on my arm. I bit down on my tongue and felt a copper taste fill my mouth as I literally bit back a scream. The pain finally faded and I heard a voice above me.
"That's what you get for not letting me out sooner." Although the voice was loud enough to shake my chest, and I felt an instinctual fear fill my body I still looked up at the figure towering over me with a cocky grin on my face. The demon stood well over 7ft and his black scales gleamed in what little light his presence left, his eyes glowing yellow as he stared down at me.
"You know I could always 'accidentally' pour holy water on myself again in Alchemy." I said jokingly as I slowly lifted myself off the ground.
"You wouldn't dare!" The demon yelled at me, poking my chest with one of his clawed fingers.
"Relax Draxel, we feel each other's pain remember? I don't feel like doing that again either. To be honest I'd rather not have you piggybacking on my soul in the first place." I said dusting myself off before looking up at the demon's face.
"Well I'd rather not be bound to a regular human with no magic capabilities but here we are." He huffed. We stood there staring each other down for a minute or two before there was a knock at the door.
"Shit" we both jumped and Draxel started pulling himself back into the mark on my arm. As soon as he was gone and the light levels in my room finally became normal again, I opened the door to my dorm room.
A/N: Not very good, but if someone wants to adopt the idea and rewrite please do.
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Part 1:
I haven't believed in magic since I was a child. It has been intriguing though, and after chasing it for years, I ended up in a master's program at the University of Wizardry, one of the most prestigious Universities for magic.
It was overcast and the sun was setting over the mountains in the horizon. I parked my convertible in the vacant parking lot in front of the main entrance at UWU. The parking lot was almost always empty, because the only people that used cars were the professors and people who couldn't fly a broomstick.
My academic advisor, Mrs.Dunglee greeted me as I entered her quaint room. Her room had a single window and was decorated sparsely with UWU banners and human skulls. She smiled fakely and gestured for me to take a seat and opened up her laptop.
"Could I see your student ID card?"
I passed it to her and she scanned it into her computer.
"Oooh your a necromancing major!"
Thunder crackled outside and a single drop of rain landed on the window. I sighed. *It's a shame the hood to my convertible disappeared last week*, I thought.
"You know UWU prefers necromancers for staff because they can communicate with spirits! Have you ever considered going that route?"
"Yeah, I think that'd be awesome to work here."
The corners of Mrs. Dunglee's lips twitched, but she managed to keep a firm smile. She stared intently at me for a second and whispered something to herself.
"So what did you call me in for?" I said
"I just wanted to make sure you were on track, but everything seems okay! You are free to go"
As I turned to leave, I felt a hard stare burning the back of my head. I tuned back around to see Mrs. Dunglee glance away at the last second.
The lights on the parking lot had turned on, and the sky faded to a gloomy purple grey. I walked back to my hoodless convertible.
My car started reluctantly, and I whipped out of the parking lot and onto the supposedly haunted canyon road. Something felt wrong, but I brushed the feeling aside.
The canyon was my favorite place to drive. On a clear day, it had a killer view of the valley, with a drop on one side and a mountain on the other. I stepped on the gas and carved the winding road, hugging the turns and ducking to avoid the rain from the windshield flying over my head. Dusk had long since left, and night was crawling into the sky. I turned on my high beams, and then instantly turned them off, as they made it impossible to see anything but the pouring rain.
Water pelted my face as I clung to an increasingly sharp turn. The rain and the wind bombarded my car, and rattled my rear bumper. As I pulled out of the turn, a bright light washed out my vision. A semi truck was in my lane of the road! I swerved to avoid a collision. I couldn't correct my turn in time, and my car went airborne as it crested the gravel on the side of the road. My car slammed back into the ground on the slope.
I woke up, the front of my car crumpled like a sheet of aluminum foil. The cars siren was muffled by the heartbeat in my head. *Why can't I move?* I felt the blood drain from my face. My right arm was mangled and spouting blood, yet horrifyingly, I felt no pain. I couldn't turn my head. I was panicking and frantic. I tried to scream but I could only manage a pathetic whistle. My ears started ringing and the car siren got progressively further away. The corners of my vision slowly swallowed the rest of my eye.
| 2019-06-29T13:37:21 | 2019-06-29T11:51:38 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] Humans have always been feared throughout the universe for surviving in the harshest environments, drinking and eating highly poisonous drinks and foods as well as taming and even domesticating dangerous beasts. One applies for a position at your company.
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"A human!?!"
I looked at Jasper in disbelief. He didn't respond so I prompted him again:
"A human wants to work for US?"
Jasper merely nodded. His tail was uncharacteristically still as he waited for my response.
"Tell me more about the applicant"
Jasper replied "James is quite short, for a human, and not as coordinated as most of their kind, but has demonstrated formidable skill in taming multiple monstrous felines, in addition to the hardiness to survive the deadliest poisons known to our species. Apparently, we share a common goal. He too, would like to raid the Palace of Limitless Food, but has trouble getting past the Guardians on his own."
I thought about it. I knew James well. I had thought all the humans worked together to guard the Palace... having one on our side (n insider at that!) would virtually guarantee success, even if he was the smallest and newest human in our domain. We'd come close to success in our last couple of raid attempts, but the guardians always noticed before we were able to finish the job.
The Guardians were clearly very protective of James, and he could easily run interference for us while we did our work. My tail began to wag, and I let out a triumphant bark. It would be hard to summon the audacity to give orders to one of the Masters, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.
"Jasper, let's go welcome our company's third member."
"Sure thing, Spot!" Jasper answered, before bounding off to find the toddler.
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These humans...
Weird? Yes.
Dangerous? Yes.
Expensive? YES.
Worthwhile? As they say, A BILLION TIMES YES!
There was this one time that our mercenary company had to deal with a Omega-Omega. World ending stuff.
Their behavior before this, or any mission, really, has always been - Odd.
Treating the whole thing like it's a game.
Throwing lethal amounts of poison around like they want to die (keep forgetting that they *can't* die from 'mere alcohol', as they call it.).
We head to the outer reaches of the Dead Zone, and they *finally* get their heads on their shoulders (I'm catching the human, as they say... *sigh*).
Nearly lose half of my quad to Alpha - Gammas (Their blood is *literal acid*, able to melt *anything*), but those humans... Those that say humans are useless, have never been in a straight-up lethal, no-holding-back, all-out fight with one.
Anyway, we all get to the Source, where the humans *insist* in being the first ones down there.
Stupid? Yeah
Loyal? Hell yeah.
Worth the trillions we pay for each hour we use a team?
Seeing the O - O get dragged to the surface a mere five minutes after they left, tells me that yeah, it's all worth it.
Now, if only they would *stop* playing with the O - O and calling it 'Fido'...
| 2020-06-15T20:30:14 | 2020-06-15T19:48:03 | 509 | 315 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention.
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Baphomet shifted uncomfortably from cloven hoof to hoof as Tiffany absentmindedly arranged blocks into a tower.
Turning to N'Karragüä'n', rapist of mortal dreams, the dying shriek of hell, he asked "What d'you think we should do with her?"
N'Karragüä'n' stared back at the hellish satyr with eyes made of dying stars, entwined within an Eldritch mass of tentacles and teeth. "Well, I doubt Lucifer will want to have to deal with it. It's all- *squishy*". He prodded the child with an arm of fused, decaying flesh for effect.
"Hey, that tickles!" Tiffany said, giggling in delight and accidentally knocking the tower over.
Baphomet stared down at her with unblinking, unfeeling eyes. "What exactly do ManSpawn do, anyway?" His partner shrugged. "Violently fornicate in the scabbed-over reservoirs of their rampant sin and destruction?" The satur shook his head.
"ManSpawn, what do you do for fun?"
Tiffany's brow scrunched as she thought back to her time on Earth.
"I like bubbles."
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"*Damn you to hell.*" Biggs muttered, very nearly fulfilling his daily quota for hellishly damnable puns.
"All right, come on!" He shouted to the child.
She was hesitant. Nice things in the pit had a tendency to attain immense weight, and the girl didn't have a telemarketer's shot at heaven of picking her teddy bear up off the floor.
The fact that she hadn't imploded under her own weight was not lost on the demon. He'd seen the Shining and played F.E.A.R., and he was appropriately wary.
"And the teddy bear, come on." Biggs wiggled his fingers in the apropos manner to induce levitation. If the worst happened he would be able to use it as a shield.
The bear left the ground, the girl's eyes followed, and her capacity for thought resumed as the shock of death left and she took in her surroundings. Karen was a good kid, and the lighting vaguely reminded her of Christmas.
Nice things and hell having the relationship that they do, her head exploded.
Biggs sighed again and pressed his palms into his face. "*Help me, I am in hell.*" Pun quota achieved.
| 2013-11-26T18:20:08 | 2013-11-26T15:22:41 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] When summoning a demon, something very unexpected happens. The demon bellows through the fire and smoke, “Who dares to call upon me, Mortal- wait.. dude, is that really you?” The demonic voice immediately switches to the familiar voice of your high school best-friend, who died years ago.
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The smoke slowly dissipated through the silence, gradually revealing the demon's figure. It had all the traditional characteristics of a being from hell - but it was still unmistakably *him*.
"Dave?" Ryan asked, not allowing himself to believe it quite yet. He'd tried for too many years.
"Oh my God, it really *is* you!" the demonic Dave replied, embracing Ryan with a bear hug that left him singed and sore. "How the hell did you find me?"
"Well you always joked you'd "see me in hell,"," and I figured I didn't want to wait that long," Ryan replied with a smile. "Took me damned ages to find you, man. I can't say I enjoyed your peers."
"Haha, yea," Dave said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, "they grow on you I guess."
"Like those horns?" Ryan replied, lightly punching him on the arm, his wrist jolting from the pain. It was just like old times.
Dave laughed, stopping only now to take in his surroundings. "Quite a place you've got here, very 'black arts'. I see you really picked up where I left off."
Ryan nodded approvingly. "Well, I had no choice. After you died, I dedicated my life to it. I couldn't let my best friend's death not be avenged."
Dave tilted his head in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked, seeming a bit worried.
"Well, I obviously had to find out who killed you Dave," Ryan replied, as if it were obvious. "I knew you were messing around with the occult, but I had no way of knowing if it was another demon, or some kind of bounty hunter or something..." he said, trailing off under his gaze.
"I thought you knew," Dave said quietly, "I killed myself, Ryan. Not anyone else. It's part of the reason I'm down here."
Ryan began to reply, then stopped himself. He looked at a loss for words.
"But... no, that's not right," he said, almost to himself. "You wouldn't do that. You wouldn't leave me behind like that."
"I'm sorry, Ryan," Dave said, putting a bristled hand on his shoulder, "I should have told you, but I knew you'd try convince me out of it. I was ashamed at even wanting to do it at all - but of course, that just made things worse."
A silence enveloped them both, as Ryan softly shook his head.
"But we were *best friends,* Dave. I could have *helped* you," Ryan said, not able to look him in the eye.
"You did, buddy, for all my life," Dave replied with a grin. "And now it's time for you to live your own."
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
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It was a grand display. Smoke and flames engulfed the floor as a shadowy figure rose from the ground. “Who dares to call upon me?” it boomed.
Standing my ground, I faced the figure head-on. The figure continued, “ Mortal- wait.. dude, is that really you?” By that point, enough smoke had dispersed as I locked eyes with the demon.
“Good to see you again!” The voice boomed as the smoke cleared the room. Before me stood Marissa.
Shock took over my nerves as I stumbled back. No, no, it couldn’t be, that’s impossible. The demon, it was Marissa. It sounded like her, looked like, heck even spoke like her.
The demon spoke, “I understand that you’re terrified, but listen. As much as I want to play catch up, I just want to say a few words.”
“Marissa-”
“Listen,” she shuffled towards me, “remember that final night, we got into an argument and you wished that I would burn in hell for the things I did.”
Memories flooded me as I nodded. She was headstrong, always out there. With that loud mouth of hers, trouble seemed to always find its way to her. That time, the trouble erupted between the two of us. She had an issue with forgiveness. I remembered my words clearly from that night. “You seriously need to let go of things every once in a while.” She fought back with her own string of cusses and swears directed towards me. When that whole scene concluded, it ended with me wishing her to burn in hell. She promptly ended up in hell as she later perished that night. The thought of her still lingered with me as years ticked by. We ended on such a bad chord-
She snapped her fingers to bring me back, “Well, you got your wish.”
Guilt took hold as I gazed towards the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
She stopped me. A grand flame erupted through the room again. Marissa turned towards the flame. “Well, I hoped that this interaction would teach you a valuable lesson. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“Wait! Let me make it up to you! I’ll join you down there!” Without hesitation, I leaped into the fire with her.
“Marvelous, just marvelous, now you’re finally coming to your senses! Although the tragedy is, I’m still not forgiving you!” she hollered back.
Panic set in as I realized my mistake.
The flames engulfed my body as her voice echoed through the space, “Your head would make quite the decoration for my house down there. Besides, as you put it: you need to let things go. You should’ve followed your words.”
I should’ve let those thoughts of her go.
&#x200B;
r/CasualScribblings
| 2020-06-17T22:51:34 | 2020-06-17T22:15:54 | 3,583 | 200 |
[WP] You're a middle school custodian, cleaning up the school is your job. So when a group of men take the school hostage, they are no exception. You have a mess to clean.
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19 years ago I became a custodian for Emerson country schools.
16 years ago I was transferred to Sheldon elementary.
10 years ago I met the love of my life, Amanda.
7 years ago we were married.
147 minutes ago bad men attacked the other love of my life: Sheldon elementary.
132 minutes ago I saw my wife get shot two times in the head
129 minutes ago an echoing snap rang through the hall
125 minutes ago I saw the bad men burn the cafeteria.
120 minutes ago I decided:I will defend the last love of my life
116 minutes ago I saw 2 men
113 minutes ago I saw four men beating the principal.
110 minutes ago I broke a mans nose and downed a bottle of Drano into another mans mouth.
107 minutes ago all four lay motionless necks snapped, skull fractured and esophagus shredded
100 minutes ago the sprinklers went off
93 minutes ago I bashed a mans face into the sink.
86 minutes ago I was shot once in the leg
80 minutes the gunman died after a struggle and four shots to the head
79 minutes ago a message went out too all with radios "You have hurt me, now I will hurt you."
68 minutes ago I arrived at the best man in my wedding's classroom. All of his students cowering under a rifleman's sight.
64 minutes ago I was shot in the thigh, the rifleman's arms were snapped
47 minutes ago I finished escorting 7th graders from that class room
45 minutes ago the firemen arrived
42 minutes the police told me to stop and seek medical help
40 minutes ago I went back inside
34 minutes ago put a mans face in a toilet
32 minutes ago the bubbles stop
27 minutes ago the sprinklers stopped
23 minutes ago the basketball coach died fighting of
two men with bats, his arms shattered.
15 minutes I arrived at the gymnasium with the
coaches arms flattened and crushed
14 minutes ago one mans fingers are broken.
13 minutes ago I broke a bat on his head. Blood poured out from 2 gashes
11 minutes ago his friend ran in terror. Trembling
4 minutes ago I caught him
3 minutes ago The shards of the bat were left in his chest
2 minutes ago the school was completed evacuated
Now I clean up my mess
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Gregary Misspin was a simple man, with a simple job. He was the school janitor. It was a thankless task, but he enjoyed it - apart from the few teenagers that relentlessly mocked him, and made his life hell. It gave him some solace, however, knowing they were currently all locked up in detention for their last malicious prank on him.
A sudden gunshot ripped him from his thoughts. He heard screams, and a body hit the floor with a heavy 'thud'. And he knew he had a job to do.
Gregary opened the door to detention, revealing a classroom full of terrified high schoolers, two gunmen, and a dead body. Mrs Everton, the maths teacher who treats - who *used to* treat him - like dirt. They all turned to stare at him in shock.
"What the fuck are you doing?" a gunman asked, brandishing his weapon. "Get to the fucking floor!"
Gregary peered at him. His eyesight had long since dulled. "Looks like I've got a mess to clean, lad," he said, turning to the body, "must have had quite the spill, by the look 'o things."
He took out his mop, and began to methodically clean up the blood. The other gunman turned to Timmy, who was particularly awful to Gregary.
"Who *is* this guy?"
Timmy couldn't take his eyes off him. "That's mister Misspin, mister," he said, shaking, "he's the janitor."
The gunman turned back to look at Gregary. "He a little *slow?*"
Gregary squeezed the mop, draining blood into a large bucket. He then stared at the body, thinking intensely.
"Body gonna be a bit harder to get rid of," he said, rubbing his chin, "could use a drum 'o acid, but I don't think we have enough for the rest of 'em."
He turned to face the students. "Could just bury these buggers out back, o'course."
******
Gregary wiped the dirt off his hands, squinting against the sunset. Detention had - or previously had - every naughty, littering little shit in school.
Tomorrow was going to be a good day.
| 2016-11-18T09:04:27 | 2016-11-18T07:50:51 | 51 | 29 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here.
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The old joke goes that the one thing you can derive about the creator by observing his creation is an inordinate fondness for beetles. It was very difficult to get that out of my mind while talking to the emissary. It must weigh at least 500 kilos, but it is also strangely lovely in the way of a racehorse or cat.. The shell has a shiny lacquered finish, and is covered in what has to be body art - the alien equivalent of tatoos. It's holding what is obviously an input device of some sort in a pair of seven fingered hands.
"TESTING. t.. *inaudible*ing? Testing. This a good level? Oh, good. And now, for the boilerplate legalese. I do apologize, but it has been tradition for half a billion years."
"According to the foundational laws of the Accord, we welcome you to commonwealth of the stars, and offer the wisdom of the ages as to how to safely handle the instrumentalities of Armageddon, which you have recently discovered lest the universe entire be rendered unlivable."
"Yada, yada yada. I see you looking a bit pale. Don't worry - We have excellent protocols for safe AI design, genomic engineering and self-replicant design. They've held for 3 billion years and thousands of species! They'll work just as well for humanity. It's important, but it's routine. New species evolves, manages to not kill itself, ascends the path of mastery over the physical universe until they reach the level where they might do something large scale stupid, and we advise them how not to do that. Then they dont. Perfectly normal!. "
The emissary must have spent a lot of time studying human body language. I can imagine no other explanation for how a giant beetle could convey curiosity to me by posture.
".... But.. Our sociologists and political scientists are very curious! How on earth did you manage to get this sophisticated a technological base up and running with this kind of tax system? You invented the Land Value Tax and *you are not using it* That's unique! And your IP laws? Tell me, where the legislators that came up with them very high?"
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Zorniffous was unsure. Zorniffous was also 100% certain.
That is to say that Zorn, as his friends knew him, was feeling very uncertain about his very accurate understanding of the situation.
The fact was, this world was puttering along just nicely in some key respects. In others, they were magnificently failing.
The report to the homeworld might get him klubooked from the University. No one in any position of authority would believe a word of it.
Zorn stroked his ruddington with his favorite clawdorf and pondered the next move.
Philosophers had wondered for centuries what alternative technological pathways could exist, and here was a wonderful example of it, ripe for study. It seemed this world developed on the basis of accidental discovery rather than rigorous testing. Happy accidents provided them with antibiotics prior to the development of hormonal manipulation and something consistently impeded their willingness to experiment on others of their own species.
If they were only sufficiently committed, aging, dementia, and mental and physical illnesses would be over.
Why wouldn't they want to change? Isn't life suffering? Isn't the purpose of science to improve the conditions of being?
Zorn sighed from a little over half of his gumbles and puzzled about this strange species' commitment to their current form.
If he told others, they would come here to gawk at these narcissists; at least those who weren't too busy laughing at Zorn.
"Oh well," thought Zorn after a few hours of mulling whether to share his discovery, "I already have tenure anyways."
The ovular cruiser orbiting the planet turned, speeding far, far away from the strange and backward planet, populated with a species wholly uncommitted to exploring the wonders of the universe.
_________________________________________________
EDIT: Removed some made up pronouns intended to convey alienness of Zorniffous. However, on switching the pronouns, it became clear I had been writing in part to incorporate as many as I could and that even after swapping the pronouns it was still a bit disjointed as a result.
| 2017-03-10T01:47:25 | 2017-03-09T16:38:02 | 131 | 29 |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman.
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It's been 3 years since I've landed here on Vandu. Long story short, I arrived here through falling into a space-time portal in the school’s football field. I wouldn’t say I miss Earth, there really wasn’t much for me to miss anyway, being an average student, socially awkward, constantly bullied and bad at sports. Thankfully, the inhabitants on this planet look no different than Earth people, and I was able to assimilate myself into the community in no time at all.
The planet is really small, it probably has a circumference of less than 20 miles. As such, the gravitational pull is much lesser, just about enough to keep my feet on the ground if I tread with care. And in turn, my bones and muscles are much denser than the locals. Their buildings are soft and light, and can barely survive my weight if I go too high up. Their cars are made of cardboard. I’ve been to one of their gymnasiums, the heaviest weight they have is exactly one pound. And the police department use guns that fire plastic bullets, the ones Earth kids play with. To me they’re harmless, but to them they’re lethal.
I’ve decided to use my strength and abilities for a good cause. I once stopped a cardboard truck from running into a crowd. Held the roof of a styrofoam house so people could escape before it collapsed on them. Apprehended a bunch of robbers with my bare hands. The people adored me, erected statues of me and even ran a TV show detailing my adventures. The women loved me, though I had to be careful not to break their bones when reciprocating my love.
But on this day, everything changed. I woke up after a careful lovemaking session to turn on the TV, ready to indulge myself with the people’s adoration and worship. Yet, all I could see was news with vague images of towns going up in smoke. Trails of destruction everywhere. This was something the local police could never handle, and I knew I was needed.
I ran there as fast as I could and got there in a few minutes. It was chaos, everywhere. I saw a police sergeant badly wounded on the floor and tended to him, and in his dying breath, he begged me to stop the monsters in red armor. I ventured further down the street, the smoke clears, and I saw a bunch of burly, menacing looking humanoids laying waste to everything in sight.
The school’s football team had arrived.
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Being famous used to be fun, but that was when I was synonymous with good fame. Now it's only destruction and pain.
I woke up on the ISS Stellar to find the alarms blaring and crew freaking out. We were going down quick and nothing could be done. We crashed, and as I rose from the rubble I could see the crew laying, sprawled over the wreckage, I was the only survivor.
Before I realized, the wreck was surrounded by a group of people that had skin like an opaque ivory. They took me in as their own and I was grateful, but there was always something different that separated us. Somehow their world is made of a type of soft cell foam, similar to evlon or memory foam. This made them a cautious and careful group. To them I was a resiliant superhuman that could take on anything and survive. Being able to lift houses and stop trees from falling, I was a hero to them.
One day came though when it would change. I was with the hunting group making our way through the forest when we came upon their feared predator the lynx-bear. As we stalked it, we followed it to a small watering hole and decided to make our move. I went around the side and waited for an opportunity.
As it rose from the water, it stood up on its back feet and reared it's head, clearly knowing it wasn't alone anymore. I saw my timing, ran up to it, and drove my spear into its back with all my might. Letting out a slight jeer like I always did when getting a kill, but the forest was silent. As I peered from around the goliaths body I could see shock on the faces of the others. And as I took a step to the side I could see why.
The Chief was suppose to be the only one able to kill the lynx bear according to the legends. And I not only drove my spear through the creature, but also through the Chief on the other side. His axe still raised above his head as he stayed glued in place with rigor mortis.
Everybody wanted me dead, and I thought of running, but something inside me really felt bad. So I stayed. I let them take me prisoner and I've been cooperating for almost 22 years now. At first it took a lot to not just break out and live again, but as the time slipped away and the isolation took over, it made more sense to remain.
| 2017-03-26T20:59:04 | 2017-03-26T12:28:30 | 421 | 273 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
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**Changes**
* Removed appendix
* Removed wisdom teeth
* Fixed a bug that caused infants to die for no reason
* Patched a bug that caused certain people to lose hair prematurely
* Body now handles excess calories better.
* Improvement of smell. Now should be on par with dogs
* Patched the bug that caused blurry vision in certain people
* Height limit increased
* Fixed a weird bug that made certain people attracted to young children. May need to reset preferences for this change to take place.
* Bodies will now "rag doll" instead of locking up when in a crash or similar event.
* Nipples no longer get irritated while running or in cold conditions
* Removed bug where women would grow facial hair
* Increased male pleasure from sexual intercourse. Should now be even with women.
* Increased flexibility of hip bones in women to allow birthing to be easier.
* Increased chance of rare eye color unlocks.
* Removed ghosts.
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[[PATCH NOTES: VER 1.1]]
-- Fixed human sense of smell to that of dog. (x1000/1 000 000?) Yes, me. NOT HARD, GOD.
-- Optional mermaid genealogy.
-- System server handling update. 7 billion daily users.
-- Security upgrades:
Bug #42 Polio has been posthumously eradicated.
God-given formation of United Nations Human Rights Council.
Advances in human thought and goodwill - random great people generation. (Gandhi, Einstein, Nelson Mandela)
Bonus natural selection.
-- Slight period system overhaul. Monthly blood loss proved unpopular.
-- Unexpected unexplained combustion during body use has been patched.
-- Mild accommodation in firmware to suit rising global obesity levels
-- Software adjustments; mental processing. Finnicky design prone to error esp. age-related. May need further re-patching.
| 2015-08-25T08:40:17 | 2015-08-25T07:26:00 | 292 | 47 |
[WP] In a world where people receive mystical pets upon 16 yrs of age, you are judged based on how powerful they are. Today on your 16th birthday, you finally got yours. But instead of the common faun or fairy you expected, a commoner like you got a dragon.
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Lara leaned back against a tree, frowning. It was already almost dark on her 16th birthday, and she still hadn't found her Companion. All day, she'd been looking around her village for the mystical pet that shared her eye color and would define her destiny. Everybody had one. Her mother was a seamstress and had a hedgehog had sewing needles and pins instead of quills. Her father's was a hound, and he became a huntsman. Some people even had more magical ones, like geese that lay golden eggs or unicorns or wind spirits. Legend had it that sometimes sailors got mermaids of other sea creatures, but Lara didn't know for sure. She'd always wanted to travel and see the ocean, but had never left her village. If she didn't find hers by midnight, she'd become one of the Forgotten. Nobody wanted to be a Forgotten. No status, even for the lowliest commoner. No contribution to society --no destiny. Even something as pathetic as a talking worm would be better. But she'd looked at every animal in the market, every mouse in her house, and had spent the last few hours wandering the pastures and woodlands. Still nothing.
Sighing, she pushed herself off of the tree and started back towards her house. It was dangerous to be in the woods past dark, as she knew all too well. Just last month, the blacksmith's son had been dismembered by a mysterious beast. The village never found it, or his torso.
As she neared the village, she heard shouting in the market square. Her brother's little glowing fairy flew up to her. "Oh good, I found you!" Her voice sounded like a bunch of tiny bells.
"What's going on?"
"There's a dragon in the market square!"
"A what?!" Nobody had seen a dragon in years. Lara ran after the fairy, her long dark braids bouncing off her back.
When Lara reached the market square, she found people hiding on store fronts and behind barrels. The dragon stood in the middle of the square with its back to her, its dark blue scales gleamed silver where the light caught them. Lara crouched on the bricks beside her brother. His fairy murmured to them, "It's small for a dragon. It must be young."
Lara looked peeked around the edge of the stone bench in front of them. If that was a small dragon, she didn't want to see a big one.
As if sensing her gaze, the beast turned. Its long, sharp claws gouged the stone bricks and its tail whipped against the baker's storefront, bashing a whole in the shutters. As it turned to face her, its foul, sulfurous breath washed over her. But when they locked eyes, she forgot the stench, hardly noticed her brother trying to pull her back down behind the bench. The dragon's eyes were grey-green, just like hers. They shone against the dark scales, just like hers shone against her dark skin.
"No way," she said softly. Dragon Companions were rare, even among royalty and heroes. A commoner having one was... unheard of.
Lara was shaking with fear, but she made herself take a deep breath and let her instincts take over. She stood and walked toward the beast, right hand outstretched. The dragon snorted but didn't attack. Pulled my the same force as her, it lowed ints head. The village watched in stunned silence as she placed her hand on the dragon's snout, still staring into its eyes. It snorted, making her eyes water. She said, "I, Lara, claim you, O Dragon, as my Companion." It blinked once, slowly, then lifted its head and roared fire into the sky.
Lowering its head back down to hers, it touched its snout to her forehead. In a rumbling, resonant voice, it said, "And I, Starfang, claim you, O Human, as mine." Lara blinked, surprised.
The village wise man stepped forward. "If I may," he interjected, "The Great Beasts have destiny and souls just like us, so they also have Companions."
Lara looked at her new Companion, seeing in her the adventures and grand things they could do together. It was a big responsibility, she knew, but she could also see the potential they possessed as a pair. Slowly, she began to smile. Starfang smiled back.
|
A cat. That was all I wanted. A simple, perhaps orange, cat. It was rare to receive a "normal" animal but some do receive them. And if anyone were to receive a "normal" animal, it would be me.
Relax, this isn't a "I'm not like other girls" claim, I'm just stating facts. Spending majority of the time at home, holed up in my room, saying I would read but end up doing who knows what until the day is over and I'm another day closer to death. If I lived in a fictional universe, I would be the side character that dies and never appears again one quarter into the story. In a world where a family riding a unicorn to dinner was a common sight, I think I can safely say that I deserve a normal orange cat.
So, what the hell is this?
My family was as speechless as me, all 5 pairs of eyes, on the...thing outside our house.
My sister was the first to speak, "is...is that hers?" She received a small water nymph which was currently invisible in a container, turning the liquid glowing red in its fear.
I laughed. What else was I supposed to do?
"Well..." I pushed up my glasses, "that's enough for today, I'm going to bed."
Of course I wasn't. After a few more seconds of suffocating tension in which everyone made it clear they weren't going to speak, I decided to step outside. If that...thing was mine, it would accept me, wouldn't it?
Where am I going to keep it?
I got a key and opened the door, my family following behind me but making it clear that none of them wanted to step out the building. I took in a deep breath, which smelt like burnt toast, and walked out.
It saw me immediately, and nearly leaped in the air, it's huge wings creating a gust of wind that swayed the line of trees that stood at the end of the street. I was strangely aware of eyes peaking out of my neighbours' windows, probably trying to figure out who this creature belonged to.
It ran up to me, its inky black scales reflecting lamplight. Its eyes shone in different colours, one was lightning blue, the other, green. My feet felt frozen to the spot as we examined each other, it's breath blowing hot in my face.
Burnt toast.
It opened its mouth, lips pulled back to reveal rows of long ivory similar to the horns of a rhinoceros. I flinched, ready to book it if it tried anything. Not that I would be able to run anywhere, it's mouth can easily engulf me like I was a mere fish stick.
However, it made no move to eat me, thankfully. I looked at it's surprisingly light pink mouth. On it lay a sizable black tag, engraved in silver.
An ownership tag.
I wasn't going to pick it up, it was wet with saliva, but I could read it from where I stood.
Salvira Dragon, owned by Chloe Drew
There it was. My name in engraved italics. That dragon...was mine...?
The tag fell to the floor, clattering onto the gravel pavement as if in agreement to my thought. Okay maybe not, but it was a very decisive thud.
I looked up at the dragon again, my dragon, not the, mine. It looked back at me with its mismatched gaze, as if studying me.
No, not studying.
Waiting.
"Uh...you're not going to fit in the house," I said, matter-of-factly, feeling the burn of my family's gaze on my back but I didn't dare to take my eyes off the dragon, no, my dragon.
My dragon.
"Can you shrink?"
Black smoke seemed to pour out of my dragon, engulfing it and giving off a strange scent that could have been a whole candle store going up in flames. But it didn't last long, the smoke cleared almost immediately, the creature that towered over every building in sight was now the size of a house cat.
I sighed, picked up the wet tag and returned back home, my newly acquired pet tailing me. As I stepped back in with my still speechless family, only a thought flashed through my head.
I'm going to be the main character of this story.
| 2020-05-24T04:48:54 | 2020-05-24T04:05:04 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night.
|
As i emerge from a sort of sleep, I’m standing in my school hall, and there is a bunch of people standing in front of me.
“Umm, what happened”, i ask my self, as one of the people staring at me asks, “you are back, is everything’s alright?”
I start to feel anxious, it’s too much attention, i utter under my nose “what do you mean, what happened”, “do you not remember what happened?” One of the teachers asks.
“No...”
“You were just stuck there in the hallway, you didn’t move and we couldn’t move you, it’s been an hour now”
“What? I don’t remember that, all I remember is...”
Memories start to seep in, i can see josh, the school bully talking to me, thats the last memory i have.
“Dude you were like a statue, we couldn’t move you even if ten of us tried pushing you” one of the students said.
As i stud there my legs started shaking. All i can think of is that this is too much attention, i just want to get out of here, and as one of the students slap me on the shoulder. “Don’t wor...”
I wake up in the same hallway. No one around. It’s the middle of the night. The walls seemed a bit torn up, the paint worn of, trash around the corners. “What happened again?”, i look down, and in a circle around me says, “The statue boy”.
As i look through the window, the first thing that caught my eye, was that all the trees seemed a lot bigger. Twice the size actually.
As i walk toward the exit, the door is nailed with wooden planks. There is trash everywhere. It looks abandoned.
As i crawl through between planks. I notice all the houses seem similar but a bit different, and i finally asked myself the question that has been sitting on the back of my mind as i realise my powers “what year am i in?”.
——————————————
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/pie_jesu/comments/mi3v09/part_2_super_power_of_escape/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
|
When I was a little girl, my father would wake at 5 am to me screaming, full-force, red-faced, mottled screaming - but find me completely asleep. Over time I suppose I learnt not to wake him, not to worry him, to muffle my screams and sobs and, as I learnt to talk, pleads, channel them into the pillow so that he could rest.
But the nightmares never stopped.
At least once a week, I would wake up covered in sweat, sobbing, my duvet soaked, barely able to stand up because it was out there. Somewhere. It was coming for me, and if I went back to sleep it would find me.
That was when I was young.
In college it was trendy to not sleep, to party every night that didn't have work due tomorrow, to squeeze by with the bare minimum. There was barely a night my head hit the pillow where my body wasn't so exhausted it could barely close my eyes before I was asleep.
Over time I lost my fear of sleeping. I learnt to love the night, the bright lights and party clothes and pure indecency of it all, the celebration of life, giving myself away in cup after cup of coffee - or worse - just to stay awake.
But last night?
Last night I forgot to set an alarm, too high or too drunk or too tired to even think about it.
I slept for fifteen hours. Fifteen hours without waking, not even when my roommate, freaked out, shook me and screamed and cried. Without a break, I slept on and that place... That thing. He found me, he stole me, he kept me. I was his for fifteen whole, uninterrupted hours.
Until I broke it. I escaped.
I shattered the dream into shards in my hands, cutting sharp against my skin. Woke up, desperately gasping for breath, blood dripping down my arms, wisps of dream sliterhing between my fingers.
When he comes back, I'll be ready.
Then I'll see what else I can break.
| 2021-04-01T03:47:34 | 2021-04-01T02:47:38 | 58 | 35 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
As I sit here, scrolling through the unending feed, I can't help but wonder if what's going on around us is the same thing. Anti-aging this, prolonged life that. It seems like it's continuous.
When I was a kid, I could never understand why reading and watching the news was so important. Now, as I approach my 86th year, I know why. It's been preparing us for the worst. It's been showing us what our world has become. Almost 60 years ago, that shit was released. I was envious at first but I recovered. I was just starting out at Microcon. Worked my way up pretty quickly. Retired with a nice, fat pension. They announced what happened to my revulsion.
It seems as though A.I. had surpassed all predictions and quietly rolled out an anti-aging serum called Reversol that would stop it all together. Only problem was, you had to be young in order to be young forever. Apparently, 28 was no longer considered young. Bullshit. Either way, I kept earning my paycheck, met my sweetheart and retired happy. That's when the rumors started. Turns out Reversol wasn't as great as they said. Rumors were that it started with migraines. Even if you'd never had one, once a week you'd have a blinding migraine. Coinciding with the serum treatments. After the migraine, motor functions would start being...funny. Finger twitches, leg spasms, random hard ons. All the while, your internals were working to eliminate you. You started feeling...controlled. Like the actions you take aren't exactly yours.
20 years now, I've been hearing about how A.I. was going to rule us and it turns out, it does. With a phrase, our smart homes are controlled by a little speaker that answers our every command. A.I. developed Reversol to take us out. It put together a 60 year plan. If you were over 26, you would pose the least resistance when shit hit the fan. I can barely move now. They were right.
Now, I write this in hopes that it'll reach someone who CAN do something. You see, I've been feeling...funny. But it comes it waves. One day I'm fine, the next is sketchy. Today is a good day. I always thought it would be some debilitating disease that got me. Now, I'm not so sure.
Good luck, whoever you are....
|
I slowly lifted the satin duvet off my frail body. I reoriented my body so that I was sitting on the edge of my bed. Upon peeking at my weak knees and thin translucent skin on my legs, I began to cry. I traced my blue thick veins with my eyes and was struck with the nightmare that was currently my life—I am aging.
Only a few weeks’ prior was I enjoying my frivolous life as a 25 years old. Now, I realized that I could not pinpoint my age, however it was well past 25. It was disgusting.
I rose from my king sized bed, peering over my shoulder to see the empty spot next to me. After my first signs of age, Ryan left me instantly, practically ashamed to have been sleeping with an elder lady. The thought of Ryan brought tears to my eyes again, and I blinked them away to clear my vision. What else would he have done? I would never expect a youthful gentleman like him to remain with a woman turning into a prune.
I passed by my golden mirror and didn’t dare glance at it, for I knew I would be petrified by the ghastly sight. I dragged myself to the kitchen where I grabbed the bottle of anti-depressants. I then settled on the couch and nestled myself in my unwashed bathrobe, allowing the tears to continuously flow down my face. I decided that I should take my mind off this agony and sat up a bit so that I could reach for the remote. A cold shudder raced through my body as I saw the face I have been trying to avoid for so long—me. Through the glistening black screen TV I saw my sagging face and streaks that ran across my face. As I cried, I watched as the corners of my eyes creased extensively to mimic the feet of a crow. A monster, I whispered as I ran through my frigid hair. I’m going to die just at the sight of my dysfunctional face.
I needed to check and see. I needed to see how far along I am. After the announcement about the failure of the drug to hold, members of the Lost Generation were equipped with a watch that informed them how old there features look at a certain moment.
I activated the watch, and shuddered at the number that was blinking before my eyes.
35.
| 2018-06-04T22:20:25 | 2018-06-04T21:44:29 | 63 | 42 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"The international community hereby charges you with War Crimes committed during the defeat of the so-called Islamic State. On your orders, a brutal campaign of destruction, fear and even forced conversions were taken place. Even civilians were not exempt. It says here that several mosques were torn down, often with people still inside them. Forced confessions of 'dealing with demons' gained through torture were obtained. Frankly I could go on for hours Mr. Felipe, but I would rather not. What do you have to say for yourself?"
The man leaned back into his chair. He took a moment to compose his thoughts before rising.
"Your honor, the proper term of address is 'Your Majesty.' I do not accept the change to the constitution. And as to the charges, I did indeed order every one. I simply ordered what needed to be done." This statement elicited a gasp from the members of the press. The man began again quickly, before he could be interrupted.
"You all saw the Islamic State and saw just another terrorist organization. I saw a rebirth of an old enemy. It was if Carthage had risen again from Libya and wished to wage war against Italy. So I had to fight fire with fire so to speak. The methods used were tried and true against just such an enemy in my own country centuries ago. They wished to fight a religious war, so I gave them one."
The crowd was dead silent. Nobody had any idea what to say. But the man on trial just smiled.
"Besides, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition."
|
"Liechtenstein? Really? How the hell did Liechtenstein take out ISIS? And who the hell *is* Liechtenstein?"
President Trump's face was beet red. General Bundy's hands shook as he recited the relevant facts: small, German-speaking mountain principality on the Austrian border.
"So how'd they do it? This had better sound at least as good as your, "Bomb them back to the Carboniferous Period and take their oil" strategy, or..." the Donald's famous hair shook as he delivered his catchphrase, "You're Fired!"
General Bundy gulped. There was no good way to deliver the news. "You see, Mr. President, they joined your coalition and sent fourteen soldiers, and they made a friend over there."
"A friend?!"
"But that was just the beginning. That friend went back and made two friends. And those two went back and each made two more, and so on and so forth... until after a few months, everyone in Iraq and Syria had pen pals in Europe, and had reorganized their countries on EU lines."
"Well, General, I can't really... oh screw it. YOU'RE FIRED!"
General Bundy walked out without a word. He sighed, reached into his pocket for his smartphone and dialed the Liechtensteiner embassy. "Hi... Yes. I need a friend. Yes. Thank you. I'll be right over."
Edit: Closed quotes, corrected a typo, and replaced "Liechtensteinean" with proper form
| 2016-01-29T10:18:49 | 2016-01-29T06:57:30 | 389 | 190 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily.
|
*BANG!*
There went my eye. That’s the 5th time this week some fucker thought he could end me by putting one in my eye. How long will it take for them to realize that their guns need to hit the lizard brain to actually work! With a shot at the eye, you couldn’t get a good angle unless you were on a goddamn podium. Still, I played the part and went down. I waited until they had picked through the apartment. By the time they were done the virus had kicked in. “Hey fuckers, I got some advice; aim for the base of the skull!” I said as I blasted them away with my shotty.
I feel a little bit of explanation is in order. You see, in the year 2025, a Chinese bio weapon went out of control. It was an advanced prion disease, lodging itself in the victim’s brain stem, which controls the more basic aspects of our bodies. It gave them enhanced endurance, a seeming immunity to pain, and the ability for their bodies to grow lost limbs. However, this happened because the ‘lizard-brain’ grew in size, causing damage and shrinkage to the rest of the brain, and an according drop in intelligence. However, by 2035, most of humanity had seemingly become immune to the virus. This was untrue, for in 2047, the remaining human population seemed to have symbiotically bonded with the prions; now, they no longer had the immunity to pain or as much of an endurance boost, but they kept the healing factor and some of the endurance, as well as their intelligence. A year after ‘Transcendence,’ as those who were poetically inclined called it, we started receiving weird signals on our radios. a year after that, the visitors came.
Unfortunately for me, they heard the shots. The biggest one kicked down the door. He was probably 8 feet tall, and had a Gatling plasma gun. He was flanked by two of the foot soldiers, who used automatic rifles. Needless to say, in a few seconds I was covered in 4th degree burns.
At first their intentions were peaceful. They believed humans would be able to assist them with some kind of war or something. However, when they saw how mineral rich Earth was, and how small our population had become after the hordes, they decided enslaving us to mine our own planet dead would be a good idea. Of course, they didn’t know how hard it is to kill us. They still don’t, I don’t think.
I got back up, hurting like a motherfucker, but my muscles having healed enough to use them. I picked up my shotty, and loaded the underbarrel, and fired, the round piercing deep into the big one. He exploded quickly, and I blew the small ones’ heads off.
In the aftermath of the invasion many people found out that while they were resistant to guns because of their armor, it was easy enough to pierce it using explosives or drills. So now we all have at least a power drill on hand. I however, use something a little bit different.
I picked up one of the small rifles. I quickly disassembled it for the parts. I found the parts that actually created the plasma, and shoved them into some more 40mm shells. I loaded another into the chamber, and then headed for the raised banner a mile away.
We may have outlasted the previous world order of constantly buzzing about with everyone else, we may have outlasted the constant hordes of zombies, and we may be outlasting these aliens, but one thing’s for sure.
The Pack is the strength of humanity.
|
Thrawn looked out the window of the Chimaera's bridge and saw the destroyed shells of a human transport.
"Scan it for life one last time, I feel like the sensors may be acting up," the grand admiral calmly ordered. The officer quickly ran another scan and it came up with multiple readings.
"I don't know what's wrong with this machine! There can't be any humans alive on that ship, we blew them to pieces 5 hours ago!" the officer exclaimed.
"Send two boarding ships, I want to know what is on that ship."
Two small transport ships slowly made their way towards the destroyed vessel and attached themselves to the sides of the ship. The drills on the front of the ship started to whirl and the walls fell away and stormtroopers charged into the ship.
Inside, they found bodies all over the floor, only a few still crawling over towards a medical station. They blasted those and moved on throughout the ship, eventually turning into a hallway that was a dead end. Down the hall was one man with his back turned, he was missing an arm and his back was torn up badly.
"Hey, you up there," a stormtrooper officer called out, "who are you and what happened to you?"
The man slowly turned, showing a destroyed face, covered in blood, "I was attacked by your kind, you did this to me. No matter, for I will do you one better." The man smiled and then pressed a button on the wall, causing a door to slam down behind three of the stormtroopers and crushing two more.
"What the hell did you do? You just killed two of my men!" the officer shouted at the man. He looked at his oxygen level and it was dropping very quickly, "What the fuck?"
"Your fate was sealed when your empire invaded humanity's homeland, now you will all suffer the consequences." A hissing sound started from the walls and the stormtroopers began to cough. Two fell dead and the officer simply raised his pistol and shot the man in the head, the shot flying right through him.
The officer's oxygen levels hit zero and a single tear fell down his cheek as he fell dead onto the ground, killed by the gas.
The remaining stormtroopers noticed that the blips of life on their monitors were getting closer. Soon, a few more brutalized men walked around the corner and stared at the stormtroopers, gazing deep into their white armor suits. Finally, a man, barely scarred at all, in an admiral's uniform walked up.
"You have brought this upon yourself, tell that to your admiral. Humanity will not simply be enslaved by the emperor and made to fight in his unjust wars of conquest. You will be the first to know of our true powers, but that secret shall not leave this ship," the admiral told the stormtroopers. He pressed a button on the wall and the closed doors opened and gas slowly filled the ship.
"Why are you alive? How are you alive? We turned this ship into swiss cheese!" One of the men croaked out before falling dead upon a corpse of one of his comrades.
A second man opened fire on the admiral, missing his shots, and then died. Many other stormtroopers curled up into a ball and died, those who ran were shot down or eventually succumbed to the gas.
On the bridge of the Chimera, Thrawn realized that the fight against humanity would be much harder than intially thought.
**this uses star wars characters, I did not make these characters, I only used them to make a short story, this was an EU**
| 2018-09-29T19:38:06 | 2018-09-29T16:23:52 | 39 | 19 |
[WP] An alien race made contact with Earth in 2020. In 2050, you visit a museum dedicated to that historical day. As you look at the markings on the side of the alien ship you realize that you can read them. They are the same symbols that you created back in 2015 to code your personal diary.
|
''Sorry but the museum is closed.''
My watch says it’s 3:30 PM and museum should be open until 5:00 PM and they don’t disclose why the museum is closed this early. When I see the ship I had a vivid flashback from my childhood. It took me some time to rush back home and find my old diary book to be certain but I can’t believe they just closed the museum.
As soon as I turn back to head back home I see a distinct vehicle and I see someone peaking from the window, watching me. Moments later, a lightning bolt strikes near the area and the rain gets stronger. Ultimately, I get distracted and the vehicle is already gone.
I wake up early and I arrive at the museum early. There are only a handful of people besides me visiting the museum. Most of the people from another country eager to see the space ship for the first time. As I enter the museum I see a crowded area near the space ship. They certainly don’t look like usual visitors. I get close to them and I see that they are wearing special clothing one that has a protective layer to cool down the body temperature. They communicating with high pitch noise standing near the ship. They turn around and they look at me with their grey eyes, they are watching me carefully.
''I’ve never met your kind. Can you understand me?'' I say.
When they first came to this planet they weren’t able to speak our language vocally. In time, they started using devices that convert their native language to our language but they only use that device when they really want to talk to you. Most of the time they don’t communicate with humans and they don’t appear in public places.
One of them points my backpack. I put my backpack on the ground and I open it.
''I’m sure this is not the first time that you are seeing a human-made backpack.'' I say.
He approaches me slowly while others talk with each other.
''My name is Hans.'' I point myself.
''Hello Hans, I haven’t see you in a while.'' He says.
''Excuse me?'' I get confused.
My diary book opens by itself and it flies towards his hands gently.
''I had no idea you could do that.'' I say.
He starts to turn the pages, ''I’m glad we’ve found you.''
--------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
|
"Well shit." I sighed, getting up from the couch to get something stronger to drink.
"What do you think those symbols mean?" my roommate pondered, still watching the news coverage.
"You don't want to know." The bead of sweat forming on my forehead started to move.
"Like you know..."
"Mmmm hmm.." my non answer just made him more curious.
"Oh yeah, just tell me. How bad can it be?"
I sighed. "Sex cult. Alien sex cult."
He burst out laughing. "What, like that Robert Heinlein book? Now I know you're having a laugh."
"Haha, yeah..." I dropped the topic.
---- 1 year later ----
"What do you mean 'disappeared', an entire platoon of soldiers doesn't just disappear?!" The General was starting to lose patience.
"They engaged the female associate, then they just vanished as if they were never there. It's like some sort of divine intervent.."
"Shut up, there's enough bloody brainwashed fools in that cult. We don't need anyone thinking the Martian has divine powers too. How do we kill this guy?"
"Play by their rules sir?"
"What?"
"Well they eat their dead, so just convince his followers he's dead and they'll do the rest."
"How the bloody hell are we meant to do that?"
"Simple sir, gossip. It doesn't matter if it's true if enough of them believe it. Just get a few believing it and it will spread like wildfire."
"Try it, what's the worst that can happen?"
---- 1 week later ----
"Told you."
"Damn. How did you know?" My roommate was eating his words, and paying up his bet.
"Remember that encoded journal project from junior?"
"You filled yours with porn didn't you?"
"Yep."
"How did the same symbols end up on an alien spaceship?"
"Beats me."
"And I didn't actually expect the archangel thing either, that sort of came out of nowhere."
"You did read Heinlein's book right?"
"Dude, that's what sparknotes is for."
"Do you at least remember the video:
Now it's time for more *Deep Thoughts with Heinlein*
The kid from Mars is actually an angel. Who've thunk?
That concludes our *Deep Thoughts with Heinlein*
| 2020-05-29T05:31:26 | 2020-05-29T05:24:31 | 374 | 144 |
[WP] A burglar enters a home by forcing the window open. Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains cover all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turn on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echo around the house.
|
"Player two has entered the game!" The voice echoed down the halls. A ball of flesh pressed into a corner of the basement stop shaking. "Yessssss" It whispers to itself. Long ago the creature was player two as well, now it was player one. "More blood, so much more blood." The little creature cackled as it pulled itself from its' nest of corpses. "More blood to set him freeeeeee~" The emaciated man chattered in glee, before scampering off into the darkness.
"No, no.. No... NO GODDAMMIT LET ME OUT!" The thief screamed at the stell curtian. "I will not play your little fucking game!" His nails little more than bloody fragments of what they used to be. He has been scratching at the curtain hoping to make enough sound to get some kind of attention from outside. It wasn't supposed to be like this, this was just supposed to be some house. He had been watching it for weeks now, the family was loaded and they left for a vacation trip. This shouldn't be a thing, This wasn't some kind of horror movie. "Choose your weapon!" The voice echoed throughout the house once again. The burglar turned wide eyed looking into the awaiting darkness. "A firearm, lord please give me a fucking gun."
"Claws and teeth, to set the blood free." The wretched man screamed gleefully when the announcer gave them the tools of choice. "More blood to set him free, and so much meat to feast upon for meeeeee~" The little monster was doing an awkward yet quick quadrapedal hobble through the darkness. "Ican smell you player two~~" The little monster screeched. "You smell like a tasty meal to me!" He giggled and kept hopping along, searching, hunting, needing.
Lights flickered, seeming to lead deeper into the home turned nightmare fuel. "There better be something worth all this." The thief mumbled to himself as he edged deeper and deeper in. With the initial fear gone, all he had was irratation and rage. "Player two bullshit... I am no one's player two, player one all the way."
"Challangers, Face one another and prepaaaaaaaaaaare for COMBAT!" The voice bellowed as the theif finally made it to what looked like a kitchen. Sitting on the island was a little man covered in what looked like blood and feces. The smell alone was a vicious assualt. "State your name for the viewers at home!" The anounce said once again, seeming to loose a sense of what was just stated. "Jake from statefarm." The thief said sarcastically, still trying to get over the smell coming from the little gremlin still perched on the kitchen island. "Today... I am..." The little man tilted his head seeming to listen to something unseen. "Bobby!" The man cried excitedly, as though something magical happened within his mind. "Weapons have been choosen, Jake from statefarm has choosen...." A click was heard as a drawer slid open, revealing a glock 17, "A firearm" Jake's audio clip was played over what was ever providing the voice. "Bobby has choosen..." The little man clapped happily while yelling in perfect unison with his recording, "Claws and teeth." The lights in the room went from the soft yellow to a hard red. "BEGIN!" The announcer roared.
Jake grabbed the gun as quickly as he could and began firing at Bobby. The shots were wild and untrained, each bullet going wide of the mark, and finding home in the appliances behind the little creature. Bobby leap forward, screeching like a horny cockatiel. "Blood, Blood, Blood just for me!" Jake hit a wall and kept slamming the trigger after all it did was click. Bobby slammed him hard in the chest forcing the air from the man's lungs and both of them falling to the red lit tiled floor of the kitchen. The claws found blood hiding under the flesh and teeth tore at bone badly protected by muscle. A few scream filled moments it was over. Player one was perched victoriously upon player two's chest as blood leaked and seeped from various wounds that littered the second player's face, throat and chest. "Victory goes to player One!" The announcer yelled breathlessly. "What is player one's reward?" The announcer whispered over the sound system, awaiting player one's decision.
"More blood!" He giggled.
|
The curtains flung pass behind me. They wouldn't open, either. So I slammed down with my fist, and came out with a throbbing fist. That wasn't going to work either. I looked around, for some other entrance. I may be a burglar, but I know bad decisions, when they kick me from behind, drag me to the floor, and proceed to smash my brains out. I looked around, at book shelfs, at a table, at a chair, at laptops, and some very nice iPads. Sooner I was out of this weird place, sooner I could sell some stuff, and get some bosh. Sooner I could get some bosh, sooner I could give some bribes. Sooner I could give some bribes, sooner I could steal some stuff. Go back to the start. It was a very nice closed cycle. Unfortunately, it seemed I was going to have some trouble.
I saw a thing flash past. The door was wide open, by the way, and the lights very much lit. I peered out, into a long, carpeted hallway, and I saw a mirror. Or, at least, I thought a mirror. He was wearing black top, blue jeans, and what looked like parts of broken trainers. When my shadow moved, I could tell that he was not such the case.
I lifted up my knife. Ive always thought that guns were just to messy, and to loud, for my kind of work. His knife lifted as well. I said "We know what we want..." in a light, and, oh well, yes, a shaky voice. "Yes, we definetly do... Now, It seems that you have gotten us stuck. So get us out!". He obviously wasn't so scared of a guy with a knife. Well, I hadn't been going to long. "I... I don't know how. I mean, you were obviously here first." I explained. "And how would you know that?" "Well, considering it said player two, I mean, I kinda thought..." "So you heard it too." "Yes" "Well. Great. Good. So , mastermind, if you're so smart, how do you suppose we get out of this metal box?" he questioned. I didn't really know, I mean, its not as if you prepare yourself for being in a metal box and getting out of it everyday, do you? Do you? God I wish I could talk to people in the future. Or look into the future. I might not get trapped in metal boxes so much. Any way, I looked to my left, where a long staircase led up, and up, and up. I said "You first..." and he pushed me forward. I got the jist of it, and started up the steps.
Up and round, the staircase went, and after many steps, we reached the top. We had passed a few landings along the way, all with metal across the doors, and iron across the windows. What was this, a prison, or a house? The door at the top, had greek lettering on it. Προσοχή, μια ύδρα, was what it said. The phrase 'its all greek to me' came up a good few times. Anyways, it was the only door left unlocked, and so I turned the handle, and let the door creak open... Actually, I should tell you about the door. It was a dark, wooden, oak door, obviously intended to be strong, and hard, and the scratches on the door did worry me a bit. Have I told you about the flooring? No? Ill just get to the...
A giant hydra was lying behind the door. It was sleeping, luckily. My other 'Friend' had left me behind the strong oak, and called "You alright?". I decided to never let him know. There was another door, oak, behind the hydra. I sneaked past, and shouted to him "Come through!" And slammed the door behind me. I was outside, dawn was breaking, and the world was generally shining. I hope my little friend had a snuggly time with that beast.
J2D28U
- please tell me how bad
my work is BUT also tell
me how to improve it.
Thank you for reading! -
| 2016-10-05T10:37:19 | 2016-10-05T10:06:35 | 217 | 25 |
[WP] Somebody once told you the world is going to roll you. However, you are the sharpest tool in the shed.
|
Somebody once told me the world was gonna roll me
Though I *was* the sharpest tool in the shed.
Well she wasn't really wrong,
I had blades and I was long
For a mower well I killed that grass dead.
But the years kept coming and the grass kept growing,
Fed me some oil so my motor kept running.
Didn't make sense just to cut and run
So I stayed in the shed when my job was done.
So much to do, so much to see,
So she hired someone to use me.
But cleaning me wasn't the deal
And that's when my shit got real.
Hey now, you're a rock star
Get your show on, go play.
Hey now, you've gone so far,
No one's left here,
Just me.
And all that glittered is brown,
Only rust and dirt
Are my friends now.
|
Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me
Though, I am the sharpest tool in the shed
I was feeling pretty smart
But then there came the cart
And I landed flat on my forehead
Well, the years keep comin and they don't stop comin
Though I was bright the world had me runnin
Didn't make sense why my smarts fell through
Now I don't know what to do
Nowhere to run nowhere to hide
Shit luck ruins anyone's life
Karma hits like a flood
When Lady Luck wants blood
Hey now
You're unlucky
You have been, always
Hey now
You're unlucky
Till the end of all days
Silver linings don't come through
When the whole world kind of hates you
| 2017-07-01T05:58:59 | 2017-07-01T04:08:40 | 153 | 64 |
[WP] The Bestiary of the Multiverse is a really, really thick book. Updated every two days. It works like a wierd magical Wikipedia, really. You are the mod, and sometimes find real gems between all of the mundane animals. Write your favorite page of this bestiary.
|
**The Gooblin**
Gooblins (*goblina ectoplasimca*) are a rare sub-species of both the Goblin and the Slime family. Not naturally born in the wild from parents, gooblins are created when a goblin (*goblina mundana*) encounters a slime (*ectoplasmica mundana*) and instead of the violent demise of one of the creatures, they merge together, creating a symbiotic link.
The diet of gooblins resembles more closely that of a slime than that of a goblin, partially due to their inability to use their mouth to consume food^((1)), rather relying on breaking the food down on the molecular level in its slime. Gooblins are unable to process refined sugars, however, unlike their un-modified precursors. The current reason for this allergy is unknown. Gooblins are known to have a particular proclivity towards cheese, often storing it in their dwelling (typically a cave) and aggressively protecting it. Some have also shown a liking for alcohol, often finding it either in fermenting fruit or stealing it from human or goblin camps.
Unlike goblins, who live a highly social life and operate in tribes, gooblins are solitary and rarely leave their dwelling for a purpose other than obtaining more food^((2)). As gooblins are not created by typical procreation, they do not need to mate, further limiting their need to leave their caves, though some have been recorded to behave cordially towards visitors. More typically, however, intruders are killed and eaten^((3)).
Most curious aspect of the gooblin is their ability to operate machinery and technology^((4)) when given the opportunity to do so. This suggests a higher-level cognitive ability, albeit reserved for these operations exclusively and not other tasks such as problem-solving. There is currently no known reason for this ability considering that neither goblins nor slimes possess it.
&#x200B;
*References:*
1. *The Life Cycle of Peculiar Animals by Petri Flomdiss*
2. *Creatures of the World by Caco D. Dorkly*
3. *Animal Psychology by Skelli W. Azorius*
4. *Technological Advancements in Animal Kingdoms by Lily Rats, Esq*
|
**Ulceritis Seratis (Creeping Rot)**
*Ulceritis Seratis* is the causative agent of the infectious disease known as Creeping Rot referred to as C-Rot [1]. C-Rot normally affects the extremities of exposed individuals resulting in the decay and decomposition of human flesh [2]. Surgical amputation of affected areas is the only current treatment [citation needed]. Untreated, C-rot results will normally result in sepsis and death. Case fatality rate for untreated individuals is 100% [3].
First documented on Zephyr-9, a hydrogen mining facility inadvertently aerosolized the *Ulceritis Seratis* particles resulting in complete contamination of the facility and the deaths of all inhabitants [4]. No full-scale contamination has occurred since the Zephyr-9 incident with following exposures limited to individual cases often associated with laboratory and field survey of planets within the Zephyr system [5].
The biology of *Ulceritis Seratis* classifies the particles as class-9 alien bacterial-like [6]. Similar mineral-based bacteria such as *Crysosia Crysosia* and *Inferim Petuculus* do not result in human-infection, but have resulted in similar contamination among reptilian species [7].
Research is ongoing; however, due to the limited nature of contamination and infection, the ISPC has rated the agent as low-priority resulting in no scheduled vaccination or treatment options [8].
References
[1] Grant, Xi Long. Ulceritis Seratis: Clinical Definition, 2245
[2] Phillips, Harold. Treatment options: Ulceritis Seratis, 2243
[3] Counsel on Inter-dimensional Disease. Ulceritis Seratis: Epidemiology and Intervention, 2252
[5] Mining Division - Federal Arms. Security Briefing: Zephyr System, 2250
[6] Counsel on Inter-dimensional Disease. Classifications per NC435 treatise, 2231
[7] Axstyrs. Disease among Ghrsiof Colonists, 2253
[8] ISPC. Research Prioritization Schedule, 2254
| 2022-12-11T13:12:53 | 2022-12-11T12:17:18 | 188 | 113 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
“Is this turning into some kind of moral test?”- I ask, tired. Exhausted.
My blood is white. This has been a surprise, yes, never expected, and in fact, to me, completely irrelevant for all that matters. However, everyone around seems to be realizing more than they had wished. They look at me, and, not answering, they leave me alone, and not even closing the door , they start whispering.
From my watery eyes, I can barely see some black dressed priest who seems to have just arrived, looking at my blood sample with stupor, and the police speaking fast, probably repeating him my story.
Yes, I was the only suspect on the death of my beloved Helen, after 38 years of a shared life. And the detective knew all the details: the years of suffering after the diagnosis, my pain of seeing her leave my side, day after day being a little less herself, and a little more in agony; only memories remaining every now and then to bring us together. The degradation of the last months, the last medical reports. And the internet history searches, even if we tried to hide them, even if we tried to not make them real, looking for the best possible way to let her go before it was too late for her to keep being who she was, and not being able to decide anymore. Afterwards, her blood tests, white, as I knew they will, since she was the sweetest and best person I could ever have crossed in my life; and full of \*\*\*, pointing towards a fast and relaxed death. I never admitted anything. How could I said I have killed her?! This is not what I have done. She asked me, for my love, to help her.
And now, also my blood is white. And the detectives, the police, and the church, are all probably debating what to do, either with me, or with the message my blood is bringing. I don’t care. I don’t want this white blood, I want it black like the night, so maybe I am sent to her side faster than waiting for the few years I have left as an old destroyed man who killed the love of his life.
&#x200B;
\*edited to fix a typo. Also, to thank those who read and hopefully enjoyed. I am not english native speaker, but the WP suggestion was too good to let it go, I hope your eyes did not hurt.
|
Death may seem like the worst that can happen to you, but I asure you there are fates far worse, like marriage. What started out as a brief yet exciting love affair ended in a life of slavery and torment at the hands of what can only be described as a monster.
It all started going wrong when I accidentally walked in on HER feeding when I was supposed to be a sleep. We were both shocked initially at the discovery, for obviously different reasons. I was shocked because what I thought to be my dutiful loving wife actually turned out to be something, other. SHE was shocked because at that moment SHE still had half of a human leg sticking out of the inhuman cavern of teeth that used to be a mouth. Things changed after that.
Soon my life consisted of serving this creature on pain of a horrible rending death. My every waking moment filled with pain and servitude. I grew in despair and just as I was ready to take my own life a glimmer of light shone into my darkness lifting me up with hope, SHE had a weakness. I determined then and there to end this or die trying.
Detective Simmons shook his tired and weary head, not another nut job psychopath, all I need. I had been listening to this psycho babble for over five hours now and his story made even less sense than when he started.
"OK Mister Cummings I think that will do for now, we have everything we need from you. You do understand the seriousness of this, were not talking life here, were talking the death penalty.". At that moment the psycho started uncontrollably laughing as if I had said something so funny it would make you cry, then he did, uncontrollable.
Just as I was about to book him for the murder of his wife a knock on the door.
"Sir the results have just come in, its white."
I let that sink in for a while, trying to grasp what I had just heard, it wasn't all the blood on him, or even the crazed look in his eyes that had convinced me, it was his resolute conviction his wife was a monster, such delusion had to mean this derranged man was the culprit. I breathed out a deep sigh.
"Well Mr Cummings, it looks like you are free to go. If we need anything more I'll let you know.". I had a sinking feeling we would never know the truth or find the real killer.
| 2020-02-09T13:17:30 | 2020-02-09T12:50:15 | 55 | 23 |
[WP] You find your soulmate. The only problem is that your 'soulmate' is aiming a gun at you.
|
"What the fuck are you doing in my house?!!!" A voice emanates from behind the barrel of a 9mm.
I raise my hands in the air in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Being quite drunk I waiver slightly, but finally find my balance. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the dark.
"I'm only going to ask you this one more time; What the fuck are you doing in my house?"
I look up and am struck by the most beautiful green eyes and wild red hair.
"I'm...I'm....sor.. sorry, I thought this was my house." I stammer, my heart racing. She doesn't seem convinced.
"That is the sorriest excuse I have ever heard, I'm calling the police now. Don't move, or I'll shoot." She takes a few steps to the right and blindly fumbles for her phone with her free hand.
My mind races. *How the hell did I end up here? The uber dropped me off, I found the house with the Volvo parked in front--my roommates car. I entered our passcode, my cat's birthday, and then I was faced with the wrong side of a 9mm and the most beautiful woman I ever met.*
"Miss, I think this is an honest mistake. Your passcode is 031415 right?"
She froze in her tracks, adjusting her long purple bathrobe. "Yes...How the fuck do you know that?"
"It...It's my passcode too." I stammer.
" Your passcode is also pi?"
"Yes, but it's also my cat's birthday, weird I know." I shrug.
The woman pauses for a moment and whispers. "That's my dog's birthday too."
"Hey, you drive a silver Volvo right?" I add cautiously.
"Yeah...."
"My roommate drives one too."
"So you are telling me you mistook my house for yours?" She askes slowly and deliberately.
"Precisely...the houses in this development all look alike, and I'm new."
She stands still, clearly still assessing her options.
"I can show you my ID." I offer "I'm sure my address is a couple doors down."
She remains still and silent.
"To be honest, I'm kind of drunk right now, I swear I thought this was my house."
"Show me your id." She sighs, still pointing her gun at me. "Reach into your pocket, pull your wallet out slowly and slide it over here."
I follow her instructions. She picks the wallet up in her pale delicate fingers and notes the ID sitting in the transparent pocket in front.
She smiles and laughs a full bellied laugh. "I guess you aren't lying."
"Could you please put the gun down?" I ask sheepishly.
"Sure." She says. "Would you like some coffee before you head next door?"
|
A block of cement chips off in a flash of dust just above my head.
He is getting closer. But so am I.
He is in a bunker about 200 yards from my position, waiting for me to slip up. I like to think maybe he misses on purpose, but I know the game. We are the best at our craft. So far as I am aware, neither of us have lost a duel like this, and we are both heavily decorated by our respective motherlands...
...I suppose he would say "fatherland", but I cannot fault him for being raised in that backward country... I digress.
He is my soulmate, whether he realizes it or not. We are of the same breed - hunters. Patient, precise, efficient. There is no question in my mind about what he is to me. That he is my enemy goes without saying. But like a master artist who cannot remove from their mind the masterworks of their contemporaries, so to does the image of Heinrich dance behind my eyes.
His image is so vivid - though I have never met the man - that I can imagine his exact position, nearly a mirror of mine: back against the concrete bunker, rifle at his side, and a cigarette he can't light until he is sure that I am no more, just as much for stealth as to savor his victory. I imagine for a moment that he can see me in the same way, idly picking up my own lighter, when another chunk of concrete knocks it out of my hand.
"You are impatient, my love!" I shout, fully aware that I may as well have called his mother horrible names for all he understands Russian.
In one motion, I pick up and fling my lighter into the cold field below and level my rifle at where I imagine him sitting, hoping that the lighter's metal casing might have distracted him enough to allow me time to take aim. Miraculously, it works. He fires as soon as the lighter leaves my hand, and I can barely make out his hands working the bolt of his rifle through the smoke of his shot, readying the next round.
Normally, I would have adjusted. I would have made a measurement in that split second to find where his head was going to be by the time my bullet got to him. Instead, I shot straight for his trigger finger, just as he'd zeroed in his next shot.
In the process of going through his finger, the his rifle, and eventually his chest, his rifle also fired, the bullet tearing through the left side of my own chest. I collapse to the ground and smile to myself, as blood dribbles along my cheek, and I can just imagine him, on his back in a bunker some 200 yards away, smiling back.
| 2018-07-13T16:01:39 | 2018-07-13T15:08:18 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] In an alternate reality JK Rowling died writing The Deathly Hallows and requested George RR Martin finish the book. He accepted and takes over at the Battle of Hogwarts with no instruction on how it's supposed to end.
|
George looks over the draft and immediately begins talks with several studios on producing a live action tv series based on the wildly popular books. He then shelves the manuscript whilst making several promises several years apart that he is nearly finished.
The show gains wild popularity and takes a wildly different turn than what the original cannon had talked about. The show wraps many years later and George dies before he can finish his "almost finished" book that the original fans have been waiting fucking years for.
Anyone who ever picked up the Harry Potter series wished they never touched it and curse the day they got involved with another unfinished story.
|
Voldemort aimed his wand at the assembled group: Hermione, the Weasleys, Neville, Peter and Luna - a short sizzling snap of energy and a blinding flash.
They all lay there dead, their wands burned to ash. Only Hermione survived, but was in the throes of her last agonal breaths. She looked to Harry, blood oozing from her eyes.
Harry stood in shock, anger welling up inside him.
"Yes," Voldemort beckoned, "let the anger and hate fill you."
| 2017-09-03T08:03:05 | 2017-09-03T07:50:27 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] A tiny dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from being stolen.
|
The bell above the door of the menagerie tinkled as Gilda pushed her way inside, her little arms heaving against the bottom half of it as her father leaned against the upper to aid her entrance. The front-end of the store smelled like freshly struck lightning and midnight herb, its busy shelves and units filled to the brim with cages, foodstuffs, and accessories for the discerning pet owner.
"No, don't touch," Marten said, smiling down at his daughter as she dashed from display to display, inspecting everything as closely as she could. He checked his pocket watch. They had a short while before his wife's appointments were complete. Enough time to indulge the girl's interests for a moment or two.
"Hello there, can I be of any help?" A young lady walked through the screen of faux reeds covering the doorway into the back of the establishment. She pulled thick, blackened gloves from her hands and set them under the countertop.
"We're just looking, thank you," Marten replied, flicking his eyes back to his daughter. But it was too late.
"Yes please!" the girl cried, running to the counter and standing on her toes to see over it. "I want something fierce and wild."
The woman smiled at the girl, and then gave Marten a questioning glance. "Well, would you like to look at something fierce and wild?"
"Yes!" and "No, thank you," said Gilda and Marten at the same time. He sighed and nodded. Perhaps sating the girl's curiosity would be enough. Perhaps not.
"I have just the thing," the woman said, and stepped back behind the screen. Some strange sounds preceded her return. Scratchings and scrabblings. Squawkings and screeches. Marten instinctively stepped closer to his daughter and drew her too him. Gilda didn't seem to notice his concern and tried to pull away, eager to get as close to whatever was in the room beyond.
After a minute or two, the woman returned. A fresh scratch along her arm gave Marten pause, but her poise and tone as she spoke put him at ease.
"This, is a Shuggo."
She lifted her hands, palm open, to display a small, plant-like creature. Its legs, its fronds, splayed outwards from a central flower that pulsed with light and warmth. It wriggled in place, before contracting inwards and leaping off on to the countertop. There, it strutted, gangly limbs neatly intersecting as it marched, to a jug of water near the edge. It threw up one of its limbs and ducked it beneath the surface, rhythmically moving back and forth as it drank.
"Isn't that lovely, Gilda?" Marten asked, reaching out and tentatively stroking one of the Shuggo's frond legs. It recoiled at his initial touch, but after a moment seemed to relax. It buzzed as he stroked it and released a small cloud of pollen.
"She likes you," the woman smiled.
Gilda was less impressed. She leaned as close as she could from beneath the counter, eyes squinting, and pulled a face.
"That's not fierce," she said.
Marten frowned and rolled his eyes at the shop owner.
"We're not here to buy something though, are we dear," he began, but he could already see the tantrum building.
"Alright, alright," he placated. "Do you have something, perhaps of a similar size, that might be more suited to what my daughter is after?
"Of course." The woman nodded deferentially and carefully picked up the Shuggo. It seemed frustrated at its drink being cut short, but soon nestled into the crook of her arm as it was carried back behind the screen.
Marten thought about attempting to leave while she was away. Gilda didn't need another pet. She barely played with the dog they'd bought her last year as it was. But if it could keep her happy for a time, was there much harm? Whatever it was, he could always have one of the help take on the responsibility of caring for it. As long as it wasn't too destructive.
A thin gout of flame shot through the reed screen, singing a black ring in it and causing some to drop to the floor, dark and twising. Marten stepped back instinctively, but Gilda jumped up and down in excitement. The menagerie owner pushed through the screen with a small lizard on her shoulder. It danced between them, beating its miniature wings as it did so.
"They can't quite fly at this age, but youthful Cloud Drakes are boisterous. And fierce," she added, leaning down and winking at Gilda. The girl bounced with excitement and reached forward as the creature leapt onto the counter, swishing its tail aggresively.
Marten reached for his daughter, concern written on his face, but the shop owner beat him to it and placed a calming hand on the dragon, and another on his daughters outstretched hands.
"You mustn't grab him. He's an ornery little fellow when it comes to new faces."
Gilda pulled a sulking face. Marten knew what came next. The prospect of his daughter being burned was no less terrifying.
"We'll take it," he said, hurriedly. "I presume you can supply food and housing for it, also?"
"Naturally," the woman said, reaching for one of the cages along a nearby shelf and placing it down on the countertop.
She leaned down close to the girl and spoke softly, conspiratorially.
"The best way to keep a drake like this under control, is to give it something precious."
She reached behind Gilda's ear and with a flourish, produced a bright, golden coin. It was hard to tell who was more impressed, the girl or the dragon, for they both reached for it at the same time. But the woman was too fast for them both. With a flick of her hand it was gone and then, there it was again, resting on the small rocky outcrop inside the cage.
The drake's scaled ears perked up as it saw it again and it snaked across the countertop and into its new home. It walked in circles around the coin, before nestling itself on top of it, smoke curling from its nostrils.
Marten pulled a face, but the look on his daughter's was enough to cinch the deal. He grimmaced again when he learned the price of the thing, but what was he to do?
"How long do they live?" he asked casually, as the help packed their new purchase into the stagecoach's storage compartment.
"Nobody's quite sure," the woman said, handing a bag of mixed, dried meat to one of the attending servants. "No one person has ever lived long enough to track it. Perhaps 100, perhaps 200 years."
Marten sighed. At least it would be someone else's problem before long.
&#x200B;
Edit: Thanks for reading. If you liked this story, I've just written up [another prompt here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bh49xr/wp_the_gamers_have_finally_risen_up/elqyhqx/).
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Ahneus stood, leaning against the haft of his trusted companion Glitter-Hew. The axe stood shoulder high, a mighty two inches. Ahneus of course, stood taller still.
His mind raced as he continued to stare through the refractive portal of Sheet-Water, known to distort the minds of those who are mad enough to peer into its furtive depths. His gaze, fixed upon the hanging wooden home painted with blue acrylics, never wavered, and the only thing that betrayed Ahneus’ sentience was the rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath. He continued to stare as the home twirled on its single supporting thread of Steel-Twine. Its windows, simple hollows carved from the wood itself, were twice the height of Ahneus. The monster living in that home must be enormous indeed.
A series of rapid, deep breaths betrayed the position of his lieutenant, Gild. Born of the people that call themselves the Tahti-fae, Gild had joined him in his cause many moons prior. Ahneus waited, allowing his lieutenant to recover.
“Herra Swift-Wit, I come to you as the bearer of bad news. The termites of Broadbeam have revoked their allegiance. I fear that it is only a matter of time before the alliance crumbles.”
Ahneus remained still, allowing his thoughts to percolate through his consciousness. Gild stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back. He knew better than to interrupt.
“Thank you for relaying the word to me Gild. As always, I am grateful for your friendship.” Ahneus’ face remained emotionless, betraying nothing of his mood.
Gild shifted his weight, staring at his feet as a blush colored his cheeks. “I am not worthy of your friendship Herra Swift-Wit. If it pleases you, I believe that there may be a prize that will convince the termites to join us once more. Their allegiance may even be enough to coax others to our aid.”
“Go on”
Gild paused to collect his thoughts. Ahneus’ insight was vast, and Gild was sure that Ahneus knew exactly what he would say. “The termites have sent a crier stating that they will rejoin the alliance for nothing less than the expansion of their territory along their eastern borders. Unfortunately, this expansion would push into the boundaries of the Mauste Pixies, who as you know are not currently our allies. They have told us previously that they will join our cause for one prize, and one prize only…”
“The Golden Coin.”
Gild nodded. “That is correct Herra. They desire nothing more, nothing less.”
“There is nothing more that they could desire. The coin holds immense power, and has been out of our reach for centuries.” Ahneus stretched his back, rising to his full, towering height. “Well then, my path has been laid before me. I will have to challenge the beast.”
Gild grasped Ahneus’ arm, unable to reach his shoulders. His eyes were wide. “Ahneus, please! Is this not the height of folly? The beast has rained devastation upon some of our most vicious foes. Why would we fare better?”
A bellow of laughter shook the wooden ledge, nearly knocking Gild from his perch. Ahneus shook, as his chest heaved, a forge bellows in action.
“Worry not my friend, I am no weakling. Our foes are no doubt weaker than I, and I can prove it through this one simple task. I will brave the harsh climes of Splintered-Wood, and retrieve the Golden Coin.”
Leaping from the ledge, he landed on the rough ground of Fresh-Scent-Ruffled-Cushions with a soft thump. Gild did his best to scramble down, while Ahneus walked at a leisurely pace towards the gate.
“If you must go Herra Swift-Wit, I urge you to take me with you!”
“Ah, so it’s back to ‘Herra’ now is it.” Ahneus threw over his shoulder, “You know I must face this trial alone Gild. You must lead my men in my absence.”
“But what if you do not return?”
Ahneus spun to face his lieutenant, all joviality gone. “Do not jest Gild. I may fail, but I will always return. If there is one thing I am aware of, it is my own mortality. I will ensure that I come back, no matter that sacrifices I must make.”
With that final reassurance, Ahneus walked to the gate, signalling his guards to lift the portcullis. Without a single glance behind him, he strode confidently through the small tunnel, as the guards shut the gate behind him.
_____________________________________________________
Ahneus trekked through the textured plains of Splintered-Wood, his bare feet stabbed with each careful stride. A permanent grimace was etched into his face.
When the sun had fallen below the gigantic wooden beam a few paces before him, Ahneus paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and to sharpen Glitter-Hew.
“Well old friend, this is it. We either win this battle, returning as heroes, or die trying. The fabled guardian of the coin has not seen fit to grant mercy to any assailants before me. What say you to farewells before the battle?”
He paused. His axe, of course, did not respond.
“A confident reply! Let us take the coin by force!” Ahneus’ face was split by his grin, and he began to shimmy up the wooden posts. His thighs bled, as wooden shards stabbed him repeatedly.
Finally grasping the beam, Ahneus pulled himself up in time to hear a growl of warning from the wooden home above him.
“Turn around and retreat, warrior. It has been my displeasure to fend off many before you, snuffing out their lives as quickly as I would the lights of the Fire-beetles.”
Ahneus tensed, holding Glitter-Hew at the ready. “I cannot do that creature, as I have no choice but to claim the coin for my own. May I ask your name before we begin?”
“My name? I have not been asked that in centuries... I have many names, but the one I call myself is Pitaa. I care not what you call me, as you shall not be given the chance to use it again.”
And with that final statement, the creature burst from the windows of the wooden home. Ahneus barely had enough time to roll to the side before the beam shivered underneath the weight of the sinuous body before him. A gigantic thirty centimeters long, the creatures scales glittered with an iridescent violet sheen. Its diamond sharp claws dug furrows into the wood of the beam, as the creature recovered from its leap. Its wings remained furled, the drop having been a short hop for the creature.
Ahneus now knew exactly what manner of creature Pitaa was. A creature that had been absent from the realms of Fresh-Scent-Ruffled-Cushions for millennia.
A creature known only as “Dragon.”
| 2019-04-24T04:12:28 | 2019-04-24T01:12:56 | 859 | 504 |
[WP] it is now legal for children to be sent to jail with adults. You are a man in jail, and your new cellmate is a 6 year old boy.
|
I sat on the edge of my bunk, hands together, eyes scanning the familiar wall opposite. I had been told to expect my new cellmate today, that the few days of blissful solitude since Billy was stabbed with a comb were coming to an end.
Of course, the best cellmate had been no cellmate at all. Isolation might be one of the punishments of prison, but when you spend every day in a concrete box with your fellow scum, a few hours of isolation a night are the most precious hours imaginable.
Aside from no one, Billy hadn't been terrible. He kept to himself, kept quiet mostly, except for during his nightmares. But of course the outside had crept in, as usual, and his life had caught up to him in the way it usually does in here. Stabbed with a comb, filed sharp over the course of days.
Before Billy, it had been Withers. Withers had been a terrible cellmate. He would beat me up when he got bored, and get us both beaten up when he got caught with booze and coke. And when he wasn't beating me up or getting me beaten up he was playing that god awful harmonica. I had to kill Withers in the end, didn't look like anyone else was going to. I suffocated him with my pillow.
I knew my new cellmate would not be as good as nobody, and I had only to hope he would not be as bad as Withers. Another Billy, I supposed, would be acceptable, but of course with another Billy was the risk of coming back to the cell and finding him with a comb in his throat.
Thinking, as I had been, for about ten minutes, my eyes had run out of things to look at on the opposite wall, and had glazed over in disuse. I didn't even see the guard approaching with my new cellmate until he cleared his bullish throat and rattled my cage with his truncheon. My eyes unstuck themselves from the opposite wall, swiveling in my still skull to see how I had rolled.
Well it wasn't nobody, but it didn't seem far off.
"Put your hands on your head," I was ordered, "I'm bringing in your new friend."
Pointlessly complying, I watched as the cell door ground open and my cellmate stumbled in. I could have fit both of his balled fists in one hand, he couldn't have been more than six. The guard uncuffed the boy, eyes on me as if I might leap into action, smother him with a pillow. Finally, he left without a word.
For at least an hour, I stared, baffled, at the child criminal, and he stared, terrified, at me. His matchstick legs almost rattled as he quaked in fear. I couldn't blame him. The mirror had been removed from my cell a few cellmates back (it was broken anyway) but I knew I was a grim sight. What sort of sight he was, however, I could not say. I couldn't even remember the last time I saw a child, or anyone who wasn't a con or a cop.
"So what are you in here for?" I finally asked.
The boy only cried. This place was fucked.
|
Dan was awoken by the sound of his cell door opening. He shrunk back in his bed, pulled the covers right up to his neck. The last time he had heard his cell door open in the middle of the night, he had felt a searing pain in his side moments later after he was stabbed by Crazy Chad. But it wasn't Chad. It was a guard, and he wasn't alone.
Dan could only see the kids silhouette as he entered. *Not a midget, please* he thought. His new cell mate stepped into the light. It was a child, wearing black and white striped pyjamas with a teddy under his arm. The guard closed the door. Dan and the child looked at each other quietly as the guard walked away.
Dan tried to speak but his throat was dry and he couldn't find the words. Finally, the child spoke.
"What's your name?" He said. Shit, the kid wasn't even scared and Dans hands were shaking under his covers.
"Dan. What's yours?" Dan replied. The kid ignored him. He climbed into his own bed and threw his teddy on the floor. Dan was more tempted to pick it up himself than he liked to admit.
"Why are you in prison?" The little boy said. Dan didn't know what to say. He'd told everyone else that he was in for the murder of his ex wife, but he wasn't. He would become Chads new bitch if he told them the real reason. But this was a kid, what would be the harm?
"I lied to some people for some money." He finally answered. "Nothing bad. I'm not a bad person." He said. He didn't know why he was saying this, why he cared what the kid thought of him. He reminded him of his own son. The son he hadn't seen in 4 years. "We're not bad people, kid."
"I'm bad." The kid said. He sat up in his bed and faced Dan. "I'm naughty." He said.
"No you're not, kid, you must be like 6 years old. You're not bad. You shouldn't be here." Dan swallowed the lump in his throat.
"I am." The kid insisted.
"Why? What did you do?"
"I killed my sister and my mummy." The kid said, his voice flat and emotionless. Dan sucked in a breath.
"Well, it was an accident, right?" Dan replied. It had to have been an accident, he was a kid.
"Nuh uh." The kid shook his blonde curls.
"You didn't do it on purpose. You didn't mean to." Dan said.
"Did too." The kid said in a petulant voice, like Dan was denying him his favourite ice cream. Dan didn't know what to say. "Casey was crying and she wouldn't shut up, and I don't like crying. It hurts my ears. I put a knife in her tummy and then mummy was crying and it was too noisy. She fell down the stairs." The kid said. "Are you noisy, Dan?"
Dan pulled the covers over his head and popped his thumb into his mouth. He wanted Chad.
| 2014-05-25T06:41:25 | 2014-05-25T06:37:45 | 208 | 101 |
[WP] A field surgeon in a fantasy world has performed life saving surgery on many an orc war band before, unwittingly becoming blood brothers with most of his patients. In his darkest days, his extended family comes to offer their hands.
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They found the human puking in an alley.
Thorveig stood and watched him from across the way. The vomiting drunk hadn’t seen them yet, and probably wouldn’t any time soon. The buildings cast long shadows this far from the torchlight, and the full moon overhead added little. The drunk continued to wretch to the point of dry heaves.
To Thorveig’s left stood his son, Ragnar. He was slightly smaller than his father, but still broad and muscled. His hair was cut in a warrior’s stripe, plaited down his scalp. His hand rested idly on a sheathed dagger at his hip.
Ragnar pursed his lips and blew a quick burst of air around his tusks. In a hunter’s silent cant, it was a simple question: ‘Him?’
Thorveig responded with a small, sharp nod and a burst of air from his nostrils. ‘Yes.’
From behind them came a rapid cluck-cluck of a tongue. Ragnar glanced back to their third member, Grimnar. His shorn scalp was blackened with warpaint in a vicious triangle. He crouched behind them in between the buildings, and he gripped his dagger instead of resting his hand on it. His eyes betrayed his impatience. ‘Get on with it,’ they said. ‘I am eager to be gone from here.’ Ragnar looked back at Thorveig, who nodded once more. Across the street, the drunk had stopped wretching, and was crawling on his hands and knees towards the bottle that had rolled away.
The drunk crawled pathetically towards the bottle in the street. It glinted in the center of his bleary and tunneled vision, dancing back and forth in the moonlight as he padded towards it like a newborn. Just a little bit closer. The bottle was still about half full; that could keep him unconscious until tomorrow night if he finished it all. He reached out a trembling hand, but another was faster than he and grabbed the bottle. He started to whimper. He felt a pair of hands grasp him and lift him to his feet. He flinched away and covered his face.
“Oh, beggin your pardon,” the drunk slurred. “I’m gone home, really, just get my bottle and step on,” he pleaded with whoever was accosting him. The hands grabbing him were strong, stronger than he was on his best day. And he was far, far from his best days.
“Kurkusan,” The voice was iron in velvet, strong enough to pierce through the drunk’s fogged mind but not so loud as to attract attention. The drunk quit squeezing his eyes shut and lowered his hands from his face. Through his tears he saw a face he’d thought-he’d hoped-he’d never see again. Stern brow under a chieftain’s crest of hair, strong jaw with long tusks glinting.
“Thorveig…?” he slurred once more. His eyes drifted down and he shrugged his way out of the orc’s grip. The drunk leaned down, fumbling at the leather vest Thorveig was wearing. He staggered as he opened the vest, exposing a hideous scar that ran from the center of Thorveig’s chest and down towards his left hip. Thorveig opened his arms, fully vulnerable to the drunk’s inebriated ministrations. Ragnar stood to the side with the drunk’s bottle. His face was emotionless, but tiny flicks of his eyes and a subtle twitch of his ears showed his bewilderment to his father.
The drunk ran his fingers along Thorveig’s scar, examining. The trembling seemed to have left his fingers for a moment. He slurred again, inquisitive instead of fearful.
“S’ healing, then?” The alcohol made a mockery of enunciation. He stumbled back and looked Thorveig in the eye.
“Sit pain you at all? How’ur,” he paused to burp. “The muscles on that side. Mobility?” he swayed in front of the chieftain.
Thorveig gently grasped the drunk by his shoulders and smiled softly. “I am well, Kurkusan.”
At the sound of the name, the drunk’s face crumpled into anguish. Tears rolled down his grimy cheeks. His voice became thick.
“Don’ call me that.” He feebly tried to push the massive orc away. “Thass not me. Not. Me. ‘Nymore.”
“I call you by your name, the name of your people, Kurkusan,” Thorveig replied.
The drunk said nothing, crestfallen.
“Kurkusan, you are not well,” Thorveig continued.
“Come, brother. Let us help you.”
|
It was a gloomy day for Darwin both figuratively and literally. You see, Darwin had been getting caught up in some shifty business with the local mad wizard.
“Three days shall be your reprieve,
for thine payment to retrieve.
For if my rules thou wilt not follow, Scorpions tale you shall swallow... or I’ll turn you into a newt or something.”
The mere thought of being turned into a new to or swallowing a scorpions tail made Darwin’s skin crawl. “What was it that old coot wanted” Darwin said to himself, “A sentiment of kinship” called the wizard from across the study. “You wish for me to give you kinship?” The old mage poked his head out from behind a messy stack of parchments “correct!”, “I’m not sure if I can do that”. The wizard leered at the man, his ancient eyes burning with a fury Darwin hadn’t seen from him before. “Then I guess your hands will do” said the wizard as he began to approach Darwin. “M-my what?!” Darwin’s heart began to race, 190/80. “I-I’m sure we could work this out some other way! We don’t wish for this situation to get out of hand now do we?” “Very poor choice of words” and the wizard leapt for the Doctor, but before he knew it Darwin was already halfway down the stairs leading up the tower. It seems his own legs had a better sense for danger than he.
Down the hill, across the courtyard, over the stone fence, and across the field Darwin tan for dear life. How could he live without his hands?! What would he do, he might as well be running down the tracks from a speeding train. Darwin peered back between breaths, seeing that crazed loon who calls himself a Wizard sprinting on all fours like some sort of beast. He most definitely was mad, which only made Darwin believe more in the wizards sentiment about actually taking his hands.
Darwin burst through the bush line and made his way down the trail,”just keep running, don’t stop! Never stop! If you stop you’l-“ *thunk* Darwin’s face was met with the jarring sensation of running into a metal plated wall. “Woah! Who goes there!” Shouted a course yet authoritative tone. “What are yo- Darwin? Why are you running blindly through the forest?” Between breaths Darwin was able to utter “Wizard. Debt. Hands. Help!” The wizard appeared in the glade of trees not soon after Darwin found sanctuary behind the Huntress Ork. “Your hands Boy! Gimme gimme”. “A hand you say?” Said the Orc. “Yes, now HAND it over!”, “Are you seriously making puns!” Darwin shrieked. The old man was about to speak until he coiled back as a whole troop of Orcs joined them in the glade. “Please don’t take this mans hands good sage, for they are the reason we are still alive today” said one of the taller Orcs. “I need payment!” The wizard shouted. “Then take mine” said the Orc shielding Darwin. “Rivala no! How will you hunt?” “For you, I’d lay down my life! You’ve saved countless numbers of my brothers and sisters. It would be an honor!” Rivala said with a great roar. Darwin has known this woman for nearly 3 years, and he’d know a promise she’d keep when she made it. “No take my hands” one Orc said “No mine!”, called another. Soon the opening in the trees and further out was filled with the shouts and cries of Orc warriors screaming about dismemberment and sacrifice.
The wizard raised his hand and silence filled the forest “Well it seems like I’ve gotten what I came for” he said. He produced a jar from his robe and began to wave if back and forth threw the air as if to catch something floating there. “What is he doing?” Said Rivala “I haven’t the faintest idea” Replied Darwin. After a few moments of the wizard dashing and bounding with his empty jar he sealed it with a rather large cork. “This is all I need, some kinship! Looks like you came in rather HANDY after all Doctor!” “I... umm really?” said the warily. The wizard only replied with a yellow grin and a more than unsettling wink and like that, he was gone in a poof of grey smoke.
“Looks like things are settled then?” Rivala said “I guess so.” Darwin replied. “So... would you wish to join us for the evening meal... HANDsom?”
“...”
“Oh come on! That was good!”
| 2020-09-08T22:52:48 | 2020-09-08T20:34:44 | 40 | 16 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
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“Why would you help me?!” The man sobbed, “I’m your enemy!”
The man who was carrying through the charred battlefield paused, “because you and I are the only ones who survived.”
“Oh gods, did you see that thing?” he broke down in tears.
The other man sighed and set him down. He brushed some blood and dirt off his dirty white cloak and sat down next to the man who’d lost his leg. “I’m Obrecht,” the white cloaked one said, “what’s your name?”
“Obrecht?” his jaw dropped, “You're the king!”
He nodded, “I was just crowned in the stead of my father.”
“My name is Rausus, oh king.”
“Drop the formal crap. I’m a human being like you right now. Now can you tell me what happened?”
Rausus was shocked, “you’re covered in blood, surely you-”
“It’s mostly from trying to find survivors.”
“Ah, well...” he took a shaky breath, “there was a monster unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I breathed great gouts of flames and ate men whole. I-I only got away because my best friend pushed me away. The beast got my leg, but it took his life.” He broke down sobbing again.
Obrecht punched him lightly on the shoulder, “you’re a man, aren’t you?” He fell silent. The only sounds were the haunting choruses of crows and this man’s pitiful sobbing.
Obrecht suddenly got up and ran off a little ways. He retched and emptied the contents of his stomach. Rausus stifled his cries and looked up to the man.
“I’m sorry Rausus, but if it’s any consolation, your friend tasted horrible.”
|
I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T07:28:26 | 2017-05-31T07:06:28 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] Upon becoming an adult, everyone is granted a wish. However, whatever they wish for will be doubled next week and quadrupled the week after, continuing every week for the rest of their lives. This process cannot be stopped.
|
Don't wish for *anything*.
Why? Okay, here's an example: Let's say you wish for a single *atom* of hydrogen.
About 78 weeks later, you've got an entire gram of hydrogen. I know, you're not impressed. Just stay with me here.
About 10 weeks after that, you've got a kilogram.
Well, you might think, this is coming along nicely. Let's just let our hydrogen grow for another 10 weeks.
Incidentally, do you know how much a **mega**gram is? Well, you do now, because that's how much hydrogen you have.
Let's cut to the chase again, shall we? You've got about a year after this point, give or take a few months, until there's more hydrogen on Earth than literally *anything*.
Seventeen weeks. That's how long you have after this until enough hydrogen's been created / gathered to start forming another star.
So, three years. You make that one wish for the tiniest possible thing you could think of, and it takes three years to destroy the entire planet. So, like I said before:
**Don't. Wish. For. Anything!**
Wait, what? What do you mean you already wished for something? You fool! You've doomed us all!
Oh, you wished for me to be done with this annoyingly long explanation and stop bothering you?
Oh.
Um....
Okay.
|
"What is your wish?"
I had thought about this. Every adult getting a wish had seriously affected my life. Everything was plentiful. What would I even need? "What are the rules to this wish?"
"Every week your wish shall be doubled," said the omnipotent Voice ringing in my head. Of course, the voice didn't wait until after my girlfriend had left the room. She was still laying next to me, slowly realizing the Voice was talking to me.
"I got my wish after I bought my first car. I wished for a twenty dollar bill to provide for my family," said my dad.
"I got my wish after I saw your sister. I wished for safety so i could see everyone grow to an old age." said my mother.
Of course, they ruined any wishes I could think of. Trusts were put in my sister and my name so we would never want money for anything. Our mother made us damn near immoral, only dying at old age or disease, both almost removed from existence by others' wishes. Food was delicious and plentiful from those that wished for that sort of stuff.
I could travel; wish to have travel plans and see the world. I would wish for a girlfriend, but that was already a horror story from another friend.
"Do I have to wish for something?" I asked.
"Yes."
I thought for a moment. "I wish for a grain of sand to be in my pocket."
| 2017-08-10T10:08:49 | 2017-08-10T08:55:18 | 53 | 36 |
[WP] By Wizard Law, in order to learn a new skill, wizards are required to be apprenticed to a more experienced master. You, a barely trained journeyman fire mage, just took on an apprentice: a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord.
|
“I am not going to just upload my spells to your console if that’s what you were expecting” The journeyman strictly tells the wizard much his senior.
Since the beginning of the empires history, and truly long before that, spells have existed and that was it. Your master uploaded them to your console and bang you could cast the spell. The difference between Wizards was never the spells they had access to but how quickly they could cast them and the quality of the cast spell. A Grandmaster, like the wizard here today, and an Apprentice know the exact same spells, only a Grandmaster can cast a dozen spells at once and have them be much larger just because of the pure power they can put in them.
“What do you mean? Why else am I here? That bastard of a grandmaster of fire just told me I was here to learn new spells. It seemed like he had finally given up on keeping all the fire spells to himself, but I guess that was just a farce.” The grandmaster clearly isn’t pleased by this journeyman’s actions.
“Now now, these aren’t the normal spells at all. You know the incomprehensible symbols on your console?”
“Of course, I know them much better than a fool like you, only reaching journeyman by 50 years of age. And what on earth are you going on about, new spells my ass!”
“I have figured out there meaning! I hovered on the rank of apprentice for years focusing my entire attention on decoding these words of magic along side my late master. I have the ability to make new unique spells by altering existing spells, and I even discovered new unique magic that doesn’t even have a type! Why else do you think the Grandmaster of Fire told you to come to me to get fire spells when he could of easily taught you himself?”
“Unique magic? Altering existing spells? I am no fool I must see to believe!”
A spell materialized on the journeyman’s hand. If not for the grandmaster keeping magic sense always active he would never of been able to sense the ball of mana on the young man’s hand. “By comparing all the existing fire spells my master figured out which line turned the mana into fire. It was me however who figured out how to remove it without the spell collapsing. This is almost useless however as pure mana since it’s harmless against non-magic materials. This changes when you shape it however,” the ball shoulders and changes into the a flat disc “The spell originally calls for the spell to pull on the ambient mana in the surroundings equally from all directions. I editing it after four months to make it a into the shape of a disc.” He adds the fire line back into the spell and it burst to life and he sends it off and it cuts deep into the wall and begins to melt the brick, “I have already shared this knowledge with the Grandmaster of fire and asked for him to send for you so you I can teach you the language of code. I have reached as far as I could alone. I know my master would of wished for me to keep it to myself but this knowledge needs to be known to allow our stagnant culture to finally come again grow! Maybe one day the entire language will be deciphered and we as wizard will be able to create spells for purposes other than destruction. Instead of drowning your opponents in an oceans worth of water you could allow entire forests to spring to life in a single moment!”
|
Dolan only had to flick a skeletal wrist for the flame to die in a whimper.
His frail form would have denoted a man worn by the coarse sands of time, save for all the grandeur of his Magic. Azure robes suggested a Grandmaster, amidst impressive tomes and trophies of antiquity that came with a life so long and powerful.
"Must we play these games?" Solus said, throwing out his arms as if to release his frustration.
"Hehe..." Dolan pointed, his enormous sleeve wafting around. "Again."
The Apprentice held out his hands, both index fingers and thumbs touching. After a moment of controlled breathing, a small flame emerged before him.
"Pow!" The Grandmaster flicked, shooting a spray of water to douse the flame and any confidence Solus still clung to.
"I came here to learn Aquamancy. What are we doing?"
"Calm down, boy." Dolan said, wafting in dismissal. He trundled along the room, taking pauses here and there to move the various obstacles in his way. When he finally arrived at his desk, he sat down with a groan of relief. The Apprentice had stood all the while in silence, beside the droplets that fell from his clothing. "Can you see it now?" He began, sorting the papers on his desk. "How weak fire is? You left because of this, no?"
"Does it matter?" Solus said, squeezing his clothes. Dolan paid some heed to the puddle forming on the floor, looking between it and the apprentice in conversation.
"Hydromancy, the Magic of Life. You have already tainted your soul with the flame. Why would I teach you now?"
Solus seemed taken aback. "I'm leaving."
"So soon? Were you just an ember, a week and that's it?" Dolan laughed, rising to his feet as his hands pushed on the desk. "You give up at the first hurdle, do you, boy?"
"You don't know anything."
"I know what I see. Couldn't burn as bright as the others, so you come here to snuff them out. All of you, all you can think of is destruction."
Solus paused as his eyes seemed to recall distant memories. He shook his head in clear irritation as he looked to the Grandmaster. "I have warmed families frozen in the nig-"
"By burning their house, I bet."
"You know what? You've taught me something."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You've spent 200 years in the Citadel, and for what? It's an echo chamber. You think books will show you the world?"
Dolan frowned, folding his arms. "The Citadel? It is by my hands alone that you people can even drink down there. Don't tell me of the world."
"It's by our hands that the water you send is drinkable. You people think of half solutions." Solus said, making his way to the door before stopping to turn back to the Grandmaster. "We heat the food you send in cans. We shape steel and stone to protect ourselves from the world your walls keep out. We *should* burn you all!"
"Leave..." The Grandmaster said, pointing to the door.
"Fine." Solus said, a tear cooling his flushed face as he made his way to leave.
"And take me with you."
| 2022-05-30T14:06:54 | 2022-05-30T11:12:32 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] Write a story. Any story. But after 5 minutes, stop, lift your hands from your keyboard, and click the Save button.
Hopefully I gave you guys enough motivation to keep writing the novel in your heads!
|
I am convinced I am a giant tulip in human form. Most people tell me otherwise, when I decide to open up on those rare occasions and bare my soul. They say, "But Fred, you're really an orange tree on the inside." No, oranges don't grow on trees, I tell them. They don't believe that either. So I shuffle on through the dead leaves outside, all black and brittle while I feel like bursting out of my skin and blooming right into the sky, roots down and trapped wherever I happen to be at that moment, forever. That will never happen, say the others. They think I'm mad, mad as a hatter someone once dreamed up. He was a mathematician, so I'm told. Well, if a famous thinker who dealt with such hard logic as numbers and lines can create a bizarre dream-story for children, an infectious narrative of rabbits and cards and cats and beheadings, eggs without necks and the rest - surely someone so sane could imagine a being walking about while on the inside they're all leaves and petals - in disguise, eternally waiting for the sun so as to bloom.
|
'You are a wizard for heaven's sake!', the master yelled. 'Now make that table float!'
'But I can't' you whine.
'We have been over this a hundret times! Lift your wand and move it like this!'
You stare at your master, dumb folded. You have tried. Oh how you have tried! But that stupid table just won't float! It must be glued to the ground!
'There, now you do it!' The master says gleaming over you.
Hopeless you lift your wand. It is half covered under the sleeve of your too big coat. You give a hopeless sigh, then you focus on that damned table and swing your wand. You stare at the table. Nothing. That stupid piece of wood has not moved. All four legs still solid on the ground. Suddenly you hear a thumb over your from above. You look uo and take sharp inhale: there is your professor floating under the ceiling. His head red with anger.
| 2015-10-28T11:07:31 | 2015-10-28T07:22:08 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] A thousand years after humanity was accepted into the galactic federation at large, other aliens realized one terrifying fact about them, humans are adaptive creatures. Unlike other races, humans have no qualms about learning alien techniques or integrating new alien technologies to their own.
|
"I still don't understand", Max said, "NADIR-4 is a peaceful planet, sarge. It's really far away from the bugline. What purpose is there to send a whole division of space marines? We should be focusing on protecting human colonies, not these aliens."
"You're still young", the sergeant said, exhaling the vape smoke. "I'll let you on one secret I've learned over the years, kid. The aliens, all of them, are complete idiots."
"Huh?"
"Let me explain", sarge said. "Look at your rifle. Tell me what you know about it." Max took a glance at it. He knew it perfectly, of course, same as any other marine. He could describe its workings in his sleep. "Standard issue WLG-900, Nodarian-inspired nucleus, Krrgit style lance operator, Frenchinese optics. Combat AI developed from reprogrammed Zylonics."
"Precisely", sarge chuckled. "You know what Nodarians think of the Krrgit power lance? 'Heretic tech'. The Krrgit about reprogramming Zylonics? 'Inconceivable'. The Zylonics about Frenchinese optics? 'Incompatible technology'. They all keep making stupid excuses not to study each other. They are so far up their own asses that they took a damn *thousand years* to realize we weren't doing the same as them."
"Uh, OK. But, that still doesn't explain why we're going to NADIR-4."
"I'm getting there, kid. Now, tell me about the conflict between Hivemind Lambda and the republic of Sha in galactic cycle F36U7."
"Ughhhhhh. Really?"
"Tell me the gist of it. You have studied galactic history, haven't you?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. Every kid studies galactic history.
"Hivemind Lambda was unaware that Sha's citizens were individuals in their own right and not expendable drones", Max recited. "It thought the republic wouldn't mind trading a bunch of them to study, but when it learned it had been actually killing people, it was horrified. Peace was reached soon after, and Lambda accepted all responsibility and to date it's still working on reparations."
"You wanna know what the citizens of Sha know about the conflict?" Sarge was grinning in an uncanny way. "They say, 'hivemind Lambda is a horrible monster we cannot possibly comprehend, and without human strange telepathy magic, it would have consumed us all. Instead, now it serves our every desire forever.'"
"What?" Max shook his head in confusion. "But... The human alliance didn't do any magic! It's just like, basic xenopsychology! Lambda is so vast and ancient that it really doesn't care spending F8 cycles serving the republic, it's for it like, an afternoon washing their car."
"Precisely. Now you know our secret strange power, and our true superweapon: basic fucking common sense. The xenopsychologists in the spy service have been studying the imports and exports from NADIR-4, which, mind you, is open knowledge to everyone, and have determined with a 80% certainty that they are accumulating weapons to attack us. This will be the, I think seventh time we stop a war before it even begins. The aliens have *no idea* how we do this, they think we're psychic or something. Idiots, I tell you."
|
**\*Clink\***
The chip fell on the alien's desk with a loud noise, having been thrown by the human right from the door. The alien raised her head and gave the visitor an inquisitive look before taking the chip in her appendage and slotting it into her terminal.
"Boom!" the human yelled boisterously. The alien sighed.
"Reaver lieutenant Crankas - taken care of!" he announced proudly. The alien waited for the readout of the chip and... it was correct. Crankas the Mighty, bounty of 10,000 credits, outstanding warrant in 7 different systems. This badly burned and mangled chip was from his ship's mainframe, no doubt about it. She gave the bounty hunter a puzzled look.
"*You*?" she finally said.
"Hey, we humans may not look like much to you kraal, but we're tougher than you think," he brushed her off. "I'll take 1000 credits on a chit and the rest on my account please," he smiled. The bounty master only shrugged and started clicking away at her computer.
"So," she started. "Hard hunt huh?"
"Honestly, I was a little disappointed," the hunter said, inspecting his fingernails. The bounty master chuckled to herself seeing just how soft and weak such a carapace was. "I mean he was built to be this big-bad and, well..." he shrugged and nodded towards the chip.
"I suppose you caught him off guard then? I mean this bastard's killed..." she looked at the record, "17 bounty hunters."
"I asked him to surrender."
The bounty master stopped typing and looked at him.
"You *what*?"
"Ah, it's-" he laughed, "on Earth we have a lot of, uh, media about bounty hunters and the stereotype is that they say 'Dead or Alive', so I thought I'd give him a chance."
"So he knew you were there and you still killed him?" the asked incredulously.
"Yep."
The bounty master thought about his story. It sounded mad - Crankas was an expert pilot with a state-of-the-art brakhar ship known for its speed and power efficiency. But... the chip was standard proof. The human seemingly caught on to her inner pondering.
"It's my ship, honestly. I'm not as skilled a pilot as he was but, well... we have a saying 'Don't bring a knife to a gun fight'," he laughed.
"Your ship - might I see it?" she said curiously.
"Of course. Please," he smiled and gestured towards the door.
The brisk walk to the hangar was filled with anticipation from the alien and smugness from the human. They came to where it parked, opened the door and-
The alien lost her composure and gasped. Kraal hardpoints on a slak body, class III cannons of... indeterminate origin, apparently custom made, ma'al's thrusters... it was an amalgamation of parts from all over the galaxy. Individually they were known for their strengths but never before had they been stitched together in such a haphazard manner. She looked at him with a mixture of disgust and awe.
"It's an abomination," she uttered. He looked at her with a devilish grin.
"It's *efficient,"* he chuckled.
| 2022-06-14T02:42:49 | 2022-06-14T02:17:59 | 1,987 | 980 |
[WP] The three rules have been passed down from generation to generation: One, when it visits, do not refuse it entry. Two, when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity. Three, when it leaves, do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight. In this way, our family has been kept safe.
|
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the village,
Creatures were coming to plunder and pillage.
The windows were boarded and shuttered with care,
We moved with great haste for they soon would be there.
We hid in the wine cellar near the whiskey and rum,
We were prepared for what was to come.
Looking back I wish I’d had more caution in me,
We boarded the windows but forgot the chimney
But as I debated about fixing this flaw,
We heard the scratching and scraping of several claws.
It started out quiet, but soon became louder,
As it clawed its way down through our chimney tower.
I ran to the fire in an attempt to play sentry,
But I knew then and there I could not deny entry.
It emerged from the fire on sinuous limbs,
As the light in the room started to dim.
The beast wore no clothing, its skin leathery and red,
From its long clawed hands, to its grotesque looking head.
Its body was plump, almost bulbous in nature,
With pale patches of skin, and hair even paler.
Its eyes like the void, its gaunt cheeks stretched tight,
it arched its back and screeched out in delight.
By this point my face was covered in tears,
As I stood glued to the spot, parlyzed in fear.
But strangely as it reached out with a skeletal arm,
I knew at that moment it meant us no harm.
As it produced a box wrapped up with a bow,
A toothy smile began to show.
It dropped the box on the floor and it lay at my feet,
With each moment passing I could feel my heart beat.
To keep the beast happy I accepted its gift,
I reached down to grab it and started to lift.
The box was quite heavy, like a sack full of bricks,
On the top was a label :FROM YOUR GOOD FRIEND, ST. NICK.
Not knowing what to make of it all,
I watched as the beast started to crawl.
Away from me now, back towards the fire,
It looked at me hungrily, eyes full of desire.
Then laying a finger on top of its lips,
It scaled up the chimney like the crack of a whip.
It sprung off the roof wings unfurling in the air,
The sight of it flying would give anyone a scare.
But I heard it screech out as it flew out of sight,
So I went back to the cellar and shuddered in fright.
It was because of this night I came up with my rules,
To keep myself safe from the demons and ghouls.
First allow entry, into hearth and to home,
Then accept gifts in the dark and the gloam.
And last watch it leave and fly into the night,
Til it howls out with a bark much worse than its bite.
This set of rules should do the trick,
If you ever happen to meet my good friend St. Nick.
|
We had never actually seen a vampire before. They were supposed to be terrifying monsters, sold to the devil in exchange for incredible, though horrible, powers. My ancestors supposedly had seen one and survived the encounter. But then again, our house was supposedly haunted, and I was supposed to be dead. The community has learned to turn a blind eye on the MacSmiths, and question our every word.
One thing we were good for, and everyone knew it, was our hospitality. Anyone was welcome, so long as they asked nicely. Actually anyone was welcome, period. But asking nicely got you a second helping of stew. Ma cooked some lovely stew back in her day. Every time I eat it, it still brings back memories of one fateful night when we entertained it still feels like everyone in Ireland…
It had started with Old Gregor. He came in just before sunset. He was drunk, but he was cold and piteous. Barely sober enough to speak, but he was able to be cordial. He lifted his hat for Ma (there is an old story that he fell for her once, when she was a pretty young thing, but she broke his heart. But you can hear him tell that story over a glass of ale any warm summer night). Ma promptly put his hat back on his head so his ears wouldn’t freeze off.
Around 10 o’clock we had some guests with an old labored mule. That old mule came up the hill to our house and was perfectly content to stand there by the well. Pa would be home soon, and I had a good knife at my belt. There was never no trouble at our house. Everyone knew of our rules. I silently unbarred the door and beckoned them in. Turns out, they didn’t want to talk much either, just a place to stay for the night and no questions asked, and they would reward us handsomely for it. I wasn’t sure this was good news but MacSmiths take anyone who asks nice. They were nice enough folks, even if they were thieves every one of them.
The sheriff came in half past midnight asking if we had had anybody unusual. He had a glass with Father and once again tried to flirt with Ma: “Connor, your mother is a fine woman, and if I was fifteen years younger—and drunk—or twenty older, I’d marry her myself”. My father hates being called Connor. That’s his Christian name and it reminds him of my mother. “And you, Eoin lad, you’re growing up to be a strapping fine young man. One of these days we’ll have to deputize you”
(I have no idea what my word count is so I’ll post part two below)
All parts of this story (and all future writing I do) will be posted on my brand new sub, r/PenPaladin!
| 2022-01-06T14:26:49 | 2022-01-06T14:19:44 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
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."
|
My wife slept besides our newborn, too exhausted to remain awake during her feeding. The doctor said not to nurse while sleeping to avoid rolling and smothering the baby. After a week of near constant feeding though I don’t think my wife had the energy to move. I was wrong. I reacted slowly as I saw her roll onto our little girl. Sleep deprivation paralyzed me. Then a moment later I saw a tiny hand shove my wife onto her back. I looked at our baby and she looked at me, her mouth smeared red, smiling.
| 2015-06-09T07:44:17 | 2015-06-09T06:57:13 | 108 | 58 |
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word.
[CW] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word
|
The little girl curled up in bed, shaking, her plush pink duvet pulled up so only her eyes peeked over. She had seen a movement over by the closet, where she’d seen the scary crocodile a few hours before. Just imagining the sticky noises he had made when he’d crawled up to the ceiling made her whimper. He had hung there, looking straight down at her face and chuckling with a wide, crooked smile.
She knew that bed was safe, somewhere the monsters couldn’t get you and take you away. But she couldn’t help a indignant feeling swelling inside her chest – he wasn’t allowed here! She decided to scare him away like the brave girl Mummy said she was. Her little legs swung over the bed, and she slid to the floor. She snuck over to the closet door as quickly as she dared. The handle creaked loudly as she reached up and turned it. Pulling to open it, she scrunched her eyes tight shut. She was afraid to see- no, she was brave! She tentatively opened her eyes to a warehouse. A creature with its back to her.
He wasn’t scary like the crocodile. He was big and fluffy. And blue and purple! Her favourite colours. She beamed.
“Kitty!”
|
The brand of cough syrup John bought was not right, not for dulling down the day to a drooling stupor. Fun intoxicants were there no doubt, but so were other toxic chemicals that could quite easliy corrode the liver. Down the hatch it went, and have you ever felt a gust of wind smack with extra force? That is John's caution, carried away as he too drifts on toward a dimmer, more complacent place. A dab of drool dances down his slackened chin, a slow retarded walz of ignored spittle. Eyes glaze with shadow of ignorant bliss flick once, twice, and thrice to stay. What a distant good feeling world he is in with all numbnees ahh. Some guy is on his bed and he looks tired or dead. Not a problem for John as John is super good now. Like so nice and where is his pillow, under head? Ah and uh so he's in clouds and sleep. On to somethin how dreams awake but deep. That worked, he love cough syrup. Thick and gross it help. Pain gone, so long. The selfless song. I mumble. Farewell.
| 2017-01-14T15:27:35 | 2017-01-14T14:18:10 | 977 | 24 |
[WP]: Where you are from, people tend to be named for things that describe their distinctive qualities. Gentle Smile, Sharp Wit and Kind Soul are not uncommon names. And then there’s your neighbour, Angry Bastard.
|
When the population hit 12 billion, names were becoming very boring. Everyone was a Joshua or an Emily, so somebody thought of a brilliant idea: why not name everyone after their most distinctive feature? My sister is called Gentle Smile, my brother is called Maroon Hair, and then there’s me: Tiny Richard.
The doctors thought I was a girl on the ultrasound, so my parents received a lot of girl clothes for my baby shower. For years, I had to wear girl’s clothes (I have a lot of cousins). It was embarrassing, but it wasn’t as bad as my third cousins’ name: Extra Chromosome.
Finally, as a 40 year old adult, I was living by myself. I had a pretty good house, being a single man and pretty thrifty. I decided to walk out to my porch, which was still under construction, when my neighbor walked out too.
“YOU’RE DAMN WORKERS ARE TREADING ON MY GRASS!!” yelled Angry Bastard.
“What are you talking about?” I replied.
“THE PORCH YOUR BUILDING! THE WORKERS BUILDING IT KEEP STEPPING ON MY GRASS!”
“Oh sorry! I’ll get them to stay off!”
“YOU BETTER DAMN GET THEM TO STAY OFF!” Angry Bastard was turning bright red.
“Yeah, I said I would! Jesus, why are you so angry all the time?”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘WHY AM I SO ANGRY ALL THE TIME’!?”
“Like your face,” I pointed at Angry Bastard’s face. “it’s turning bright red. And you’re yelling at me for no reason.”
“OH SORRY THAT’S A SPEACH IMPEDIMENT THING! PLUS I HAVE TOURETTE’S! AND MY FACE GOES RED RANDOMLY! I HAVE A LOT OF GENETIC ISSUES, MAINLY SINCE I’M THE BASTARD CHILD OF INCEST! ‘ANGRY BASTARD’ WAS A CRUEL JOKE, BUT MY PARENTS WERE ABUSIVE SO IT SORTS ITSELF OUT!”
“Jesus dude, I’m sorry”
“YEAH FUCK YOU!” Angry Bastard, went into his house and slammed the door.
About an hour later, the workers showed up to continue work on the porch. I told them to stay off of Angry Bastard’s grass. They agreed, so I was surprised when I heard shouting outside about an hour later.
“I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU GUYS TO GET OFF MY PROPERTY!”
Angry Bastard pulled out a gun, and shot one of my workers. I screamed while he fell to the ground. I thank my lucky stars everyday that he only shot Bulletproof Ass.
|
Goddammit, they’re *right.*
For weeks, everyone in the neighborhood’s been ranting about this dude named “*Angry Bastard.*” Nobody’s told me about him directly, but it’s hard to miss the whispers. They say he’s always cursing, always throwing stuff. Some people wanna get him kicked outta town and today I finally met him.
I was outside, mowing my grass, and this jerkoff leans out his window and yells at me! He tried yelling again but I ran in my house to cool down. He’s shy. I’ve barely ever even *seen* him. After stomping around for a few minutes, the punk starts blaring music and making these loud banging noises, so I’m on his porch. If this little shit wants a fight, I’ll give him a damn fight.
After a few heavy knocks, he opens up, and he’s wearing a smile that pisses me off. “Listen here—”
“Oh, Angry Bastard!” he says. “Sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to scare you—I was just gonna ask if I could borrow your mower when you were done.”
My eyes go wide, and whatever I was gonna say next is gone. He just called me…he thinks…I shake my head. I can’t be…I’m not…no, I’m Friendly Guy. That’s what I’ve always called myself. I’m Friendly…
“Was I hammering too loud?” he says. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I just get working and forget I have neighbors. I can stop.”
“What’s your name,” I say, barely able to choke out the words.
“Oh, I’m Timid Hardworker!”
“And me?”
At this, Timid chuckles. “Ah, come on, Angry Bastard, quit playing.” He then peers into his house before looking back at me. “Hey, I gotta get back to work. Let’s talk later, okay?”
“Yeah. Later.”
The door closed, I stand there, staring at it. After a few minutes, I walk back over to my house and sit on my porch. I’m…Angry Bastard…but…no, that can’t be right. They just *think* I’m Angry Bastard! Damn fools. Trying to get me kicked out of the neighborhood? Bullshit! I’m gonna go make a couple angry phone calls and tell these idiots off.
Because goddammit, they’re *wrong.*
***
If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
| 2018-10-07T11:02:08 | 2018-10-07T10:05:33 | 209 | 140 |
[WP] You have just let loose a string of vulgarities so potent that the patron saint of cursing has decided to personally pay you a visit to tell you to calm down.
|
It was a hot and humid day in Washington. My car had a dent and no note left behind. Traffic was awful. My boss bitching at me again. The phones ringing along with the awfully ineffective ceiling fan. Then along comes this absolute bitch. And I snapped.
The managers all looked at me with fear, slowly shuffling towards the nearest exits. My boss had already ran away and I could hear the tires of his BMW screeching as he frantically removed himself from the scene. I just went back to work, hoping nobody would mind but the lady had already hung up. Hours went by but I felt happy and content. No one was a problem. The grandpa that always told me how he despised what 'Obama has done to the news' was quiet and polite. And then they came.
Three black limousines pulled up, men in black behind the wheels. Serious stuff. They pushed the security guard out of the way. The one thing he knew to do was get out of the way, the bastard. They coldly told me to get in the van. I've seen enough spy movies, this would either end with me or them in a ditch.
As we were driving along the highway in the Audi R8 i felt something. The presence of a higher being who was wronged, banished from or to hell.
We landed at a lone hangar of Heathrow airport, far from any authorities even though they were only a few meters away. As I stepped off the boat I was blindfolded and guided through a bunch of doors until I was seated. The echo made it clear that this was, in fact, the inside of the great plane garage.
"What the fuck have you done?"
The person tried to hide his voice but I knew from the get-go who it was.
"I fucking asked you something. What. Did. You. Do."
"I did what I had to do. Costumer service, you see."
A deep sigh was the answer.
"This lady was on the phone for hours on end. I... I just couldn't take it anymore. Do you have any idea how-"
"I know damn well what it's like. I dealt with people like that longer than you have. But you have to understand that it's not a solution. You have unleashed something with both great and no power. It won't fix shit. In three hours, you will be back at your work. Nobody will say anything because they won't know anything. But let this be a warning. I've been gifted with this and I've used it for nothing but good. But it's up to you how to use it. Make me proud."
I understood. I was blessed with swearing. But after all, I just had one question.
"Can I ask you an unrelated question?"
"Of course. What is it?"
"How do you even cook a steak, sir Ramsay? I always burn them."
|
I was still fuming as I locked myself in the break room.
I'm not usually the type of guy to explode like that, but sometimes, one little computer glitch puts you over the edge. Now, here I was, hiding away, trying to pretend that none of my co-workers had seen anything.
I was about to get a bag of chips from the vending machine when a puff of smoke appeared in the chair next to me.
"Heyyyy, there, partner! Looks like you had yourself a case of potty mouth, huh?"
I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I'd mixed scotch with my morning coffee by mistake. Some clown dressed like Ozzy Osbourne in a barbershop quartet was sitting there, adjusting his straw hat.
"Dude, what do you want? I'm just trying to calm down here for a while."
"Well, I can certainly help you out! Why don't we sing a song together? Life can be so gosh-darn stressful sometimes." Somehow, he pulled a full-size acoustic guitar from his back pocket.
"No! Don't give me any of that shit. Just leave me alone."
"Whoa, there! Calm down, my friend. We all gotta find outlets for this kind of thing!"
"I'm just pissed off right now! This job sucks, I'm always stressed out, and I don't want to hear any of your stupid ideas!"
The spirit-guy blinked. "Stupid?"
"Yeah. Stupid. Singing a song doesn't just magically solve all your problems."
"Candy bar?"
"Won't help."
"Petting a cat?"
"No."
"Full-year subscription to *Better Homes and Gardens*?"
"Dude, just get out of here! No one needs you, and I'm willing to bet no one likes you!"
He froze, then stood up slowly and narrowed his eyes. "OK. So you want me to go." He took a few paces towards the door, then whipped back around and pointed a finger at me.
"You think *your* job is stressful? I have to zip down here to Earth every time a fucking bastard like you lets loose more than ten profanities. I'm sick and tired of you humans and your bullshit. Sort your own shit out! Don't get so pissed off that I have to get called down to this shitstain of a planet when you can't control yourselves! For fuck's sake!"
He threw the candy bar at me.
"Enjoy your Hershey bar, you fucking asshole!"
Just like that, he was gone.
As I unwrapped the chocolate, I have to admit I felt a little better. I lose control every once in a while, but at least I'm not as unhinged as that guy.
***
*Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.*
| 2016-07-23T09:26:45 | 2016-07-23T08:11:42 | 104 | 42 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall."
|
My heart stopped for three long seconds. The force of the next heartbeat almost threw me off balance. It was the word. The word I had been trained to recognize but only half-remembered because I knew I would never need to know it. Stall. Stall.
I could picture the room I was in when they taught me the word almost two years ago... "Mr. President, I know it's been a long few days but this is very important." The room was dim, window-less, everything cast in a dull blue hue from a projector screen. The word on the screen was "Stall." He wore a black suit and black tie. That was to be expected, I suppose. "'Stall,' Mr. President, if you see this word, that means that an agent has located an immediate, high-level threat, and you should take immediate action to protect yourself." I was a little puzzled, "I thought you guys dove to cover me or something." He remained deadpan, "Unfortunately, Sir, we are not always closeby enough for those kinds of heroics. If we are fifteen, twenty feet away, it can take us several seconds to reach you. That's too long. And if we start moving, that can signal the threat to take immediate action, putting you at heightened risk. That's why we use these code words. You can take cover behind the podium faster than anyone else can react. You will be safe."
As I stared at the word on the teleprompter for another second the letters reshuffled themselves in my mind. Another half second, and I no longer recognized the collection of letters as an English word. "S-T-A-L-L. Stall. Stall!" I felt my legs break free from paralysis as I signaled my knees to bend. Bend bend bend!! The muscles in my legs activated and I felt a blinding, white-hot heat on the side of my head. I didn't feel anything else.
|
The auditorium speakers squealed with feedback as I tapped the microphone.
*Stall.*
I sighed with frustration. It was still there.
"Good evening, everyone. I am honored to be here tonight to address the nation."
*Stall.*
It wasn't changing. I cleared my throat.
"It isn't every day I am asked to make a speech before the entire country. Before I begin, let me tell you a little about myself."
*Stall.*
Fuck.
"I was born the son of a poor farmer and got my very first job in the mail-room of a corporation. If you had told me then that one day I would be standing here tonight, I would never have believed you."
That ought to have given them enough time.
*Stall.*
FUCK. A bead of sweat took a slow path down my face.
"I eh. *Ahem.* I want to also say, before we begin, tonight, that uh I am very grateful for the opportunity to address the country on such an important matter. I truly believe we can make a difference and you'll see how as I detail my plan."
*Stall.*
I sighed heavily into the microphone.
"The challenges we face in the immediate future are too important to, um, you know, not have a plan. And my plan is certainly one of those."
Now my face was shiny with perspiration and I could feel the underarms of my white shirt sponging up sweat.
*Stall.*
"B-but if there's one thing we need right now, with all of the many, many, many problems in the country today, is a solution with many, many, many um details and eh things that will, you know, help."
*My fellow Americans, today I bring you...*
FINALLY!
"My fellow Americans-"
"That's all the time we have for tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Let's give him a big round of applause!"
| 2015-05-16T18:19:24 | 2015-05-16T17:45:13 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original.
|
Humanity learned many lessons in the dark days after the Nuclear Apocalypse. Our inability to understand each other led to mistrust, and that mistrust almost exterminated us all. A team of brilliant scientists developed a potential solution: the Memetic Link. Implanted in the gene code of all humans, it taps into the collective knowledge of all ancestors of the same name. Different names would provide diversity, but the historical knowledge and shared expertise would promote community.
It worked. For centuries, it worked. Eventually, though, parents got into a rut, picking tried-and-true winners. For a couple generations, all the kids were Alberts, or Elons, or Oprahs. Communities ran strong, but diversity began to dwindle. To restore that diversity, parents began picking stranger names -- historical oddballs. They hoped to restore the breadth of human understanding and rekindle our creativity and progress.
It worked again. Sure, we still had lots of Abrahams and Steves and Elizabeths, but we started to see other names. A new fad began, with parents searching through the remaining fragments of ancient texts, looking for a New Name for a child -- the coveted Different Name. Diversity surged, and society looked stronger than ever.
The pregnancy felt long, but it was blissfully uncomplicated. Mary Todd and Benjamin now sat in the recovery room, gazing adoringly at their newborn child. Nurse Florence bustled in, tidying up and taking everybody's vitals. She clucked approvingly as she filled out the paperwork -- the child looked healthy in every way.
Two decades in the job hadn't squelched her sense of curiosity. "Interesting! I've never seen this name before. Never even heard of it. Where did you find it?"
Benjamin swelled with pride at the subtle compliment. "Mary Todd is an anthropologist, see, so she has access to some of the oldest records from before the Apocalypse. She stumbled across a treasure trove of historical records -- THEIR historical records, mind you -- and found a name repeated over and over. Apparently, he was a powerful leader from ancient times, adored by millions!"
"Fascinating! And to think, such a wealth of knowledge and nobody has tapped into it yet. I'm sure there will be greatness in his future."
Her work finished, Florence headed for the door; eight more patients awaited her ministrations.
"Your whole family is healthy, so don't worry at all. I'll see you later, Mary Todd. Take care, Benjamin. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Adolph!"
|
Day 1:
Our Rebellion outpost has been destroyed. All that I have known as my life, is gone. The Others burned our books and our homes. They attacked our elders and are now hunting down those that managed to escape. I barely made it out of there in time. My parents and sisters are being taken to renaming camps. I don't have much time to get to them before they are forced to be like everyone else. I have seen what renaming camps do to your loved ones. It changes them, makes them like strangers. Teaches them to be followers and not leaders. They learn what the Others have learned before them. It changes their feelings and ideas. Their original memories are erased. Their opinions become all the same.They no longer can think for themselves.
We were taught by the elders that people that can't think for themselves are weak.
I have made camp for the night. Following the Others hasn't been difficult. They do not know I am coming. They are too wrapped up in their past learning to pay attention to the present. They will never see me approach. They will not have time to react when I attack. Their only defense is the hive mentality. Hives don't work well when separated from each other. I will take them out one at a time. It should not take long.
Being different makes me stronger and faster. Where they learn by birth, I learn by practice. I learn their skills and my own. I can both use daggers and swords. I am proficient in both hand to hand combat and tracking. I am literate and able to speak several different languages. Learning on my own has made me avoid the pitfalls of learning only one way, as the others have done. They don't even realize that they are limited.
That is fine with me. I will not lose my family to them. Their weakness is my gain. They can not control our world forever and when they slip up in their learning the Rebellion will be there. I will be there. By the time I am finished with them they will learn something they have never seen before. They will learn fear....and I will revel in it.
I must rest now, for tomorrow I will wash my hands with the blood of the Others and reclaim my family for I am not one of them. I am the Alpha. I am the Omega. I am different. My name is Unspoken.
Edit:forgot a word
| 2017-04-07T11:40:12 | 2017-04-07T11:07:55 | 43 | 15 |
[WP] You are death, but in a post apocalyptic world. Only a few survivors remain and you’re doing everything you can to help them because if they die, you die as well. The survivors can’t see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They’ve started to call you “life.”
Saw this prompt elsewhere, If it’s already been done I apologise.
|
I knew the names of those that stepped into my door. They did not offer their souls, but they were nonetheless forfeit. It was the way the world worked.
I realized now that I never knew the people.
For one that lived an eternity, the apocalypse was at once sudden and inevitable, and yet ultimately unnecessary.. A flash of light—a brighter one not seen since the creation of the world—destroyed it, so quickly, and fearful fallout henceforth suffused the atmosphere. The air became steeped with thick ash and soot, a cloud, oversteeped storm in a teacup.
There were so many names, each struck off with the ease and abundance of sunrays through clear skies.
For the first moments since the dawn of time, I beheld the entirety of humanity in one gaze. I watched them crawl, unborn children in a new world, and for once considered the death of myself.
The end of Death itself.
It was not fear that drove me onwards. I watched the humans, and every day, I found myself inevitably scratching off yet another name. I now had the time to behold their stories, their legends, their tales of long past that enlighten the future. Optimism, it seemed, was as infectious as death.
Carol was a mother of one, Joseph. They were not related by blood, but the woman found him huddled in the withering bones of another woman, crying quietly in trepidation—but alive. But she was equally capable at the makeshift slingshot, crafted from deadwood and fortuitous string, crunching the skulls of lightly irradiated deer.
“Slowly dying was better than quickly starving,” she said.
It had been simple to tick off life. There was no trouble discounting half-lives.
There was Max. In an existence past, he was a scholar, perusing the written word for both calling and leisure. Once a sponge for knowledge, he now distributed it like a mountain spring. And curiously, knowledge was not like water, for it did not run out when shared—but multiplied. He urged the importance of looking forward to the future, to ignore gratification and the gnawing abyss of their stomachs, to save some of their grain for the ground.
It was a simple matter to destroy the pests that would encroach about those green shoots.
And there was the man who called himself Brother. Said he couldn’t remember his name, though I contemplated whispering it on the wind for him. He had been a man of unshakeable faith, and even apocalypse barely made a dent in his indomitable will. He spoke not of miracles then, but of little miracles now—the presence of a fortunate well, the rising of the hot sun instead of grey cloud drawing near. For these bereft people, one small miracle, even those manufactured by me, was worth celebrating.
And this man called me Life. But I was Death, the god of the end. There was no sense to it.
“It is Life that is watching upon us all,” he would say, to a devoted group that could easily be counted with one’s fingers. I watched, more out of amusement, and slowly ticking off the ill-fated ones picking a fight far away from the tribe. But more and more names joined the list, joined the one that would worship Life—with some even commenting on my presence within the church.
How could they feel Death beside them, and still call it life?
The humans each had a name. But they called themselves hunter, gatherers, farmers, and lifegivers, one body capable of many things. Those gnarled fingers could grow, and could also kill.
I realized that even Death could do the same.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
Two boats sail along the ocean with one thousand people between the two vessels. One of them holds three hundred people the other with seven hundred and one both boats suddenly begin to sink. Only having enough time to save one, you choose to save the larger number of the two. Now left with only seven hundred people, the occupants of the boat eventually find another vessel and split themselves up among the ships. This time with three hundred on one vessel and the remaining four hundred on the other, only when the same scenario occurs again and you’re forced to choose which one to save. Naturally you choose to save the larger of the two numbers and only after this choice is made does it dawn on most that you’ve killed more people than you’ve saved. Four hundred survivors saved, six hundred drowned with the last two ships.
The prospect of philosophy is always an interesting invention of the human mind, though this is the one that bothers me the most out of every diatribe they’ve come up with. I fear, however, this may be the one choice I’m left with.
Even now as I watch the last dregs of humanity, a few hundred amid a commune trying to eek out some semblance of an existence I can’t help but feel like I’m counting the grains of sand falling from an hour glass. Even now as I watch the farmer in his field, tilling and pulling at the dry and dead dirt to try and plant crops to hopefully grow enough food to survive the winter, I know I can’t make these plants grow. I know I can’t till the field beside him. I certainly know I can’t breathe life back into the soil the way these individuals think I can.
Even as the farmer sings his hymn to the idea he think’s I represent, I can’t help but feel a weight press down into my abdomen as though some unseen force pulls me back into the ground. I cannot bring life to these blasted grounds because I am not, as these humans seem to think I am, the angle of such a concept. Rather I am his anathema.
I know just as well that these poems and songs they sing to the idea they think I represent, they are less of the celebrations that humans used to use music and poems for, but rather a desperate plea from the damned. Who am I to turn to deaf ear and a blind eye to their request? Even as I think to myself that I could end a million lives and ended a million more before it, would this one hundred even matter in the end. Could these last few lives really sustain my own existence?
It’s that moment that I decide the life of this man and those he chooses to take care of is more valuable than the creatures currently residing inside the soil. As I reach my hand to the ground, unseen by the farmer and his kind, I let go of a breath and with it take the breath of the creatures residing inside the soil. The weasels and rats that dig their tunnels, the weeds that sap the life of the seeds planted by the farmer, even the insects that would feed on these same plants. I decide that easily these thousands of lives will vanish with a single breath so their bodies will feed the soil, and in turn, feed these humans.
Even if I’m counting the grains of sand as they fall, I think to myself that perhaps if I could just keep one more grain where it was for just a second longer, perhaps I could find peace within those moments. After all, if these humans can find peace with only one hundred years of their existence, if they’re lucky, perhaps I could find just as much within a breath of a moment.
| 2022-02-20T10:08:56 | 2022-02-20T08:26:54 | 96 | 62 |
[WP] After Wayne Industries cuts one too many trees down, a new menace arrives to Gotham. One greater than you or I could imagine. He calls himself the Lorax and he speaks for the trees.
|
In the dark heart of Gotham, no Grickle-grass grows.
The streets are all haunted by pigeons and crows,
And the sour smell of urine fills everyone's nose.
There the Batman is fighting the Lorax.
"You fool," said the Lorax, leaping into the air,
his stumpy frame covered with bright orange hair.
"How can you claim to serve Justice, you dud,
When all of your toys have been paid for with blood?
They clear-cut the rain-forest by the hectare,
but you get your share,
and that's all you care."
Bruce Wayne, now exposed as the Batman, stood tall,
and he said, "Listen Lorax, that's not it at all.
It's my right as an owner to profit and take
what is rightfully mine, for my dead parents' sake.
It's my duty, in fact, to put profit above
all else, for the benefit of all whom I love.
I am the master of workers, you see,
who need to have jobs, and therefore, need me."
The Lorax jumped off of a building with grace,
and caught a Batarang just an inch from his face.
"Stop lying to me and admit that you are
just a playboy who's taken his hobby too far.
Your power fantasy seems like plenty of fun,
but another mass extinction's already begun.
"Don't lecture me about fishes and trees,"
Batman said as he landed on one of his knees.
"I deal with the most pressing threats to humanity,
like drug use and theft and homicidal insanity."
"You beat people up just to feel like a man,
you don't do what's right, you just do what you can.
You punish criminals, when you pick your fights,
for endangering others, or property rights.
Your targets are people society fears.
Your true victims are voiceless, so nobody hears."
Then the Lorax flew into the dark, smoky heat,
leaving Batman without any villain to beat.
That night, Bruce Wayne brooded up high in his tower,
wishing only for more and more personal power.
He vowed to catch Lorax and lock him up tight,
as if shutting him up would make the world right.
|
Batman towered over the orange and yellowish creature that stood near him, his masked face drawn into a scowl of disapproval.
“You’ve left Gotham in shambles, Lomax”. Batman breathed heavily, spit flying from his mouth. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“It’s Lorax you idiot, and I think it’s time to teach you a lesson!” The furry creature yelled, flying at Batman in a whirl of fur.
Batman swatted at the creature like he would a pesky mosquito, but it was too fast. It leapt above him with the swiftness of a cat, it’s arms and legs a blur as it snarled past Batman’s face.
“I speak for the trees and you’ll pay for what you’ve done!” The Lorax screamed, it’s bushy face flush with anger. “Now you’ll feel the wrath of all the displaced animals and know the pain of a cut down tree!”
Batman chuckled at the seemingly cute creature as it sprung high overhead, it’s razor sharp claws outspread like a fan of knives falling from the heavens.
“You’re like a little ball of fur, its so adorable!” Batman said haughtily, loosing his composure as the creature fell towards him through the air.
“Adorable this, bitch.” The Lorax hissed as it swiped it’s razor sharp claws through Batman’s neck, severing the flesh in a clean, viciously deep cut.
Batman stumbled and toppled over dead. The Lorax nimbly sauntered over to Batman’s lifeless body, and carved a word into his forehead, the blood running freely down his face like a red candle that had been lit for far too long.
“There’s a new motherfucker in charge Gotham!” The Lorax screamed as it grabbed it’s butt, levitating upwards into the air and fading into a cloud.
A crowd of onlookers gathered near Batman’s body, their fear at his death littering the words and phrases that they shared to one another in whispers. They stared blankly down at their caped crusader, pondering the execution they had witnessed. A new question formed in their collective minds, a question that would haunt them for the rest of their days.
Why did this creature carve the word “Unless” in Batman’s forehead moments after it had murdered him?
| 2018-12-30T22:59:26 | 2018-12-30T20:59:43 | 155 | 29 |
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence is 20 words, the second is 19, and so on until the story ends with one word.
|
I was 12, waking up at night, asking myself if I would ever be strong enough to just let go,
Somehow, as a child, the idea of holding on, knowing it would never improve seemed like too much work
I was 13 the first time I swallowed my grandmother’s pills hoping they would give me eternal relief,
I quickly learned that all they would do was prevent me from getting a full night’s sleep.
I was also 13 the first time I took a rusty blade to my skinny wrist,
I was 14 when I decided I wanted to shrink myself into nothing, to disappear.
I was 15 and I spent my free time writing notes explaining my goodbyes.
I was 16 when I unknowingly fell in love for the first time,
I was 17 when I crossed the ocean, left my world behind.
I was 18 when I discovered alcohol numbed my hidden pain
I was 19 when the blade and I started again.
I was 19 when she broke my young heart.
I was 20, I realized I could heal.
I was 20, keeping my rainbows inside.
I am 21, rainbows come out.
I’m 21, I laugh sometimes.
I’m 21. Still hard.
21, I try.
I am,
Alive.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Edit: thanks for the silver!
|
Somebody once told me the world was going to roll me, I am not the sharpest tool in the shed.
She was looking kinda dumb today, as her finger and her thumb were forming an "L" on her forehead.
Well, the years start coming and don't stop, fed to the rules and I hit the ground running.
Didn't make sense not to live for fun, your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb.
So much to do, so much to see, so what is wrong with taking the backstreets?
You will never know if you don't go, you'll never shine if you don't glow.
Hey now, you are surely an all-star, get your game on and go play!
Hey now, you are a rock star, get the show on, get paid!
All that glitters is gold, and only shooting stars break the mold.
It is a cool place, and they say it gets colder.
If you're bundled up now, wait until you get older!
But the meteorologists disagree, based on the ozone layer.
The ice we skate, is getting pretty thin.
It's melting though, so just go swimming.
My world's burning, how about yours?
That's the way I like it.
I never get bored.
Shrek is love.
Shrek's life.
Yeet.
(Edit: hyphenated words count as one)
| 2019-02-19T12:03:59 | 2019-02-19T12:03:45 | 131 | 40 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you."
|
“Dude, you’re insane,” Chris said, his face pale. “You’re not really going to drink that, are you?”
I wasn’t sure, to be honest. I held the beaker in my hand and felt the unsettling warmth of the liquid inside. It bubbled slightly and a thin layer of what looked like fog clung to the top of thick greenish-black concoction. It smelled of an odd mixture of lilies and rotted fish.
“I’ve spent five years researching this,” I told him. “I have crawled through dusty libraries, vaults, and catacombs from Sicily all the way to Oslo. I’m telling you, I’ve got it right.”
“You don’t even know of this story is true or not,” Chris shot back. “You’re basing this on research about a guy that was supposed to have died in 463 B.C. that you claim you found evidence of as recently as 1102 AD. All of this based on a few scraps of journals and one random painting by a guy in the middle of the dark ages that admitted to using mushrooms and bread mold to get stoned. You’re fucking nuts.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I’m broke. I’m worse than broke, I’m a hundred and sixty nine thousand dollars in debt and I’m three weeks away from finishing my last panel for my doctorate in dark ages and renaissance literature. And I have no idea how the hell I’m gonna pay any of it back. So either this will work, and I’ll be rich and famous…or it won’t, and I won’t have to worry about any of it anyway cause I’ll probably be dead. Only one way to find out.”
Before Chris could say anything else, or I could talk myself out of it, I turned the beaker up and drained the contents. At first, nothing happened, and I started to wonder if maybe Chris was right. Maybe I really was nuts. Then I suddenly got a wrenching, tearing pain deep in my stomach. It felt like I had been hit in the gut with a sledgehammer made of ice, and the feeling slowly spread out from there. I could sense every single blood vessel, artery, and capillary as the tincture infused itself into my blood. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound would come. I tried to gulp air, but my throat slowly closed shut.
Chris, his face as white as a ghost, stood and stared in horror. “Shit, man,” he said as he tried to hold me up. “Shit, you’re fucking blue, man. Can you breathe? Can you talk?”
I managed to shake my head, but that simple act sent shards of razor-sharp pain lancing through my brain. I felt my body spasm and Chris lost his grip. I hit the cold tile floor and shook uncontrollably. The pain was so bad I couldn’t think straight.
The last thing I heard was Chris whispering, “Shit…shit…shit…” And then there were footsteps.
And then there was nothing.
**
I blinked a few times against the sudden bright light and realized slowly that I was awake. Shortly after that, and with much more amazement, I realized that I was alive. The tile floor of the basement lab I had set up was cold and uncomfortably damp, and I felt like I had been hit by a bus, run over by a garbage truck, and dragged behind a horse with bowel problems.
But I was alive.
I sat up and winced at the thumping pain in my head. This was worse than any hangover I’d ever had, and I’d had plenty in my eleven years in college. I blinked again and realized I was looking at a pair of very expensive black wingtips. I followed the shoes up to see a man standing over me in a tailored Italian suit in dark blue with pencil-thin gray pinstripes. The material shimmered like fine silk as the man knelt before me. His hair was black and long, pulled back in a pony-tail, and he wore a trimmed mustache and a small beard cut down to a point on his chin.
He smiled, and it sent shivers up my spine.
“I see you’ve found it,” he said in a voice like gravel spilling over sheet metal. “I can’t say I’m pleased, but there it is. You’re only the second, you know.”
“Chris,” I managed to croak, my throat so dry it felt like sand paper. “Where’s Chris?”
“Your partner?” The man asked. “I’m afraid he lacks the constitution for such things. I’ll have my time with him soon enough, don’t worry. But I’m not here for him, not today. Today I’m here for you.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
The man smiled again, a terrifying sight, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into the inside pocket on his jacket and pulled out a small business card. “When you realize living forever sucks, call the number on this card. I’ve got a job for you.”
He handed me the card and I glanced down at it. The card was white and of very good paper stock. It had a raised border around the edge, but no writing on the face. When I turned it over, the back mirrored the front with one exception. In the center of the card was the number zero hand-written in what looked like rust-colored ink.
It smelled like dried blood.
I looked up, but the man was gone. There had been no sound at all; no footsteps clicking on tile, no rustle of fabric as he stood, no click of a closing door. He was just gone.
After a moment, I shrugged and stuck the card in my pocket. With great effort I managed to stand and steady myself using the table next to me. The beaker I’d used was in shards on the floor that crunched under my feet as I took a few shaky steps.
How did that stranger manage to come in and leave without so much as a sound?
I shook my head again, but my brain protested with more pain. The aches and stiffness in my body were slowly dissolving, but I still felt rather…odd. There was a slight and quite unpleasant aftertaste in my mouth, and I couldn’t shake the smell of stale urine that I’m pretty sure was coming from my pants. I looked around the makeshift laboratory and came to an unsettling conclusion—Chris was right, I really was fucking nuts.
EDIT: Spacing
|
"I imagine you didn't expect me to call so early", said David to the cloaked figure in front of him.
"***On the contrary.***" the figure responded, waving his hand towards the body in-between the two, lying in a hospital bed. "***This is usually as good a motivator as any.***"
"Heh, yeah... You, erm, you mind if we let them disconnect the... whatever that thing's called?"
"***The Dialysis Machine?***"
"How do you know that?"
The figure shrugged. "***Given my work, I spend a lot of time in places like these. You can't help but overhear common parlance.***"
"Right... Still, the... the tone's sort of distracting. Among other things."
"***I can imagine. Shall we walk?***" He was already heading towards the door, as if anticipating the answer he would prefer, and giving the more living looking of the two no choice but to follow despite their misgivings.
"Er... You're kind of, you know. Very... thin, and-"
"***I have that issue accounted for.***" He stated simply, nodding very gently towards the doctors and patients surrounding them both, who seemed to not pay the skeletal figure a single mind. "***All a part of the job.***"
"Right, that's, erm... That's why I called, I guess." David cleared his throat, waiting for a gap in the crowd before daring to even whisper his next line. "Immortality kinda sucks. Watching your... You know, your..."
"***Mmm.***" The figure nodded in understanding, the kind of understanding birthed from battling a hundred-odd hardships of your own. "***You needn't explain yourself. What matters is that you are willing to hear me out.***"
"So... I'm guessing the job offer is replacing you? Letting you die and stuff?"
"***Not as such. A fair amount of what you think to know of us may have been a... Misinterpretation. Death - as a word - is the very top of the list of incorrect assumptions.***"
"Er... Meaning?"
"***Mortals - and of course, recently created immortals such as yourself -***"
"I wouldn't call 40 or so years recent." David interrupted.
"***It is in terms of immortals.***" the figure responded, plainly, almost wearily, as if it was far from the first time the explanation crossed his lips - or lack thereof. "***Either way. You're under the distinct impression Death is a proper noun, correct? A single individual.***"
"Yeah. You know, Death, the destroyer of worlds. As in, you."
"***Well, as I said previously, that is incorrect. Death is less a single individual, and more a job description. Or, to put it more plainly-***"
"There's more then one Death?" David suggested.
"***Indeed. As mortal creatures, human or otherwise, have increased in number, we have required more and more individuals to bring them to the afterlife. We have powers, of course, but we are not omnipresent.***"
"Why not?"
"***The ones more powerful then us have an arrangement that forbids it.***"
"So in other words, God'd get pissed if you stole his shtick."
"***That is another way of putting it, yes.***" The figure responded, with an attempt at a gentle chuckle, which created a sound like a chilling wind running through a tree's branches.
"So, er, before I sign up properly, is the whole skeleton thing a necessity?"
"***Technically, no. You'll find a great deal of Deaths tend to choose this form, however. Some for comfort in a physical sense, some for comfort in a mental sense.***"
"What's your excuse?"
"***To be frank, I grew tired of people questioning why I wasn't skeletal, so I decided it best simply to conform to stereotypes.***"
"Makes sense. So what's the job description? Is that another misconception, or is it pretty much as we think of it?" David questioned, as they continued their trek down the streets.
"***A mixture. What you know of us guiding souls to the afterlife is true, but it is only part of the job.***"
"What else could there be? Paperwork?"
"***Yes, actually. That, I must admit, is the part of the job that very few Deaths find to be to their liking. Myself included. Still, it is necessary to fill in after every collection, as well as there being extra paperwork for the ironic death department.***"
"Rewind, ironic death department?"
"***Please tell me you didn't truly believe that incidents of pure irony were not occasionally created by a higher power?***" The figure scoffed, as if such an idea was akin to believing the sky was green. "***It is a rare thing, but some Deaths find it to be an absolute joy. To be frank, you may not see a job such as that for many years. I suggest you put it out of your mind, lest you become jealous of those who claim the job before you can.***"
"Right... Anything else?"
"***There is more, yes.***" The figure stopped his movements, allowing David to notice they were now in an almost abandoned alleyway, bar one homeless individual, who seemed to be barely breathing as she slept. "***But we can discuss that once we return to our home base, so to speak.***"
"Are we going to do that now? In - In front of her?"
"***Yes. It shall be no matter, as she will be coming with us.***"
"... You mean...?"
"***I do. I imagine you think of it as unfair.***"
"Well not unfair, just... kind of sad, really. This is how she goes out?"
"***You'll learn to ignore those feelings in time.***"
"Somehow I doubt that."
"***The only other path is insanity, David. Take it from myself, and from others who have come to the same crossroads. Either you consume the feelings, or the feelings consume you.***"
"... I guess you might have a point." He responded, after a pregnant pause. "Right. Ready to go then."
"***Good.***"
And with that, the female - who had since slid to the ground in her rest, her breathing shifting the puddle of rainwater her face was now buried in - the male, and the skeleton were all enveloped by a somewhat disquieting black fog, which slowly enveloped them, dragging them away to the depths.
| 2017-03-07T04:22:31 | 2017-03-07T03:24:28 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Which warrior is more frightening, the one who is having fun or the one who is bored?
|
Two armies marched in pale moonlight
both confident and sure.
A champion stood out front of each,
both leaders of a corps.
when midnight struck, these forces clashed
stars shining in the sky.
The champions met each other there,
as men around them died.
&nbsp;
One champion, whose name was John
let out a cry of glee
and charged the older hero, Bruce,
who simply took a knee
"What do you now, old man?!", John roared
confused at what he saw
"I'll split your skull if you don't fight!"
and Bruce replied " 'zat all?"
&nbsp;
The smile widened on John's face
as rain began to patter
For blood was what he wanted most
condition didn't matter
Yet Bruce stayed still and hardly moved
even as John drew near
and though this night might be his end
felt not an ounce fear
&nbsp;
It was then that big John lunged
and blood started to spray
a dagger lodged within John's chest
for John was Bruce's prey
John loved to fight and loved to kill
and loved his lengthy sword
He should've, however, never fought
the man who just looked bored.
|
Goku hit the ground fast, with enough impact to leave a crater. The crash had sent rock and debris flying, and the noise of it echoed through the waste land for miles. Goku lay there for a moment, still, his ears ringing. A wry grin crept across his face as he panted, attempting to catch his breathe, 'Wow, so you really are strong' he said, looking up at his opponent, who hung motionless and silhouetted against a rising sun. 'Maybe as strong as Beerus'. Goku began to peel himself from the ground, groaning slightly as he wrenched a leg out of solid rock. 'I can see that I might need to amp it up a little for you. Tell me, Saitama, have you ever heard of a Super Saijin God?'
Saitama looked down at Goku lazily and shrugged his shoulders. The morning light bounced brightly off of his bald head, and his red cape fluttered in a gentle breeze as he attempted to pry something from his ear with his finger. 'Nope' he responded, eventually.
Goku smiled.
| 2017-03-09T07:15:24 | 2017-03-09T04:22:32 | 157 | 43 |
[WP] A genie gives you two options. One is to get your three wishes now, or to get one wish a day for five days. He tells you that no one before has survived and gotten all five wishes. You choose the latter.
|
The first thing i wished for was a 10 bucks, i spent the whole afternoon trying to get deer out of my apartment. I expected this, it looks like the genie is against me, i have to keep that in mind. I was hoping for a Robin Williams genie, or at the very least a Shaq Kazzam but it looks like i got an asshole.
"why didn't you wish for more money?"
"because your an asshole"
"you're\*"
"what?"
"what?"
Me and this genie are in a battle and language are our weapons. I spent the next day typing a very long contract. He watched as i spent hours writing pages upon pages of airtight legal jargon that essentially set me up for life without causing harm to anyone or anything. At the end of the day i presented the contract to the genie.
"what is this?"
"my wish"
"its too long"
"what is there a word count?"
He started to explain a couple of the rules as i ran to jot down notes. It was obvious he wasn't telling me everything.
"i don't have to tell you anything else, it doesn't matter anyway, you're going to die, all this time and no one has beat me yet. no ones figured out the rules to this thing."
It struck me quickly. I'm a genius, an absolute genius.
"i wish for the rule book!"
I'm an idiot, an absolute idiot. I sat at the table the next morning behind a giant, thousand page text, written in ancient Arabic. I didn't have wishes or time to waste. I got started with translation. Evening came and i wasn't a tenth way finished. I learned a few things, such as the genie cant lie, you cant wish for sentience without causing problems, paradoxes cancel themselves and if i don't use at least one wish a day, i die. all things that are good to know.
The genie sat quiet in the corner of my apartment, i thought about how no one had survived. i knew i had to something no one had done yet. the day was almost over and i hadn't made my wish.
"hey asshole!"
"whats up?"
"i wish to know how many people have come before me."
"15"
15. Not as many as id thought. It explained his social skills. The rule book was old.
"does time pass the same for us?"
"more or less"
"have you been lonely?"
He doesn't answer. Thousands of years and only 15 people. I poured him tea.
"you cant win me over"
"you're still an asshole, but I've been a pretty bad host. Also, I need a break.
We played chess quietly.
"Chess is really old, it has to be the only thing in this room that's older than you"
"Its old, but i'm definitely older. I first saw it when a Persian price found me"
He told me about a few of the people that tried to get wishes from him in the past. Arabic royalty, Norwegian vikings, he once turned a beggar in china into a warlord, temporarily. The last person to have found him was a drug lord in central america. The tea turned into beers. He taught me songs from throughout the years.
"what would you wish for?"
"one time, i convinced someone to wish for my freedom, but since he couldn't make a fifth wish he died and things reverted back to how they were. Either way, you wouldn't want to wish that"
"do you know what happens if they survive"
"no, but I've been curious"
We spent the rest of the night mapping out my wishes. On the fourth day i would wish for a lot of money and on the last day id wish for a long life.
"the money your wishing for is still pretty low"
"endless riches was never my original idea, i'm guessing that's how a lot of people die"
The next morning he walked me through making the wish. Everything to set someone up for life was in that apartment. We spent the day talking about where the world was at. i took him to my favorite places. He took everything in as preparation to be back in the bottle for a while.
"a long life? why are you going to wish for that?"
"i think it'd be fun"
"he sat looking at me puzzled"
We partied into the next morning, i slept into the evening.
"wake up, you have to make a wish"
i got up difficultly and held him tight
"I'm going to miss you"
"i wish you'd stay"
he froze
"do you know what your doing?"
"i read the rule book" i held him tighter
"why?"
"i think id be fun"
I felt his curse transfer to me, everything went dark. I sat back and waited patiently for someone to find me.
|
"Definitely a wish a day," I asserted confidently. The genie looked at me surprised, his warnings having been ignored. Picture me, this modern day Aladdin, beanie instead of turban, a little bit whiter around the edges but basically the same in the end. He rubbed a lamp, I rubbed a bong and just like that there's a genie chilling out in the family room. To be honest, it took me a minute to realize it was for real. I tried to touch the dude and my hand went right through and that definitely didn't help. It was only when he started making tangible things out of thin air that I actually believed it.
"For five days," he clarified, ever cautious as to the ambiguities of these verbal contracts. I nodded. Five days, five wishes. Or I could take the other option that he was pressing me towards: three wishes, right here, right now. "Are you sure?" He was really pressing me towards using all my wishes right now. Probably working on commission or something and the more people he can get wishing, the better. I nodded, commission be damned. I wanted five days of wishes, one wish a day. "You did hear the part that nobody has ever survived and gotten all five wishes, right?" I nodded. Zero percent survival rate was what he had said before, to be exact. I'm really not one for statistics though. I've read the articles. Numbers can be manipulated and twisted and you get whatever statistic you want out of them. I wasn't falling for that one. He'd be working for me for five wishes over five days, no questions asked. Plus, quantity over quality. That's what they teach you when you're churning out those burgers. His muscular, pellucid shoulders shrugged. Seemed like there was plenty of time to hit the weights while he chilled out in genie world as he waited for some clever pothead to rub the bong and beckon him to the earthly realm. He was insistent it wasn't like prison but he definitely looked like he did those prison workouts. "Alright, that's that then," he said. I put the magical pen to the magical paper that he had created and that was indeed that. "Your first wish?" he requested and I inhaled from the now magic-less bong and sat back in the couch. The genie stared at me impatiently and I wondered if he was working multiple customers at once.
"I'm thinking," I insisted and he glowered at me silently. I'm not quite sure how this master-genie relationship works but somebody less chill would have definitely been demanding some respect. "I want 5 pounds... No, wait," I hesitated, re-thinking my wish before committing to it. "5 tons. I want 5 tons of weed in the garage, stat," I ordered. The genie looked at me skeptically. "No questions asked, buddy," I snarked and he shrugged again.
"You'll need to word it more officially," he said. "It was in the contract." I rolled my eyes. So much fine print, if I actually read through every contract I signed I would, it would take centuries. This dude had centuries but to the best of my knowledge, I did not. I would also be in way less debt and way more successful, but hey - I would also have fewer wishes. Silver lining and all that crap, you know? "You need to start with I wish," he instructed and I sighed. Of course I had to jump through hoops just to get my damned wishes.
"I wish for five tons of weed in the garage," I said sarcastically, making sure to enunciate the official vocabulary he demanded. The genie looked at me dolefully, as if he was about to put his dog down or something. I don't know if genies even have pets or if they are pets. Can pets have pets? "Are you my pet?" I wondered out loud. He ignored me.
"Done," he remarked simply before disappearing back into the bong. I glanced around in confusion, unsure if this was all in my head or legit. I thought genies were from Arabia or something but this dude had just Irish goodbyed me like his name was O'Shaughnessy. Reluctantly, and fighting off the urge to keep sitting on the couch but way too curious to not check, I pulled myself to the feet and made my way to the garage.
"Oh, shit," I said quietly when I opened the door. "So that's what five tons of weed looks like..."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-06-04T12:08:36 | 2019-06-04T08:12:27 | 239 | 68 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 11:59 and while the whole family gathered around, my mother was no where to be seen. I expected that she would have joined us. After all, she'd been there for my older sister's reveal, and my brother's reveal. But instead she was watering the garden while it rained steadily.
C'mon, mom, I know I'm not your favorite, but you could at least put on a front this time.
"It's noon!" my sister squealed. "Pullupyoursleeve!"
A moment of dread shot through me. I can't say that I knew exactly what was wrong, but I knew that something wasn't right. There was no tingling in my arm, just a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something was going to be revealed today and I wasn't going to like it.
I pulled up my sleeve and no words appeared. Frantically, I pulled up the other sleeve, shoving it all the way up to my armpit. It had to be there. My sister tugged my shirt up, peeking under it. Not that the words ever appeared anywhere besides on your dominant forearm. "Where is it?"
"He won't get it yet," my mother barked from the sliding glass door. "He's not going to be 18 for another two months."
"What?" I yelped. "Today's my birthday!" My sister's hands fell and my shirt slid back down into place.
My mother shook her head. "You're father and I were separated, and I met a man..." she said quietly, her round eyes darting towards my father.
"You said the baby was mine! You said he was just early!" my father shouted.
She crumpled into a chair, her wet hair dripping onto her face. Her mouth wobbled and she stared at the floor. "He's not and he wasn't."
Two months and three days later, my parents' marriage was in shambles, and I walked into my sister's room, pulled up my sleeve, and showed her the words that had appeared the day before. "MARRIAGE COUNSELOR"
|
"Hey Elena, your birthday's next week right?"
"Yeah, Jason."
"So do you think it will happen?"
"I don't know. My dad's got a number like most everyone else but my mom has a number and a letter. We might be getting closer to figuring out what the birthday messages mean."
"My dad doesn't think they mean anything."
"I sort of hope he is right. I mean it just seems like it can't be good, right?"
"Well, let us know! See you after."
-----
Birthday Reveal
It wasn't a big deal in the Lazarus house. Elena had to stuff to do then anyway. They'd celebrate her birthday, but her real friends and her family didn't believe in worrying about (or all this carrying on) about some scar tissue. That's all it was really, this weird biological process that happened. It was like the patterns on butterflies. It didn't have to mean anything.
She was alone when it happened. She saw it appear. The number three. She could live with that. A perfectly respectable number. There were three people in her family. But there was more. A zero. That was unusual, but still that seemed fine. It was a little far away from the three but no big deal. Suddenly, she felt a blinding pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She swayed on her feet. Then just as suddenly she came out of what felt like a long trance but had only been a minute to find two letters. L and V. Along with the numbers they did send a message. A message open to some interpretation but it seemed good: L0V3. She knew her life would change very soon and forever. She couldn't hide love. How could she? But this wasn't all good. There was no message that could be all good. She just hoped she wouldn't have to be willing to die for love. Was the world ready for an ambiguous message of love from a young, black woman? She was about to find out.
| 2017-03-16T03:19:48 | 2017-03-15T22:51:26 | 129 | 39 |
[WP] Chris Hansen steps down and names Arnold Schwarzeneggar as his successor on To Catch a Predator. Arnold misunderstands the type of Predator he's hunting.
Oh my.
|
The fat sweaty man entered the house, already knowing the door was unlocked. In his hand was a bag, and the thought of what was in it made him drool.
But as he walked in, he had the distinct unsettling sensation that something was off.
"Mary ?" he called out.
He turned a corner to be confronted with pecks. A wall of taut rippling muscle. He looked up, into the face of Arnold Schwarzenegger.
"Mary's not here !" said a voice.
"Wh.. what?"
"TAKE DA SEAT !" the voice boomed, and the man felt himself being picked up and slammed onto a stool.
"Wh..wh"
The man was disoriented.
"I am Ah-nuld Schwarzenegger with Dateline NBC"
This finally shook the man from his confusion.
"What are you doing in my house !"
"I am going to "Catch the Predator"
Arnold flexed his biceps intimidatingly at the man.
"Hey.. What have you done with my cat ! Where's Mary !"
"The cat is safe. What is in the bag!"
" Chik-fil-A, and don't change the subject. Why are you here !"
"We need to talk about your INTERNET HISTORY"
"I'm not a pedophile ! I've never looked at child porn. I mean I watched anime, but that's different, they get their hooks in with interesting plot and characters, and suddenly you have an episode where everyone takes their clothes off and you're forced to watch it until the plot starts again...."
"NO ! I am here about your internet comments. Against the government"
"I don't understand."
There was silence, punctuated by the sound of a plane in the distance.
Then Arnold gave a big booming laugh.
"You are not the predator. You are the prey !"
Before the fat man could answer, Arnold picked him up and ran out into the garden. He was stunned by all the TV cameras. Arnold placed him on the ground, as the sound of a jet got louder.
Dazed, confused and still hungry, the sweaty man looked up into the air and saw a grey plane advancing towards his house. Arnold crouched, ready to strike.
Then he leapt into the air, cracking the ground beneath him. The cameras followed him up into the sky, as he grabbed the plane and suplexed it out of the sky.
As Arnold emerged from the burning wreckage of the predator drone, smoking a cigar, he gave a wry smile to the cameras.
"And that is how you catch a predator"
|
Someone was here..
Hsssssssssss chtchtch cht xht chtchtch keeeeeeehhhh.
The massive figure crashed down throught the skylight ceiling and scanned the room.
I step into one of many large bowls containing an unknown liquid...shorting out my already damaged cloaking shield.
Wzpft. Chemical spectral detection.
My computer recognizes this liquid as fruit punch...
Could it have been placed there just to short out my cloak? Impossible! No puny prey could think so!
Chtchtch chtchtch ...
Wzpft. Utraviolet spectrum. Wzpft. Low-MeV neutron detection. Wzpft.Infrared ..there!
Something there...some human sugary cake had been glopped around something..a human hand! Protruding out of a large cold mound near the human cooking room platform! Holding small paraffin figures. They were tiny, but burning.
A human sound : "Appy birthday!".
A massive cold shadow moved and ripped hoses out from the human cooking platform, holding them to the human wax icons and the world was blinding bright!
WHARRrRR! hugghhhhWrrrrr! The man-prey had ignited the gaseous cooking fuel and burned my visor!
He struck first! The dishonor!
Truely this was the human-warrior-prey the elders spoke of. He was cunning.
Within an instant I threw my spear into the metal box and cold darkness leaked out.
Pfftwoop. Pfftwoop.
Plasma caster fire perforated the adjoining eating room.
Pfftwoop Pfftwoop Pfftwoop .
Silence..
No-I will skin him alive and keep his skull for my own trophy. He will not be allowed an easy death...
I demove my damaged visor and swear it to my blood ancestors!
Chtchtch khaaaaa!!
Something darted quickly away.
I lept through the puny wall to grab him..but it was a decoy!
Air filled balloons tied to something....with human markings and a cold metal rock. Another trap!
A pin is released and it explodes!
Gaawwwwwwkkkkkg...mustn't fall...to the prey...
Must initiate .. Self.. Destruct.
I salute..you.. Man-prey.
| 2015-10-30T03:07:14 | 2015-10-30T01:26:28 | 293 | 25 |
[WP] The Earth is ending in 24 hours. 2000 people will be launched into space to save the human race. Everyone is allowed to submit a 4 sentence reason to a website explaining why he/she should be one of the 2000. What are your 4 sentences?
|
My name is Arthur Dreifuss. I hold the highest honors in physics and three PhD's; my skills and background allowed me to build the framework of the Generation Ship Omega for which I now submit. I have two daughters, nine and ten years old respectively. This world is dying and I plan to go with it, please, take them.
*Reviewers Note:* *Background check suggests high priority asset.* *Additional subjects show no value.* *Suggested Action: Termination of (2) obstructive subjects and retrieval of (1) asset.*
|
You may wonder why ten thousand alien ships have entered to solar system, armed with weapons beyond your imagination and intentions beyond your control.
You may ask what Earth has done to deserve this attack and why a hopeless battle looms on the horizon.
Rest assured, you have done nothing wrong, and can divert them by sending me on the escape pod.
It isn't you they're after, it's me.
| 2015-05-01T11:23:39 | 2015-05-01T10:56:22 | 25 | 17 |
[FF] "So, come here often?"
Begin your story with this line of dialogue.
Oh, and set your story somewhere other than a bar or restaurant. In fact, set it somewhere in the distant past or future.
And make it less than 500 words.
Have fun!
|
"So, come here often?" Fernando inquired dryly.
Christine was in bad shape.
For the last twenty years we had danced the tango between man and machine. She drove me from girlfriend to girlfriend, from job to job and I fed her the best fluids on offer and kept her interior as immaculate as her exterior.
As the years passed time began taking its toll on her. First it was the little things: an alternator, an exhaust manifold – things I could manage by myself. But as the salty winters melted into sun-kissed springs into leaf-lined autumns her body, the gorgeous temple of steel and rubber and glass crackled and withered before my eyes. The girl became a woman and the woman dragged kicking and screaming into old age.
Like all aging women we tried everything to keep the passion alive. Weekly baths could keep the hungry salt from her tender skin. Fresh paint masked parking errors, fender benders, and stone chips. Fresh rubber gave her agility, new glass clarity. Sadly, the ravages of time refused to be beat and they only tore harder, her struggle to stay relevant feeding their lust, but I never gave up the dream of the both of us driving off into the sunset. However, as bills mounted and the parts became scarcer I had a nauseating feeling that the end was near.
Fernando the mechanic tapped his pen impatiently. “It’s bad. Very bad.” he flatly declared. Sensing my fear, he quickly rattled off sixteen pages worth of things that should be done, things that had to be done, and things that, if left undone, would probably end up in my obituary. Capping it all off, he gently tapped a frame rail with the pen and the blunt plastic tip shot through the tangerine-flake skin. “That’s not supposed to happen” he pointed out.
I thanked him for his time and told him, in no uncertain terms, that we would definitely seek a second opinion, but Fernando’s clairvoyance seemed to suggest that I would inevitably come to the same conclusion.
On the way home Christine seemed to know it was time for us to part. The warm lights flickered gently every so often as if a reminder of her age. The engine hummed smoothly as she wanted me to hear the creak of the suspension over every bump and the sound of steel on steel as I maneuvered the gearbox up and down its narrow gates. Her bones were tired and they wanted to rest, she pleaded.
For the first time in my life I realized it was time to let go.
As I swung her up the drive as I did the last twenty years her lights flickered one last time, her engine sputtered, and Christine came to a quiet halt into front of my house. The gauges slowly drooped to zero and the fluids trickled out of every tank in the car. She was no more.
And for the first time in our life, I let go.
|
"So, come here often?"
I stopped dead in my tracks. My hand was still in the handle as my whole body stood frozen. I took a deep breath and turned around. Seeing that it wasn't anybody I knew, I replied, "Yeah. I come here almost every week, but I never fall through and I usually just walk away." I stared into his black eyes. They were just like mine: empty.
"Same here, but tonight finally feels like the night you know?"
He looked up at the black sky and let out a huge breath out. He held out a hand and said, "Need a quarter?"
Still staring in into his eyes, I said, "No thanks, I got one," showing the quarter I was squeezing in between my fingertips.
His brown hair shifted though the wind, while the cars beeped and blared. Still looking at me, he smiled. "Hey do you want to get a drink before we go through?"
I laughed. It was the first time in weeks. I thought I forgot how to, but here I was laughing. Then, I looked back at his eyes. "Wait. You're serious?"
"Yeah, a drink should make it easier, you know?"
I just stood there smiled, and said, "Where?"
His eyes, shot up. "I know just the place."
We then went into a liquor store, bought a pack a beer, and he led me to a beat up building. Usually I would never go somewhere with a stranger, but there was something about him that made me feel safe. We walked up the rusted stairs to the roof, where he opened the pack and passed me a bottle.
"Its amazing you know, how we came so far"
"Yeah." I replied
"I mean just imagine how people lived back then. Have you ever been to Old New York?"
"No, why?"
"It's amazing. Cars back then moved with four wheels and..."
We just sat there staring at the city and talked for hours. We talked about our lives and how each of us ended up at the booth. We talked like we had known each other for years. Then the neon lights faded, and the sun peeked over the city. We sat there silently staring at the sun, and then we both got up, because we both knew it was time. We walked to the booth together. We put in the quarter together and pushed the button. As the booth whirred and the knives began to come out, a tear fell down my cheek, and he wiped it away. He put his hand on my face, and we stared into each others eyes. His mouth moved toward mine as the saws and machines moved toward us. Then, we kissed.
*This is my first time posting here and actually writing something out of a classroom. Sorry for the lack of skill, but practice makes perfect. If you didn't get it, the story takes places in Futurama's universe so it might not make much sense if you don't watch the show.
| 2013-08-31T17:29:16 | 2013-08-31T12:06:14 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] When someone turns 18, they may use one adjective on themselves boost that part 10 fold. Strong, fast, smart, no one expects your adjective.
|
When someone turns 18, they may use one adjective on themselves to boost that part 10 fold. Strong, fast, smart, no one expects your adjective:
Hence, I chose "Divine". And that's how I became as a God - completely ethereal, non-existent, an object of worship that has no physical body, a concept.
I have to admit, it's quite strange seeing people bow down and praying to me, but at the same time, it's saddening that I have absolutely no way of helping them.
Never have I felt before such an abysmal sense of helplessness, of uselessness.
I watch slowly as the seasons go by, as the young children grow into old feeble creatures, calmly withering away before my very eyes. The cycle of life and death continues endlessly, the leaves on the trees grow and fall, the rocks and stones are slowly carved by the gentle flowing water, the roots rot away with time... and in the end, unchanging, eternal, immortal, only I remain.
Being a God sure is quite lonely.
|
Honestly, I was quite surprised that no one had chosen mine before. It would have taken only a slightly above average understanding of the english language.
I guess that's what happens when you leave it up to 18 year olds to decide what they want to be for the rest of their life. You get a bunch of kids with basic superpowers.
I wasn't so dumb however. I planned it since this strange anomaly became a thing less than a year ago. I was perfectly inline for it.
Everyone pestered me about it until the day it happened, and as tradition, stayed up until it was well past the time I was born. Less than a year and it's already been incorporated into human culture.
Well, none of that would matter soon. I would be able to do whatever I wanted.
As I sat there in silence, it finally came time. I proudly declared:
"Omnipotent"
And nothing could stop me.
| 2022-01-02T03:38:51 | 2022-01-02T03:07:10 | 34 | 25 |
[WP] A doctor waging the war on cancer dies with (surgical) blade in hand. Somehow his spirit enters Valhalla.
|
"This is a mistake, I'm not supposed to be here!"
"Well" Odin said in his deep booming voice, "You died fighting a powerful enemy with blade in hand, that gets you into Valhalla."
"But I never even believed in any of this!"
"That doesn't matter, besides, why should you complain, you get to fight all day and feast all night and the Valkyries will attend to your every need."
"This... this just wasn't what I was expecting"
"Well you will be in good company, you will be revered as a hero here."
"I'm no hero, I didn't die in battle, I had a heart attack while performing surgery!"
"Don't be so modest, this place is for those who fought and slayed the unjust, and what enemy is more unjust than cancer?"
Odin began speaking with excitement, as if even a god were in awe of this mere mortal.
"The most unjust enemy, it kills at random, it slowly and painfully tortures it's victims, and you fought it through hours upon hours in the operating room, and not for the first time! You died a greater hero than many a viking warrior, now you have a place at the table of heroes, now drink your mead and revel in the company of those who fought the good fight!"
Odin put his hand on my shoulder and directed me to a table in his great hall. My eyes widened in wonder as I saw who was seated there. Faces I only knew from pictures in the history books, Hippocrates, Louis Pasteur, Jonas Salk and every other doctor who had saved countless human lives throughout history.
"Behold, the table of true heroes!" Odin proclaimed. Now take your place among them!
Edit: Thanks for the gold kind stranger! I had no idea this story would get so much support, my mind is thoroughly blown.
|
Another day at work for Doctor Hubert Sprinklejizz. How he ever got this job is a mystery, lost least on himself. He barely passed medical school, if it hadn't been for that short act of fellatio upon professor Fuddlepuck, he wouldn't have garnered the necessary "extra credit" to have continued his career. He shuddered, how close he had been to working his fathers fruit stall instead!
His ineptitude had befouled him before. His short time as a paediatrician had ended in a storm of malpractice lawsuits, unnecessary surgeries and violent, angry parents. Forced to leave Bangladesh, he set course for America, that golden gilded paradise of opportunity.
After twenty years of practice his opportunities had evaporated. No self-respecting hospital would take him. The NRA had a bounty on his head, the CRIPs and Bloods had put their differences aside to try to stop him. The lower 48 were off limits.
Which is how he found himself in Alaska. Fortunately Alaskan scientists hadn't yet discovered the internet, and his reputation was clear, for now.
A sharp pain gripped his chest.
The ceiling of the theatre tore open, and before it the sky itself. Ten-thousand busty valkeries poured around him, gingerly lifting him upon their fingertips into the sky above.
A great hall. All of the great conquerors of history sat around an equally great table, Genghis Khan, Alexander, Tamerlane, Robin Williams, with Odin at the head. "HUBERT!!" Odin's voice boomed "TRULY YOU ARE THE GREATEST OF US ALL!"...
| 2014-08-22T21:28:26 | 2014-08-22T20:30:31 | 690 | 52 |
[WP] Zombies are considered terrible pests in the undead world. They kill, eat, and turn humans indiscriminately with no care to conserving population growth or long term population health. It's gotten so bad the vampires now run human conservation programs.
|
*"Welcome,"* the car speaker intoned as the vehicle rolled through massive wooden gates, *"to Human Park.”*
From the front passenger seat, Lord Alleric scoffed, "'Human Park'? A bit on the nose, aren't we, doctor?"
The vampire in the driver's seat, Dr. Vlad Blaughson, flinched. He had a healthy amount of fear for his boss, and rightfully so, Lord Alleric’s dominion covered a quarter of the planet.
"Names are trivial to change, if needed, my Lord," he finally replied. "But the park itself is what we should be focused on! The world's first human reserve, allowed to live and roam free in their natural habitats."
Stretched out before them was indeed a snapshot of humanity. A city in the distance, towns and suburbs surrounding, giving way to natural forests and mountains. The mountain tops were dotted by cottages and cabins, suitable for those humans who preferred a more 'rustic' lifestyle.
"How many residents?" Alleric asked as the car wound down the road toward the city.
"About 20,000 in this trial period, your lordship. But- but we can scale up quite quickly!"
"Number of infected among the 20,000?"
Vlad grinned, his fangs glinting in the sunlight. "Zero."
"None...?"Allerics eyebrows darted upward in surprise. "How many... abominations have *attempted* infection?"
Alleric avoided the term 'zombies' when he could, so great was his disdain for the 'walking dead'. Unthinking, uncivilized brutes, the lot of them. Killing and turning humans with no regard for the future. Vampires were all about sustainable farming of human resources, namely their precious blood.
Zombie blood, Alleric had learned the hard way, tasted of lead and sulfur, entirely useless as sustenance for the good, hardworking vampire citizenry of the world.
"No zombie has *ever* been detected on the island, Lord Alleric." Vlad beamed with pride. "We've been extremely careful with our transports to and from the mainland. Boats are swept bow to stern and all planes are carefully examined for stowaways, even in the wheel wells and other nooks and crannies."
"Impressive," the vampire lord muttered.
"What's impressive is your generous funding, my Lord. This reserve has given humans a chance to live free of the constant threat of being eviscerated by zombies." Vlad gestured to free range humans cheerfully working on their lawns as they drove by. "They're happy here. Free of fear. It's a great thing you've done for humanity, Lord Alleric."
"Mmm? Oh, yes, of course." Alleric ran his tongue along his fangs, salivating at the sight of all the healthy, organic humans they drove past. "And we can come here to feed on fresh, delicious, untainted human blood whenever we please... Making future plans for storage and export of the most precious liquid resource."
Vlad grimaced. "And that, of course, my Lord." He turned cheery once more. "But I believe there will be far greater unseen benefits to society than we can even—"
He was cut short by a blaring alarm.
"What the devil is that, doctor?" Alleric asked.
"That's, uhh—*shit,"* Vlad concluded as a zombie sprinted in front of the car, leaping onto the back of the nearest human and tearing into its neck.
Vlad scanned the surroundings until his eyes came to rest on the beach to their left. There, dozens of zombies clawed their way up onto the sand, hundreds more bobbed in the water behind them, slowly riding the waves in.
With a sigh, Vlad powered up his tablet and ticked the 'Failure' checkbox next to 'Human Park: Experiment 1'.
"The zombies learned to swim," Lord Alleric stated plainly.
"The zombies learned to swim," Vlad echoed, nodding. "I— Forgive me, my lord. I should have forseen this possibility."
Alleric stared back at him, clearly more interested in solutions than apologies.
"I'll, um..." Vlad sputtered. "I'll begin researching options for walls, fencing, and moats filled with alligators at once."
\_\_\_\_
Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore many more of my stories 🙂
|
The constant drone of a moaning zombie horde surrounds my current shelter. The doors are all barricaded and I'm on the second floor trying to stay quiet. Eventually they will move on, they always do. There's no way I can realistically fight my way out anyway, my only weapon is a handgun and I'm pretty low on bullets. The only thing I can do is wait. I'm completely exhausted, so it doesn't take long for waiting to turn into napping.
Not sure how long I was out, but by the time I woke up it was already night time. My heart sank...guess I'm sheltering here longer than I want to. The night was quiet, so at least the horde has moved on. One more night hiding, trying to stay as quiet as possible until dawn. I've heard the rumors, and at first I didn't want to believe it. How can anyone expect to cope with a zombie apocalypse when it turns out vampires are also real? According to the rumors, the bloodsuckers are rounding up what remains of humanity and herding them like cattle. Well I refuse to go out like that.
Some time later I heard footsteps outside. This wasn't the usual shambling of our undead cousins, but at the same time it seemed much too graceful for the average human. I barely even heard it. Against my better judgement, I took a peek outside. There were two of them, moving very quickly through the former suburban neighborhood, going from house to house. They worked their way past each house until they got to my location...and suddenly stopped dead in their tracks, looking towards not only the house, but the second story window where I was.
"Oh fuck.." I choked out, dropping out of sight. It was too late though, and I knew it. My brain went into panic mode, not sure what to do. I draw my pistol and try to prepare for a fight, knowing I don't really have a chance
"Human, don't do anything stupid now" a voice called out from downstairs. They're already inside the house. "We're not gonna hurt you, just come out peacefully"
"It's pointless to fight back anyway, you aren't capable of hurting us" another voice added. He was right of course, my bullets would only irritate these creatures.
"Look I know you're scared but I promise, we're here to help" the first voice said.
"You're here to help yourself" I called out, my voice shaking with fear. "I am a human being, and I refuse to be your cattle"
I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and so I placed the gun to my own head. The door opened, and I pulled the trigger
\*BANG\*
My ears are ringing, but I'm still alive. My gun is pointing up as my arm is in the grip of a vampire. He pinned me against the wall.
"Drop it...NOW!" he ordered, his eyes briefly flashing red. I felt compelled to obey, instantly dropping the gun. "Now sleep..."
And so I did.
\---28 Days Later---
So as it turns out, being cattle isn't so bad. When I was first brought in, it certainly took a while to adjust, to put it lightly. I was kept on suicide watch, evaluated, and treated to the best of their abilities. Luckily a handful of decent therapists survived and ended up here. Once I was a little more stable, I could be introduced into the human community and see how relatively normal life can be here. It's honestly very close to average life in the old days. Living conditions are very comfortable, food is plentiful, and we are 100% safe from zombies. Our rent is paid in blood donations, which are no worse than giving blood in the old days. As for the vampires themselves, they mostly leave us alone to live our life. There are some exceptions. Some people end up being chosen as a vampire's pet, which freaked me out at first. Once I realized that all these people had approached the vampires themselves, and that it was consensual, I calmed down. Then I got curious. Seeing these vampires and their pets interact...either these pets are all masochists, or something about vampire teeth feels fucking amazing. Either way, I'm gonna find out.
| 2022-05-15T10:20:52 | 2022-05-15T09:33:19 | 748 | 230 |
[WP] Your roommate is obviously an alien trying to infiltrate humanity... but he pays the rent on time so you don't really care.
|
The first thing Al did to me was put his mouth over my nose so he could jam his tongue up one of my nostrils. No, "Hello," no, "Hey, do you mind if I nose-rape you?", no anything. I was displeased and about to throw him out when he said, "Now that our customary exchange of microbes is complete, let's get down to brass ticks. I have here what I believe is the correct number of Ham-ul-tens in order to create a mutually-beneficial co-habitational relationship between us."
And to be fair, he was far from the weirdest person I'd met on Craigslist. Plus, I knew what his deal was, you know? Like, I had one roommate who would just watch me. Silent, slack-faced, empty-eyed staring. Sometimes I would look back, try to shame him into breaking eye contact, and he would...not. My friends and I used to try to come up with descriptions of what his secret was. I always assumed it was some spot no one knew about - a murder basement, or an arson shed, or something.
Anyway, like I said, I knew what Al's deal was. I think I figured it out before he actually gave me his full name, but the fact that he gave his name as Al E. Ng didn't do him any favors. He was grinning so much as he said it, too, and I know he wanted to wink at me, because he said "Wink" and then cocked his head to one side but didn't actually do anything with his eyelids.
Al is also terrible about covering his tracks...and lacks any kind of basic understanding of how stealth works. He likes to say "Because I am such a huge fan of Gee-or-gee Clinton and his Parliament of Funkadelics, I am going to go to the 'mother ship' now. But not a real mother ship, of course. Wink."
I followed him once. It was...not a nice ship, to be honest. Like, I don't know what the inter-stellar equivalent is of my uncle's Pontiac, but I'm pretty sure they had it. It smelled awful and there were empty Ritz-bits packages all over the place and so I just went home to watch Netflix.
Every few months I tell him that the landlord raised the rent again and he gets me another stack of cash. By the end of the year, I should have enough to put a down payment on a condo across town...assuming Al and his buddies haven't destroyed Earth by then.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
|
"Hey, Kyle."
"Hey, Doug, how's it going?"
"Not much, man. You?"
"Uh...not much, not much." I looked at him closely, but Doug didn't notice; he was busy digging into a tuna sandwich. "Classes go alright?"
"None today, so it went excellently." He laughed at his own bad joke. A desperately forced laugh, I thought. "You just came back from calc?"
"Yeah. This stuff is hard; all of it just goes over my head," I complained.
"Really? Thought it would be simple for you; you're like a math genius, aren't you?"
"What? Who told you that?" I snapped, and then strained to even out my temper. "I mean, I'm a genius at nothing. Just trying to get by." I yawned, hopefully convincingly.
"Tired, huh? I noticed you were up late last night."
I widened my eyes, but kept my voice steady. "Yeah, uh...lot of work to do. Midterms coming up, y'know. Hey, I gotta get this phone call, talk to you in a bit." I waved my phone screen at him briefly before running out of the dorm.
"Something to report?"
"It's my roommate again, sir," I whispered, phone glued to my ear. "I really think he *knows*. I mean, he's good at pretending, but I think--"
"Kylixiixo-12, don't be an idiot," the gruff voice in my ear intoned. "You're paying the rent and bills, and you've become fluent in their guttural, meat-flap language. He knows nothing. Just focus on your mission. Speaking of which..."
I groaned inwardly but nodded. Stupid Earth habit I couldn't shake off. "Don't worry, sir. I've already initiated Phase 1. I put the nanobot bolus into his tuna sandwich."
"Excellent. Frankly, I don't understand why you're so concerned - it won't matter in a few days; he will be under our control soon."
"And once this preliminary test is complete, all of humanity shall follow."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Liked that? [More stories here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)
| 2018-08-13T17:23:52 | 2018-08-13T16:34:45 | 201 | 109 |
[WP] Three soldiers meet in the afterlife. Each from a different period of time. They discuss their differing opinions of War.
For example, maybe a Roman soldier, fighting for the glory of Rome and to earn his citizenship. A medieval archer, told to fight by his lord against a king he's never heard of. An American Civil War or Napoleonic soldier, fighting just to get three meals a day, regular wages and the chance for loot. A world war 2 trooper, fighting to defend his homeland against all those who threaten it.
|
3 warriors of their time found themselves in a white waiting room known for warriors deceased and waiting for judgement. Clearly, linear time is irrelevant here....
1 warrior looked like a peasant wielding a a makeshift shield and sword.
A 2nd warrior looked like a grand knight.
The 3rd warrior was a young marine.
There was an awkward silence with no indication of anything to happen. Just 3 men seemingly waiting for nothing.
To break the silence, the young marine decided to ask "So, I assume we're all dead.... I suppose, I should ask... what did you guys die for?"
The peasant looked up at the marine and without hesitation replied "I fought for my family, for their freedom and land. I fought so we could keep our food and our way of life. We were a peaceful group of people until the empire found our lands."
The Knight replied "That is an honorable death to have died for such a cause. I commend you, you are truly a great a man."
The knight turned to the marine and continued, "I fought for my King. He was the 8th generation of his lineage, ruled our people with respect and love. his family spent their lives dedicated to the betterment of their people. During battle, he would be seen on the front line of the battle field fighting with his men. I died taking an arrow to the chest for this man. I died knowing this King would continue to serve my family well."
The peasant replied "I too commend you sir, You sacrificed your life for a higher cause".
There was a bit more silence as the peasant and knight expected an answer from the Marine. The marine looked a bit confused, thinking about what his answer might be. The peasant asked, "So what did you die for young man?"
The Marine looked at other two, then down at his feet before answering, "To be honest, I'm not sure what I died for after hearing your stories. I thought it was for my family, but they were safe at home, probably watching TV and drinking beers before sleeping in their comfy beds. And then I thought I was fighting for freedom and democracy, but I wasn't freeing anyone I cared about, no one from my country. I wasn't fighting for democracy back at home. They weren't affected in anyway. They would still remain a democracy. TO be honest.... I'm not sure what I died for....."
|
3 men sat conversing in the waiting room for the afterlife.
In the first chair sat a giant of a man, blond, burley, and covered in scars and tattoos, a true viking.
In the second was a man painted in green and black camouflage, and wearing a vest covered in all sorts of pockets, pads, and pouches.
Finally, in the last chair sat a man whose face was covered completely behind a bare metal mask which bore no slits or holes for his eyes, nose, or mouth!
The little skin that was exposed on his body showed various odd metallic bits and parts protruding from it.
Eager to break the awkward silence, the blond viking spoke up to the two men next to him.
**"You must have been great warriors to earn a seat in the waiting room of Valhalla!"** bellowed the Viking
The man in camoflauge and the metal "mask" only turned and looked at the viking in confusion.
**"...Ehh well death without glory or honor is hollow, yes?!"**
*"Where in sam's hill are you from son.."* asked the camouflaged man
**"I am Bjorn! Son of Halfred, and feller of 300 men and hero of my people! It took 44 spears to slay me you know! What do your people call you Green painted man?."**
The man in camouflage replied. *"Captain Price, 1st division, United States army...."*
**"Ahhahh, and what about you metal-man, who are you!"**
The man with the metal mask's voice was odd and mechanical.
>"John-066, IAD corporate operator ."
**"Indeed tin-man! now how did you fellow warriors die? It must have been glorious no!?"**
*"Japs...*" Murmured Captain Price.
>"Orbital bombing. "
**"HHaaha, well do not fret my friends, soon we will be granted access to the afterlife, and we will fight and feast for all of eternity!**"
*"Hope I can see my family again..."*
>"Here's to hoping there's a tiki- bar up there..."
| 2015-09-08T10:24:14 | 2015-09-08T09:00:16 | 51 | 22 |
[WP] The outgoing President of the United States has written a letter to the newly inaugurated President. Instead of friendly advice, that letter contains the horrible truth that the public doesn't know about. Write that letter.
What is that horrible secret?
|
To my young, idealistic friend,
I'm sure you've wondered why every president promises so much, and delivers so little. I'm sure you think _you're_ the one to break that spell, that you're gonna swoop in and _really change things around here_.
I'm sorry to inform you that that is simply not going to happen. We are being watched and controlled by powers far greater than you can imagine. For centuries they have dictated what we do, manipulating our leaders and subduing our people all to further their aims. WWI was their fault. WWII was their fault. The failure of Russian Communism was their fault. The static, motionless, state of the world for the last 70 years was their fault. We cannot go to war with anyone anymore. Major conflicts have been resolved. The world is stable, and it's suffocating us. But it's overjoying them. They control what we do, what we consume, what we say, what we pay to say it.
The Lizard People.
Naw, just fuckin' with you, it's the corporations, and they've got too much damn power. You can't change that, because if you do, you're a Socialist, and you can't work around them because they own half of everyone in Congress, and your reforms cut into their profit margins. They're not malevolent. They're not even sentient, practically. They're the byproducts of a glitched system, acting only to satisfy the imaginary value of their imaginary bottom line. And they will stop you from doing anything to rock the boat. Status Quo is their greatest source of income. There's only one way to solve this, Mr. President, and it is something I could never do.
Takeover. Break a few eggs. Rewrite the Constitution. Hold them at gunpoint and make them vote to fix this problem for good. Let them call you a tyrant. Forget your promises. Forget your legacy. If we do not fix this problem, we're finished. The rest of the world isn't waiting on us.
Good luck, Sir.
|
Good afternoon,
It feels good doesn’t it? All the stress of the race is starting to melt away as you sit in that chair and realize you made it. Hopefully I have already had the chance to congratulate you in person, but if not I’ll say it now.
Congratulations. It’s been a long fight but you came out on top. You deserve it.
I hope you’ll forgive my brevity. By now my staff will have briefed yours. Your administration is ready to take the reins. All that remains is one final briefing, and it’s not one that can be done in person.
There are certain pieces of information that must, for the good of the people, remain hidden. No, I’m not talking about the weapons or the weather devices or the cousins. You were made aware of these things weeks ago.
I’m talking about something else. This thing must never be disclosed, not even to your husband or closest aids. Only a handful of people in the world are privy to this piece of information. One of them will contact you if necessary, but if all goes well this is the last time you will ever hear about it.
As you know, it’s easier to establish a wireless Neurolink connection to people with a high percentage of body fat. I’m not sure how it works but the science boys tell me all that fat makes them perfect little meat antennas.
We need more antennas. To this end, it was decided that a certain product, marketed as a healthy substitute, would serve as one of a dozen “gentle nudges”.
Project Heavy Mamma’s primary delivery vehicle is I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. The secret that you must never mention to another living soul, unless directly contacted by the Neurolink board of directors, is that it actually is butter.
Were this secret to become public knowledge the social fallout would be catastrophic. Americans need to believe that if they work hard and eat healthy they can lose weight. They don’t need to know that we are keeping them fat to facilitate large-scale crowd control.
Sincerely,
President Gore
| 2014-05-01T18:08:52 | 2014-05-01T14:10:21 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
I stared at him, his words being weighed in my mind. I did not understand humor very well, but even so I was reasonably certain that he was not making a joke. With years of practice, I could now recognize the subtle body language and tones a person used when using humor. The newly crowned King Dervin was not joking.
"You are certain this is a wise decision, my king?"
He scowled and the already low probability that he was joking went down even further. By now the person telling the joke would have proceeded to the punchline. "I am *quite* certain, I'm afraid. I have had my servants watching you for several weeks now and documenting your daily routine." He pulled a large scroll from his extravagant robes. "Not only have you not performed any of your duties, you seem to disappear for hours at a time. No one knows where you go and the former king was not forthcoming before he died. My brother was a great man, but for the life of me, I cannot fathom why he paid you to do nothing but eat from his table and lounge about like a pig."
I nodded once. "I presume King Turic advised you to continue my employ, but did not tell you why?"
The scowl deepened. "Whatever blackmail you held over my brothers head holds no weight over me. In light of my foolish predecessors... Admiration... For you, you may leave my palace unmolested. However, tarry any further and I'll have you strung up by your ankles and left to the crows."
I bowed deeply as was expected of my station. "Very well. If I may offer advice of my own-"
"You may not." He cut me off harshly.
I bowed again. "By your leave."
I strode slowly out the door. As a final gift to my late charge, I gave his foolish younger brother a chance to think on the mistake he just made. However, it seemed my generosity was ignored, as his guards made no move to stop me.
-
It was not even three weeks later that the news came of King Dervins death. I cannot say I was surprised, but the news did cause a faint twinge of regret. That was a well paying job I wasn't likely to get back.
"Say..." Drawled the innkeeper as he cleaned a few dirty beer glasses. "It seems a bit odd that the king died right after getting rid of you. What was your job?"
I smiled in a way that I'd observed other people doing when they wished to be humorous. "Food taster. I'm immune to most poisons."
|
From the highest rank that any soldier can dream of, to being another guy on the streets. I’ve amassed a great fortune in my time as a royal guard while the old king was in rule. It’s been a good 25 years in the army, ever since I enlisted at the ripe age of 16.
I’m old now, old enough to be able to feel my own mortality. I can remember the day Paul, the old king, took me in when I was starving. To repay him I told myself that I much serve this kingdom by capturing country after country. I ended up unifying the entire continent with the king. Truly the glory days of our prime. The king and I together were often called monsters by enemies and even some of our own footmen. Those were good times.
The new king is ignorant of the world. In fact, most royalty are, no matter the country. Race plays no factor in what you can see but instead what you can learn, but there’s a limit on how much you can learn. I had gone around the world, leaving no stone unturned so that I could teach the old king so he could continue being the “wise” old man he was. I was a key factor in his decisions and I took pride In that. Of course everything is always kept privately so no one really knew I was the closest person to the king. But then the king gave me his very last order. When he dies, when the crown prince takes control, should the prince ever act out for his own interests instead of his country’s, I am to put an end to the prince’s plans. And if I must, I will take a blade to his heart if I have to.
The old king loved his sons and daughters, but he loves his people more. He says, “A land with no people is nothing but a wasteland. But a land with caring people is a civilization.” As a result he always did what he could to make the lives of the people more confortable. I’m proud I could be his sword and shield. But now I must commit treason to the highest degree if the current king becomes corrupt. For the glory of Visti’ital and the honor of Paul Visti’sia, I will keep an eye on the current king as the former strongest soldier.
For now I shall find myself in my small home and relax a little with my family. Sending kids to school is expensive you know...
| 2021-02-28T07:33:39 | 2021-02-28T06:52:14 | 65 | 44 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?”
|
The old man sat alone and waited for Death.
It always came this time of year; just before spring, in the last days of long nights and long shadows. There was no fanfare to his arrival. Death simply was where it once wasn't - namely, at the seat across from the old man.
"Are you ready?"
Death's voice was, much like its owner, just there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Every year, you ask, friend, and every year I say no. You know why. Why don't you just come back when my duty's done?"
"Duty, is it now," Death responded casually. "Last year it was your joy."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. The old man fiddled with a toy.
"Come on, Nick," Death said, breaking the silence. "You aren't needed here anymore. They'll manage without you. Just take my hand."
"No," said the old man, and Death was gone.
Saint Nicholas put down the now completed toy. He looked around his tiny cottage, searching the walls for a name without a check.
"Suzy Hope," he muttered, addressed the toy, and started a new one.l
| 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T17:24:04 | 2,040 | 16 |
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