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[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
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"Have you ever considered, you know, doing something with your lives Seamus?" Death sat next to me in the pub, taking a swig of his pint.
"What do you mean!? I've finally perfected the brew, can't you taste how amazing this is? I have it on good authority that it's the best in the universe!"
"Seamus, you perfected this brew well over a century ago. Yes, it's the best beer in history, but surely there's still more you can do. I mean, it's gotta be divine intervention right? Nobody is supposed to win the coin toss. 235 fucking times Seamus. That's how many in a fucking row that you've won. Don't you think maybe you're genuinely mean to be doing something with all this time instead of sitting here getting blitzed? You don't even get any fucking customers out in the goddamn middle of nowhere except Joe in the corner there!"
At the mention of his name, the little old white bearded man in the corner roused himself just enough to look up from his half gone pint for a moment, mutter something unintelligible, and then seemingly go back to sleep.
Seamus, glanced over at Joe "Oi, don't be knocking Joe. He's been my loyal customer for years now, and he knows the true value of my brew."
Death had stopped all the theatrics centuries ago. He showed up in the modern dress of Ireland these days. Neither he nor Seamus could fake an accent to save their lives, but may as well blend in. He had last been at the pub 80 years ago when it was new, and 95 years before that at the tavern in Britain. Always whenever he came to visit "Seamus" was in his personal drinking establishment, serving up his same brew. Nothing ever changed with him, not even the result of the coin toss.
Death swigged down the last of the pint, it really was beyond compare. He'd been all over the world, through all the years, and he'd still never had a brew as good. Seamus was right, he really had perfected it.
"Welp, I got work to do, you know the rules, you get to call it, I get to flip it."
Seamus gargled "heads" through a sip of his drink.
Death used to think he was cheating. He knew it wasn't possible, but still, death couldn't figure out how to recreate that beer, so maybe Seamus had other secrets. Even so, it never mattered what Seamus called. Death tossed the coin in every way he possibly knew. It always came up in Seamus' favor. So this time was no surprise either. The coin landed, death swiped it up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.
"92 years, 84 days, 8 hours. I'll see you then."
"Oh aye laddy. Sounds grand. I'll have your drink waiting for you." Seamus said in his awful fake accent.
After death had left, Seamus went over to sit with his only other patron. The only patron he would ever need for all time.
"Thanks again Joe, guess I get to keep on brewing for you for another 92 years!"
Jehova looked up from his beer with a big smile.
"It really is the best in the universe!"
Edit:
Jesus! that blew up pretty thoroughly! I really appreciate all the compliments. Makes me feel good about taking the time to write it!
|
"Ra*kesh*," Death hums. "You can't keep doing this. Your soul is *so* overdue."
He laughs, baring yellowed teeth. Death purses Her lips.
She looks like a woman barely thirty this time, dark lipstick the colour of dried blood. She is dressed in black - She nearly always is, except the very first time, when She was in widow white.
"Come now, Rakesh," She purrs. She does not lean closer, does not even touch him, yet Her voice makes the now-fine hair on his arms tingle. Behind Her, he can see it affect the other cafe patrons in their vicinity as well.
"Where's the coin, Ma'am?" he asks, his coffee untouched.
One appears between Her fingers, and it glides effortlessly between Her knuckles, disappearing and reappearing from under Her palm. "You can't keep cheating Death, Rakesh."
"Well, I've been doing *that* for...two hundred and sixty years, haven't I?" he smiles.
She makes a sound that would be a groan if She was a little more undignified. She passes the fat silver *rupaiya* across the table.
"Just toss it, Rakesh. Joseph. Aditya. Whatever name you've chosen this time."
He weighs the coin on his index and middle fingers, keeping his smile carefully infuriating. "I've fought three wars, Ma'am. A name change is a luxury you must afford me." He examines the coin. "I must say, you are fond of this coin."
He says that every time. Normally She only grunts in a non-committal manner.
"It's unique for each of you," She sighs unexpectedly. "This one's yours. Minted the day you were born. I melt the ones that lose."
He twirls the coin around his knuckles like She had. She makes a low noise of appreciation.
"I want to be seventeen," he announces.
"Just toss already."
He grins. "Heads."
His thumb flicks up.
Two sets of eyes -- one brown, the other red -- follow the silver blur as it flies, stops, and falls.
It hits the table with a thud, bounces slightly, metal on wood sounding like tiny plates crashing.
It stops. The noble profile of a forgotten king glares at Her coffee cup.
He smiles boyishly, his crow's feet already fading. He runs his fingers through thick black hair and looks up coyly.
Death's hands are in a fist. He can almost imagine the midnight blue nails digging silvery crescents in Her palms.
She snatches up the coin, and is gone.
He leaves a large tip and walks out, his shirt already loose around his midriff and tight around his forearms.
From inside a trouser pocket, he pulls out a silver *rupaiya*, a little blackened from oxidation, and thanks a thousand gods that Death wasn't gifted in Allsight.
After all, with two hundred years of practice, She isn't the only one prolific in coin tricks.
-----
a/n: took some creative liberty with the POV. apologies.
edit: https://www.wired.com/2010/11/st_cheatscience_cointoss/
edit 2: also https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_rupee
| 2016-09-23T09:14:52 | 2016-09-23T06:50:04 | 2,418 | 875 |
[WP] Long after humans found other sentient races, aliens begin to research the history of humanity. They do not realize humans write fictional stories along with history books, and they are understandably terrified.
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"sir I think you should see this"
"This better be important galakah" said the captain in his trademark blank expressionless tone.
"We have found out the humans do not have any advanced technology we could benefit from, they haven't made it past their own moon yet and are too busy fighting amongst themselves to put any effort into leaving their own planet any time soon."
"Get to the point" the captain hissed, his eyes tightening their gaze on the young privates.
"Well you see sir, the humans then couldn't possibly know so much about the history of the universe could they?" He replied
"What do you mean, what do they know?" The captain quickly replied.
"Well everything sir, they know more about the star wars than even the universe's greatest historians. They know of the doctor, the council of ricks, the Borg, Jesus and his crazy dad. Sir they even know who we are..."
"That's impossible!" The captain screamed as he threw his fork across the room, impaling his mutated pet through one of its eyes.
"It's true sir, someone called Carlos spicy Weiner is writing this conversation on Reddit as we speak, these humans seem to posses gifts we can not even contemplate sir."
"Then it is time we met these humans don't you think so?" The captain said with a smirk
"Yes Satan sir I'll ready the landing crew immediately "
"Excellent" Satan whispered, his eyes fixed on the mysterious blue planet that awaited him.
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Genral ^$%÷£×9_ I will need you to withdraw from this univers and conclude to our imeror that we need to start doing more technological advancements before taking on this galaxy. look at my research and this planet earth alone for the past decade and this is my summary. It has an alien named Kakorot or Goku and has saved this planet many times from other space colonization attemts with his bare physical power and the ability to manipulate nature to his will. I did the calculations and it takes 1000 of our own people to equally lift the same amount as he does before transforming into a more powerfull being. They have people that can controll natural elements and it took us 900 centuries worth of hard work and research to achieve and they were simply born with it. They have a secific hero named sitama that was toying with his opponent and with a single jump ge was able to crack a moon in half. After seeing such site i ordered our crew to continue our research to another galaxy and to erase all of our traces behined. I also made sure that they cannot comunicate to other planets for the reason of not letting them combine forces and discover that we are actually surrounding them. If they decide to attack that would mean the end of our colonization.
| 2018-11-15T14:47:07 | 2018-11-15T12:54:18 | 75 | 25 |
[WP] Instead of a dystopia that seems like a utopia on the surface, write a story about a utopia that seems like a dystopia on the surface.
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A lot of people were unhappy when the world went to shit, but not James Henderson. For him, it had all been a dream come true.
It started with drugs. Growing, refining, smuggling: James did it all. But he always knew that he wouldn't be limited to just one market. When war broke out in the Middle East yet again, one of James's shell corporations was right in the thick of things, selling equipment to the Russians and the Americans. And *another* of his shell corporations was on the other side, selling the very same equipment to Iran and its allies. Very few people found James's joke about "making a killing off of all of this killing" very funny, but James had enough money to not give a fuck what they thought.
Then came the instability at home. The U.S. government, paralyzed by partisan bickering (and now massively in debt and unpopular because of the war), eventually just fell apart. State governments came together into coalitions, all vying to be the replacement power. And most people in the country suffered for it... except for the ones like James. He had enough money to fly out on his private jet, down to his own private villa in Brazil. And all the while, his media outlets in the States continued pushing the war agenda (and simultaneously grew his fortune).
And when disease struck, James was in the right place at the right time yet again. His stock in that pharmaceutical company skyrocketed when they finally created a viable vaccine, though the millions who'd already been infected were kind of shit-out-of-luck. A man like James could afford the best doctors, and the security at his gates screened out anyone who could be carrying the disease.
From his living room, James watched the world crumble. And he didn't care. He had everything that *he* needed, and was one of the few people in the world who seemed to recognize the opportunities that came along with every tragedy. Everyone was wrong, James mused to himself. Money really *can* buy happiness.
-----------
Kate Lewis checked the computer's data readout. James Henderson, now aged 45, living in-simulation for the past 16 years. Vital signs all seemed to be normal, and the world-generating processes were all running smoothly.
She glanced around, making sure that no one was looking. Of course the hallway was deserted: nearly everyone was living in-simulation now, and she was the only tech on duty. So she decided to take a little peek into James Henderson's world. *Technically*, her company Simulacorp offered 'complete privacy' to every customer. A person's simulation is based on their personality. It reflects their wants, their needs, their desires (no matter *how* taboo). So discretion was generally the key here. But Kate had always been a bit of a snoop, and the desire to find out how all of these people were living was practically overwhelming.
She put on the goggles, plugged into the external jack, and was instantly horrified by the Pablo Escabar-esque fantasy world she saw. Throughout her years at Simulacorp she'd seen all sorts of scenarios with some less-than-savory elements. But this man had apparently driven the *entire planet* into the ground just so that he could be king of the ashes.
"Damn," she whispered to herself as she took off the goggles and moved on to servicing the next customer's computer. "That guy is fucked up."
-----
You should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more stories!
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The year is 2044. Chicago is in ruins. Drug dealers, kidnappers, scammers, rapists, all over the surface. Businesses are crumbling. Banks practically don't even exist. People fear for their life. The chance of a child younger than 25 joining a gang was 87%. You can hear gunshots all night long. But, underneath the city is something different.
You see, In 2022, Chicago built right over the old city. Just made a new one right on top, and buried most of the old city in concrete, leaving the main areas and landmark sites as "Historical preservation sites." It moved all the people upwards, promising a "future you have never seen before," "basically unlimited housing," and more. In 2026 though, just 4 years after "New Chicago" became open to the public, police corruption started becoming commonplace. Soon enough, the police didn't even exist. After that, hospitals, fire stations, and more. Chicago became the 4th most dangerous place to live in the world, and urged travelers to not go within a radius of 40 miles of the city.
But, those who were clever enough, banded together to fight off the gangs, drug dealers, rapists, etc. They became known as the sewer people in 2032. They lived in the foxholes of the city. The little nooks and crannies the "surface people" didn't notice. At first they lived in the sewers. Then one day, a man by the name of John Royles found it. It was a little hole in the brick in a dried out area of the sewers.
Once he entered, he couldn't believe his eyes. He was in "Old Chicago." The ruined, abandoned skyscrapers towered above him, getting buried in the industrial concrete, a concrete that barely needs any support in order to stay up. He went back to one of the "sewertowns" and told everybody there about this miracle.
Soon enough, people started flocking to what people call "New Eden." Now, in 2044, it is an oasis. Food is provided in the same amount and quantity to people daily, no matter what, with no bias whatsoever. Supply runs are made daily. In 2039, shortly after "New Eden" was offficially founded, a private mercenary group found the place, but instead of shooting everyone up, they became the New Eden private security. They protected people in New Eden, and provided military escorts, as well as defenses along the outer perimeter.
To this day, Old Chicago is almost entirely unmapped, with only a small portion of the city center being mapped. It is believed that the "sewerpeople" only know of about 5% of Old Chicago. The current population of New Eden is around 230,000, with the west side being entirely dedicated to growing crops in the low light there is, the east side being devoted to the the current mayor, Mac Royle, and the south and city center being devoted to housing, with seperate apartments and housing blocks. The north is the "business district" with office blocks, security training, and more.
There are currently 12 "official" entrances to New Eden, guarded by armed guards. The other 34 "Unofficial" entrances are not guarded, because they are just urban foxholes in the ground, or sewer lids. More and more entrances are being found to this day.
| 2016-07-14T06:26:04 | 2016-07-14T04:39:28 | 2,263 | 205 |
[WP] You're a golden retriever who thinks he successfully fooled a pack of wolves into thinking that he's also a wolf. The wolves know. They're just being inclusive so they took him in.
[deleted]
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This was, of course, a controversial topic. Letting in a domestic dog? It’s a terrible idea. The dog will fuck everything up. It is, by nature, more dependent on humans than on themselves and others.
In the end, the dog was voted to be kept in. Segregation was a mistake of humans, and it was not about to become one of wolves.
The wolves who were against the dog were good at avoiding him wherever he went. He almost never heard anything of the hate against him. As expected, he did fuck everything up, and he is by nature more dependent on humans than on himself and on others, but it wasn’t too bad, and it was a sign wolf society was already better in some aspects than humans.
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Unfortunately, in being so inclusive, they took it too far by never telling me what I truly was: a dog. In doing so, they did more harm than help because I began to really feel like I was a wolf.
Until the day I met another wolf and nearly got mauled to death by it in a fight. I didn't stand a chance.
Fortunately, I recovered with my common sense. I separated from the wolf pack and began to live my life as the simple dog I was.
And sometimes I miss being a wolf, but for the most part, I'm much happier being me, a dog.
| 2021-06-15T03:22:07 | 2021-06-14T21:24:49 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] An horror story where it gets progressively clearer that the writer is the psycho, not the other person.
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I woke up in the middle of the night to see a corpse floating above me. My first instinct was to scream, but my whole body was frozen, stuck to the bed. It stared at me, blood dripping down from its head and limbs, its flesh blue with frost. As it brought its mangled face closer to me and started speaking to me in some harsh foreign language, I felt my whole body cringe at that horrible high pitched nasally tone, the same tone that had constantly haunted my dreams when its owner was still alive.
This isn't real, I kept repeating to myself. He can't hurt me. He's dead. He's dead. He's dead -- The corpse opened his mouth and screeched out a loud wail. Its long bony fingers reached out for my throat as I could only watch in terror. Just before it was about to touch me, my eyes burst open and I bolted up from the bed, hysterically panting. I looked outside at the window and I could see the sun rising over the horizon. It was only a dream. I let out a long sigh of relief. I sat there in the bed for a few minutes, letting myself calm down. Really, it was only natural to have bad dreams when you're sleeping in a dead man's bed. Still, though, I decided that it was finally time to take care of a task that I had been delaying for a while.
I went down into the basement and walked towards the blood soaked refrigerator in the far corner. As I opened the door, a human corpse immediately fell out onto the floor. He stared up at me, his eyes frozen in terror. I stared back at it in rage. Just looking at him reminded me of that horrible annoying voice, constantly waking me up in the middle of the night. "All of this could have been avoided if you just hadn't checked the attic. You poor stupid fool," I whispered to him. I gazed at his mouth hatefully and took out a pair of pliers from my toolbox. I was merciful before by leaving him intact. Now, I was going to silence him permanently.
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As I looked down at Amy among the crowd of her fellow high schoolers, I tilt my head unnaturally to the side, enough to crack it if I was a normal human being.
Call me what you want; an imaginary friend; a stalker; the Creator or whatever the hell you want.
You might not see me. I am behind every curtain, sitting on the couch staring at the screen and maybe beside you right now, looking at you reading this, knowing this is just a story for you.
Maybe you have your own Creator. I was of one.
I have looked after Amy for her whole life. Since she was a baby, I have watched her first steps, watch her parents die in the car accident, stood beside her as cancer took away her elder brother.
But this was unforgivable.
I look over to where she is standing next to her old crush, Dex. She is laughing at something he had said, his eyes twinkling.
He thinks her eyes are beautiful when she laughs.
Hot rage bubble inside me, and I clench my fist enough to draw blood. This isn't supposed to happen.
She is supposed to meet that other boy here. The new jerk. He must have asked her out on a dare today, but this! Dex is supposed to looking after his mom now. I even made her get in an accident to assure that.
There is ....no other way. I throw my head back and laugh.
This is *my* world. *My* creation.
I sweep a languid hand over the cafeteria. It would take some effort to change her memories, but it is my choice.
Tomorrow, I will see to that. And today... That boy's mom is in the hospital, right? It won't take enough to break a *child.*
\[Any advice is appreciated. And you know, there is a ritual you can do to see me. I will tell you about it some other time...\]
| 2020-06-11T05:59:03 | 2020-06-11T05:57:07 | 69 | 25 |
[WP] Every child is given a pet rock when they turn ten. For the next decade the rock slowly forms into a shape that resembles the personality of its owner. Your rock still looks like a rock.
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The problem with the rocks is that no one tells you when you get them that they'll be the basis on which everyone judges your motives and underlying humanity should you let anyone see yours. It's no wonder most people hide theirs. I never did but its obvious I should have. A dead end job going on ten years all to pay for my little brothers schooling and the things still sits their like a lump of coal in a Christmas stocking. I pick it up hefting its weight, examining its black corrugated face and angular lines. In one quick motion I dash it against the floor in a fit of rage. It breaks open. I lean in as I pick up the pieces scattered around the garage floor. hints of amethyst crystals glitter beneath the cover a black exterior. It was a geode. Hollow, beautiful, precious.
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"Mom my rock is still a rock and it's been ten years!" I say with tears rolling down my face.
Mom looks annoyed " how many times do I have to tell you! We're vampires! The mortals' decade rock rule will take a century to even begin."
I sniff and remember she had told me this last year too. "I'm sorry, I forgot." My head staring down at the floor in embarrassment.
Mom sighs and her warm smile creeps back onto her face. "Hey, what do you say we go get some poor soul in the financial district tonight for dinner."
"Yayyy I love when we eat out!" I give her a hug and we spend the rest of the moonlight playing with my coloring books.
| 2018-05-02T06:32:34 | 2018-05-02T06:25:58 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
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I'm unbearably shy. Have been ever since I was little to the point where my parents had to teach me sign language in order for me to express myself. I'm not trying to lie to him I just... can't talk to him unless I'm signing. Nevermind the fact we've known each other for four years now. It doesn't matter anyway, he probably only bothers to hang out with me because he thinks I'm helpless or something.
I suck my teeth in annoyance at the thought as I push muffin crumbs around my plate. He taps my wrist lightly, bringing me out of my own head as effortlessly as always. I snap up, puzzled. My eyes meeting his soft brown gaze makes me blush every time.
He signs, 'Not hungry?'
I shake my head, 'Starving. Lots going on. Sorry.'
He nods with a sweet, warm, smile. 'This place is.. uh new, they have good food. Maybe a good... um, topic for your blog, if you like it?' After four years of trying to learn sign language he still wasn't that great at it, but he had a habit of speaking out loud as he signed so it was never too hard to follow him.
I nodded, glancing around the Café. The aromas of pastries and freshly brewed teas hung in the air amid small, fragrant, floral arrangements set on the tables. He's right, he usually is. It would be a cute place for my next food blog. I took a sip of my green tea when a woman strolled over to our table. He stood to hug her before introducing me. I knew it, he finally got a girlfriend.
"Eden this is Clara," he spoke slowly as he looked at me, half signing. "Clara is my neighbor and soon to be famous blogger."
I rolled my eyes with a slight smile as I waved him away before extending my hand to her.
"Eden works here, and my... sister. I guess." We all half-heartedly chuckled. "Here," he grabbed a free chair, "sit with us."
"Just for a minute," she spoke fast to him and he translated as best he could since she obviously didn't know it was more polite to face a person who can't hear. "I need to get back to work."
I took a bite of my muffin as they continued.
"I just wanted to meet the one who's got my little brother head over heels. I didn't know she was deaf though, how cute."
His hands immediately stopped signing and he mumbled for her to shut her mouth, half hiding his own. "She can read lips idiot, I haven't even gotten to tell her that myself."
I was choking on my food. "You what!!?" My hand clasped over my mouth. Shit.
They both stared slacked jawed at me. Twenty-six years of silence and I choose now to break it. Shoot me. What do I say now!??
|
What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
| 2020-12-01T18:55:07 | 2020-12-01T17:46:27 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] You're the cynical narrator of a story. However, you hate the optimistic main character and only continue to narrate hoping something bad happens to him. With ill-will, narrate a day in the life of this character.
This came to mind a few days ago and thought it could lead to some funny stories.
Edit: Oh wow, I thought this was a neat idea. I didn't realize it would be so well received. Thanks for all the stories! I was in tears laughing so hard while reading a lot of these. Good stuff! Thanks to the unknown stranger for supporting reddit and gilding me.
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She slept in every morning, and this was no different. Her alarm would go off, she'd groan, press snooze and the go back to sleep with a stupid grin on her face. And she wondered why she didn't have a job.
When she did get up, she didn't shower, despite her hair being a good place for birds to make a nest. She instead went down to the kitchen, made a bowl of cereal (clearly she was watching her weight) and threw on the morning cartoons. She was a child, trapped inside a woman's body. Immature, insignificant, Irene.
Irene was 20, though she looked a bit older. Always with a cheery smile on her face (which seemed dreadfully forced) and a deceitful personality which won her many (unappreciated) friends, Irene spent most of her days watching television and posting hopeful messages on OK Cupid, knowing that today is the day that some stupid man will look over all her obvious faults and decide to go on a single date with her before cutting off all contact. Despite how long this routine had continued for, Irene still kept doing it. Every. Day.
At just past noon, her phone rang and she answered it. "Hello!" She said with fake enthusiasm. "It's so nice to hear from you again. Yeah, I'm doing great! I should be going back to school in the fall. Can't wait to see you there!" The conversation lasted all of 5 minutes before Irene bored the person on the other end to sleep.
For lunch she had reheated pizza and a diet coke, neither of which would do anything to solve her weight problem. Then again, maybe if she actually had a job, she could afford something better, and stop being a burden on her parents.
For the rest of the afternoon she followed the same routine. Occasionally the phone would ring, she'd drone on about her pathetic life with so much excitement that the person on the other end kills themselves before hanging up, and then she'd go back to watching TV.
Irene's mother came home from work at 3 in the afternoon, and thankfully told her daughter to move. "Have you been on that damn couch the whole day?"
"Sorry mom, I was staying near the phone in case someone called."
"Who would call you? Have you dropped off any resumes?"
"Well not yet, but Stacy said there's a job opening up down at the mall, and that she can put a word in for me, maybe." Irene smiled.
"Yeah, that's what happened with your other friend of yours. But you don't work at the GAP, so maybe you should stop bothering those friends of yours and actually do something with your life."
"I'll be back at college in the fall!"
"And in debt in the spring. Your father and I aren't going to keep taking care of you."
"Don't worry, mom. I'll take care of it."
"Yeah. Okay. Just leave me alone while I watch my soaps."
After the conversation with her mother (of which Irene listened to none), she went to her bedroom and went onto Tumblr, where she started writing her daily blog which no one would ever read.
"She slept in every morning..."
|
*WARNING: strong language below.*
Look at this fucker. C'mon, get a load of this clitoris-faced little cunt sauntering down the street like he's a worthwhile goddamn human being. He has apparently forgotten that he has accomplished a negative fuckton worth of good in his brief, pathetic life, but who cares, he's young and somewhat pretty, he's fucking born for amazing things, that's what his monkey-whore of a mother told him when he was sucking at her floppy tit at the age of fourteen.
Notice how he's puffing his chest out and swinging his arms just a little bit too much. He's trying to look self-confident; see, he knows he hasn't got anything worth a maggot's shite to offer the world, but he got away with cheating on a test in primary school, so now he thinks he's a good liar, so he's trying to pass as some kind of fucking adult. He's twenty-five and he still has cunting acne scars. YOU'RE NOT A GROWN UP, YOU'RE A BREATHY-VOICED SHIT-BRAINED TWAT.
Oh, and there he goes, literally bumping into a complete stranger, like the gangling personification of the phrase "cock-up" that he is. Oh, and she's dropped her books, and yep, he manages to take a pervy little look down her blouse before helping her pick up her metric shite-load of - what are those, communications studies textbooks? What kind of twit studies that bollocks anymore?
Oh, now he's trying to crack a joke, this oughtta be good. And there's the punchline, and... WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, DON'T LAUGH AT HIS CUNTY JOKE, YOU CANARY-BRAINED EXHIBITIONIST WHORE. Oh, now he thinks he has an "in," because some vacuous bird finds his insipid brand of "humour" charming.
Oh, and now they're exchanging phone numbers, what the fuck do they think this is, a fucking Disney short film? Knowing my luck they'll copulate dispassionately for the rest of their lives, producing a veritable bevy of scrotum-faced babies to further pollute this miserable fuckin' planet. Yeah, you walk away and smugly put her number in your pocket, you little prick, the only way this fucking day could get better is if you get hit by a bus - CHRISTMAS CAROLING CROW SHIT! I didn't fuckin' mean it! NOW this fucking universe listens to me? Oh for fuck's sake.
And what's this useless bus driver doing? Is he actually going into shock? MOVE, you micro-dicked waste of civil resources! Call a fucking ambulance, perform CPR, do something, you limp-wristed, elephantine castratti, if you've finished wanking to your own traumatic guilt, you might have a chance to be a slightly less putrid intrusion into the terrestrial sphere, you pillowfucking...
*Fade out*
| 2014-08-24T17:07:52 | 2014-08-24T17:01:56 | 64 | 38 |
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
|
Grass is food. I eat grass and I not die.
Farmer is friend. I not kill farmer and farmer take me to new grass. I eat new grass and I not die.
Sometimes farmer take me to milk square and invisible calves feed, sometimes farmer take me to bed square and visible calves feed.
When visible calves grow they go away. Invisible calves never grow, always hungry.
Old cows sometimes go away. Maybe someday I go away too. I wonder what away is like. Maybe away have better grass.
|
joyce called me moocow
i thought that was
quite cute
i am a moocow
my skin is a moosuit
i eat grass and pass gas
the hindus
love dat ass
and if you got beef then
my gais got my back
and
my loins, and my chucks, and my ribs, and my brisket,
i'm tastiest rare
but most don't want to risk it
| 2017-10-02T06:13:08 | 2017-10-02T04:34:37 | 6,645 | 534 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops.
|
Dear Jesus - Your birthday is coming up. YAY! 2015 has been great to me. I finally realized this year that you're not real. Who am I actually addressing this letter to then? Oh well. Thanks for taking up all of my teens and 20s with indoctrinated lies that kept me from many experiences that in retrospect I would have preferred to have had much sooner. Very kind of You. Sincerely - Born Again Deconvert
| 2015-12-05T15:43:07 | 2015-12-05T14:47:35 | 45 | 22 |
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
|
**Changes**
* Removed appendix
* Removed wisdom teeth
* Fixed a bug that caused infants to die for no reason
* Patched a bug that caused certain people to lose hair prematurely
* Body now handles excess calories better.
* Improvement of smell. Now should be on par with dogs
* Patched the bug that caused blurry vision in certain people
* Height limit increased
* Fixed a weird bug that made certain people attracted to young children. May need to reset preferences for this change to take place.
* Bodies will now "rag doll" instead of locking up when in a crash or similar event.
* Nipples no longer get irritated while running or in cold conditions
* Removed bug where women would grow facial hair
* Increased male pleasure from sexual intercourse. Should now be even with women.
* Increased flexibility of hip bones in women to allow birthing to be easier.
* Increased chance of rare eye color unlocks.
* Removed ghosts.
|
God: "What the me is this?! How the hell am I supposed to find anything again!
The first ones are okay:
Patch: Wisdomteethremov1.4
Patch: Diabeetus1.8
Patch: Colonmrrt2.3
But these?!
Patch: TrgH&3.4
Patch: TrgH&3.5
Patch: TrgH&3.5.1
Patch: TrgH&3.5.1&Wisdomteethremov1.5
And so on. What the hell, man?"
"Ha! I never commented my code when I was alive. So I know exactly were I'll end up once we finish this. This way, you'll need me forever!"
| 2015-08-25T08:40:17 | 2015-08-25T07:52:02 | 292 | 150 |
[WP]You are a SWAT team member with one big problem: you are a vampire. Your life depends on asking permission before you get through the door, and somehow you pull it off every time.
|
Being an ancient horror and adapting to modern times is always a challenge.
Ovidiu was one of the last of the originals, or what he considered an original anyway.
He figured out that a monster needed to find a niche in order to survive.
His was violence.
From foot soldier to gladiator to assassin, he worked his way through the ages.
When modern times came, he decided to try to blend into society with a little more grace.
A police officer would make sense, and with a little natural talent he made it to SWAT.
Every new job had its challenges, namely not able being open to rip open someones carotid artery on a whim, and this one was no different.
It took some time to figure out the usual ways around the whole, "have to be invited in" thing. He eventually settled on the man in front of him saying, "On my six" or "Check the right". It wasn't perfect but usually if the guy wasn't inside yet he'd say it again if Ovidiu didn't comply.
This time, this time was different. The squad was sick, the whole squad. Ovidiu was tasked to lead a bunch of beat cops in riot gear into a bar.
The call came in that some loony had holed up in a bar and was shooting anything that came close to a window.
It was pretty routine, the squad showed up, snuck up on the door, hugging the wall, because of his experience Ovidiu was leading the team.
He inched to the door, trying to figure out how he was going to enter.
He took another silent step and hell broke loose.
The beat cops weren't crouching low enough and the perp took advantage of the top of a helmet in a window.
The sound of gunfire tore through the air as one of the poor beaties dropped to the ground sans top of his skull.
Then, instantly, silence followed with the voice of the perp.
"You pigs want me! You come and take me!"
Ovidiu smirked
|
I've always loved what I've done for a living, the thrill and exhilaration of saving the day. It was almost as if the SWAT was made for me. Even with my problem I've always found a way to make it work, one time I even had to scream out to a hostage if I could come into the house. The SWAT used that as a distraction and no one knew a thing, but now I'm faced with a much greater problem...A hostage has been taken... In a church.... Luckily it's summer in California so the amount of holy water at the church was scarce enough that I could be extra careful and work my way inside. Once I was I side the building crosses were everywhere and that was hard enough to deal with while not being shot at. Once we worked our way into the main room the hostage was tied up in the center surrounded by stakes and barbed wire, the barbed wire was the easiest to deal with as we could take it out easy without harming the hostage once we had taken possession of the hostage an explosion that rattled the building almost blew me off my feet. The building was being bombarded by makeshift pipe bombs probably planted at the scene earlier, now with it being summer I've only been able to work night jobs, y'know the small things an occasional jewelry heist those types of things but this time was different I was working a day shift because my hours needed a boost for pay. Anyways the roof was partially blown off and Sundays were blocking the exit, there had to be another way but the enemies were closing in and there wasn't time to find another exit. I went for it, the people at the hospital told me I had past out likely from shock from the explosions but I only knew the real reason. I was lucky to be alive not many of us can survive being grazed by the sun let alone running into it. I quit my job the next day
Sorry if it's not up to par with most stories on here I'm in 8th grade and don't generally write much
| 2016-10-11T14:19:01 | 2016-10-11T13:32:52 | 98 | 23 |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity.
|
A man's gotta make a living, right? And with a talent like this, who wouldn't want to use it?
Day to day I mold my face, my body into something completely different. Your mailman, your mother, your friendly neighborhood Superman--it could be anyone. I prefer the latter--being someone that's close to other people is a lot harder than you'd think. How am I supposed to know your child had a dance recital at 6:30, Ron? I just know your wife didn't want to go.
For a while, I did it almost hourly. I was swamped with work. Superheroes that wanted to get a jump on their arch nemesis, villains wanting to divert the police force so they could rob the farthest bank from the scene of the crime...you name the benevolent deed or heinous crime, and I probably played a role in it.
But being someone else all the time is exhausting work. The physical toll it takes on your body...It's draining. Not that you'd ever know, though. Just take my word for it.
The lesser known effect of this though is the mental strain it takes on you. I numbed myself to it a while ago. And it's not my conscience making its grand appearance like it used to. I learned a long time ago that good and bad is a moral distinction made by people. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I don't even see myself anymore.
To be honest, I don't remember what that person looks like.
|
The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant.
| 2020-10-19T09:09:05 | 2020-10-19T08:03:28 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] You are a successful artist who has a condition where you randomly black out. When you wake up, you see that you have created beautiful masterpeices that you don't remember painting. Lately, all of your paintings have been more and more disturbing.
|
It began with a still life painting of a dimly lit kitchen. There was a set of knives laid neatly on the surface alongside a length of worn rope. The details on the rope were exquisite, more than I usually put into my works. I didn't remember painting it, but the paint on my hands and brushes was proof enough that the alcohol I'd imbibed last night had worked its magic on my muse.
There was something about the painting that bothered me, though. It didn't feel like mine. I decided to sell it. Despite the fact that still-lifes are typically worthless, the painting managed to fetch a small sum. I set the money aside and promised myself that I wouldn't drink that much again.
But the paintings kept coming. A landscape. A house. A tree hung with rope. A noose. The same knives, bloody and wet.
My anxiety grew. I hadn't had a drink in over a month, but the blackouts didn't stop. I didn't like where these paintings were going. What was wrong with me? I sold them all, the art dealer commenting on the perfectly shaped leaves on my tree. I could only smile-grimace at her. I threw out my brushes and shredded my canvases. I took a long weekend to myself.
The next morning, it was there.
A woman.
The art dealer dropped by that morning as I was putting the painting out in the garbage, and she seemed somewhat nervous as she looked at the first portrait I'd painted in two years. She bought it despite my protests, despite the tear, despite the look of abject horror on the woman's face.
I tried not to think too much on it.
Until the police came knocking three days later. The officer held up a picture of a woman, though this one looked less afraid. Did I know this woman, they asked. I didn't know. I swore that I didn't know, the fear from her painted eyes infecting me too. I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't...
The officer showed me photos of my paintings. The kitchen, the knives, the tree hung with rope. Only, they weren't my paintings.
A crime scene.
No. It wasn't me.
The officer smiled gently as he pulled out the handcuffs. If I would just come along, they were sure to get this all sorted out down at the station. They were going to have a look around my house.
I didn't fight as the handcuffs clicked around my wrist. I didn't look back to the painting on my living room wall. I didn't flinch when they read me my rights.
I only looked down at my hands, red. Red with paint.
|
Eloquent and endearing, each stroke carried a vibrancy of colorful congruence. Her mind’s eye had already visualized it, but seeing the brilliance gradually materializing on the canvas was something else entirely.
Like a stiff coryphée on a private stage of white ice, the brush swayed and pirouetted, leaving trails of flamboyant pigment in its wake. Red like the lips of a stalwart opera singer; maroon like the royal cape of King Arthur; violet like the Damascus sky at sunset – color was merely a vessel for ideas, and the canvas a province for expression.
Whenever Fiona painted she entered a trancelike state – it had been like that since her childhood. It was an unwavering place in the storm of life’s uncertainties. More importantly, though, it cured her briefly of her disease. As weird as it might seem, the shapes and forms were an antidote to the chronic poison in her veins. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time, and the byproduct was a broad range of beautiful paintings.
Fiona felt the strange sickness slowly shrinking away. It was as if each touch and dip drained her face of fever spots, and every sweeping arc replenished her strength. Soon all trace of the depression had disappeared. Once again she felt young and healthy.
She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the brush to produce arrays of tranquil innovation on the smooth surface. This right here was every painter’s wet dream – to let go of inhibition and self-doubt, and just let the image craft itself – measured but casual; ardent but soothingly invigorating. This right here was art in the purest form. Fiona smiled and opened her eyes.
Something was not right. At first, her mind had a hard time comprehending the visual input. This had never happened to her before. Normally the first impression of her finished work was exclusively positive.
“No, this… this is all wrong!” she cried. “This is not what I painted… this is…”
Her voice trailed off. The ghastly face that glared up at her from the canvas was like nothing she had ever seen before. The size and shape resembled that of a small child, but that was where the similarity ended. Glowering eyes of hatred, hollow bony cheeks, and a demonic mouth that nullified the meaning of innocence.
She felt her heart hammering distantly. The canvas was a sacred place – her sanctuary. How had this horrible face managed to encroach on her painting without her consent?
| 2017-04-16T07:22:37 | 2017-04-16T06:34:53 | 3,571 | 58 |
[WP] "No! No! You don't understand! They're not real, they were never real!" As your being dragged to hell for the massive amount of murder you have wrought upon living beings, you desperately try to explain to Saint Peter what video games are.
|
"Petey! Buddy! We need to talk about these souls you keep sending us."
"I've told you once I've told you a million times, Belial. My name is not Petey! Or Petey boy or any other name except St. Peter."
"Alright fine but we still gotta talk about these souls."
"What about them?"
"We can't actually do anything with them. I've got them stacking up like cordwood done below because I don't have anywhere to put 'em."
"What do you mean you can't do anything with them? You're a devil, I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job but have you consider, oh I don't know, tormenting them like it says in your job description."
"Would that I could but you know the rules. They have to have actually transgressed before we can lay a single claw on their heads."
"They haven't transgressed? Just yesterday I sent you Arthur Millburry. Look at this rap sheet 500 trillion counts of murder, 12 counts of attempted genocide, 6 counts of actual genocide and more counts of miscellaneous war crimes. And that's just in a single day."
"You mean boiluv227? You notice something odd about those statistics? Like the names of his supposed victims?"
"They're blank, what of it? It's probably a clerical error."
"You bet it is, those victims are fake!"
"They can't be, we don't make mistakes like this. The man upstairs isn't going to like this, how am I even supposed to explain this?"
"Maybe it would be better if I show you. Look up Stellaris for me and maybe clear out your schedule for the next millenia or so."
|
As I was dragged down I tried to explain that it was all just a game. The people were not real it was just a game. Peter said you kill thousands of people that is not a game. No it was all fake it was the newest realty game a virtual simulation. It let's you live your dreams of being a all powerful dictator or a benevolent leader. I had always strived to be the greatest but had hit a lot of bad breaks in my life both financially and in love. The game let me live out my dreams. Sure I went a bit off the deep end at the end when I got bored seeing how much destruction I could get away with and really pushing the game to its limits but I am a great person one of the best really. But Peter was not having any of it. He said you killed over 200,000 people through your direct actions and many thousands others thought the policy you put in place. You had no compassion for your fellow man. Your greed and corruption is beyond measure. Life maybe a game to you but unlike in life you will be held accountable here. I told him they were just sheeple and I was trimming the herd. He smiled at me and said your right you are a special person and we have a special place just for you and our other VIP's. It is a special 10th level and you will be in good company. I hear they serve a lot of pineapple but you have to take it in in reverse. With that he opened a portal and I was dragged here. And that is my story Hitler, say that name rings a bell you don't happens to know Epstein do you he was a good friend of mine.
| 2020-09-21T16:45:13 | 2020-09-21T15:19:07 | 59 | 12 |
[WP] It is said that none but the chosen may slay the demon lord. You aren't the chosen, but you also realize that "defeat" and "slay" are not the same thing. With this in mind, you start making other considerations such as rope, or perhaps a very deep hole.
|
Timur sat in front of the small campfire in his tent, shivering from the cold and tending to the deep lacerations across his arm. All the while, he kept a black urn clutched tightly to his chest. He couldn’t die. Not just yet. The demon lord would be arriving soon. Timur’s smoke signals that he had left outside would ensure that he would be easy to spot on this icy mountain.
Sure enough, there was a loud gust of wind as the tent flaps blew open and the demon lord strolled in. He was deathly pale with red bloodshot eyes and black veins that covered his entire face. “You were a fool to think you could escape my wrath,” he said in a cold voice. “Did you really think that you and your merry band of rebels stood a chance against me without the Chosen One?” A sadistic smile grew on his face as he walked over to Timur. “I slaughtered all of them, you know. They all died screaming in agony. You’re the only one left.”
Timur glared back at him, utter hatred in his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to escape. All of us knew that we had no chance of killing you without the Chosen One. But none of us could stand to wait twenty years for their arrival either. Not while you ravaged our country, devoured our families, and spread death and chaos wherever you went. So we came up with a plan. Everything we’ve done was to lure you to this place where we would defeat you.
The demon lord looked down at Timur’s shaking, blood stained hands which were still clutching on to the black urn, and laughed. “Really?” he said, sneering. “You’re going to defeat me all by yourself? Are you going to kill me with some speech about the power of friendship?”
Timur gave a cold smile back to him. “I don’t think friendship would kill you. But I think the 3,000 pounds of black powder buried underneath me might hurt you quite a bit.”
The demon lord’s eyes widened as he processed what Timur had just said. Screeching, he leapt at Timur, trying to tear out the human’s throat. But it was too late. With one strong throw, Timur smashed the pot of black powder that he had been holding into the flames. A massive explosion echoed throughout the mountains as Timur, the tent and everything within a hundred yards was torn apart to pieces and engulfed in flames.
…
The demon lord woke up, screaming in pain. Never before had he felt such utter agony in his life. He gnashed his teeth together and tried to rise up, only to discover in his fury that he had been reduced to a mere head. All of his other body parts had been badly mangled and scattered hundreds of feet away. No matter. He would regenerate all of them in time. He hissed to himself. When he was back on his own two feet again, he would find every single village in a hundred mile radius and kill every single human he found for this humiliation.. He would tear them apart with his teeth, force them to slaughter one another, burn them alive and revel in their screams -- Suddenly, a loud rumbling interrupted his bloody fantasies of vengeance. Twisting his head to the right, he looked towards the cause of the noise. His eyes bulged open in utter terror as he saw what was approaching. Hundreds of tons of snow, earth and rock were racing down the mountains in a wave of destruction. The demon lord’s head screamed and flailed around desperately on the ground, trying to escape. But it was no use. Within seconds, the avalanche was upon him and the demon lord’s screams died out as he found himself being crushed to pieces deep beneath the ground, trapped in the darkness in an eternal sea of suffering.
|
Demons aren’t exactly my favorite thing to think about. It’s not like they come over with great intentions or anything, right? They come hidden, or in some grotesque form that humans aren't all that fit to look at.
I was fine with not being the chosen one. I’ve never heard a metaphorical bell or felt a deep calling. I’ve never had princes or kings or wizards knock on my door.
But the day I realized that the prophecy had a loophole, well, I couldn’t turn my brain off after that. The thoughts rolled, day and night, wondering if I couldn’t swoop in with a little clever thinking. Who doesn’t want a little glory?
I never met the man that was supposed to take down the demon lord, but I did eventually find a lot of books that gave me information about the underworld. Covered in dust and buried deep in an old library was where the final puzzle piece was; the last book that had the snippet of spell that I needed, and the last supply I needed to gather. I had a plan at that point, and it took no time at all to enact it.
Candles, string, chalk, pig *and* goat blood, very large leaves, and more parchment than I knew what to do with. I sat around all day on that fateful afternoon, my stomach in total knots. I had to wait for a full moon, and it had to be visible in the sky, and I had to wait till midnight. I nearly puked, twice, from the anticipation.
While this fact did not stop me from following through with my plan, it did remind me why no one had ever come asking me for my help in the first place. I may be doing it, but I *wasn’t at all* built for it.
The day dragged on, and midnight came at last. I took a deep breath, covered my hands in a thin layer of thick liquid, and started to chant the words. They came out shaky, but once I got started I refused to stop. My heart was racing and sweat was rolling down my forehead.
It felt like hours went by, words rolling clumsily out of my mouth before something finally happened. The candles started blowing out until only one remained. The flame on that one turned black, and as I watched it happen, I swallowed my tongue.
I closed my eyes, wondering if I was doing the right thing. I wondered if I was doing anything even near the vicinity of the right thing, or if I was just an even bigger idiot than everyone told me I was. There was no way for me to know at that moment.
It wasn’t like I could take anything back anyways.
I kept my eyes closed until I heard laughter.
I had expected it to be loud. Maybe deep, and large. But it was soft, and I was startled and confused by it. I opened my eyes expecting hulking lucifer but was met with the opposite.
The actual opposite. The demon lord wasn’t a grotesque and creepy thing. She was thin, and I hate to say it, but she was pretty.
This was the hardest thing for me, by the way. I was ready to leap with my salt-covered knife, and either stab at the heart of the worst thing I could imagine, or at least knock him back into the pit I had dug in the forest clearing. But I felt frozen.
I mean, how do you defeat something that makes you palms sweat?
***
Thank you for reading! Feedback always welcome and appreciated.
For more by me check out r/beezus_writes
For longer stuff by me and others have a look at r/redditserials
| 2020-04-27T09:38:29 | 2020-04-27T09:13:09 | 416 | 162 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out.
|
I stood and tapped lightly on my glass until the room fell silent. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Most of you I know already, as friends or employees, but for those who I don't, my name is Peter. I have the honour of serving as best man, and I'd like to say a few words about the bride and groom on this joyful occasion."
"To his family, the groom is known as Richard, but to me he has always been my pal Dick. We've known each other all our lives, and Dick has always been my right-hand man. At school, at college, and then at the company I founded. Dick isn't just a friend, he's a part of me, and for the longest time, I didn't think any woman could make him happy. Then I met Christina."
"When Christina came to work for us, she was a wide-eyed innocent, fresh out of college. She lacked experience, and me and Dick had to whip her into shape. I'm afraid we had to ride her a little hard for a while. There was a lot of late nights and even a few weekends. There was a lot for her to take in, but she never said no. She would moan a bit, but she always came through in the end. Before long she had mastered the job, and since then she's excelled in every position we put her in."
"Now, Christina is a beautiful girl, and I'm sure every guy in the office noticed her. But right from the beginning, she only had eyes for my Dick here. I know she was a little intimidated at first. She's a petite girl and he's a big guy, but before long they were inseparable. It's wonderful to see her smile when she thinks about Dick, to see her face light up when she knows he's coming, and the love all over it when he does."
"And Dick, I know how happy Christina makes you. Whenever she's around you seem to stand up a little taller than you ever did before. I know you like to tease her occasionally, or to give her a harder time than she deserves, but I know that deep inside you only want to make her as happy as she makes you. And she's lucky to have you. You're strong and hardworking. You're handy around the house. Oh, and you're a great cook, old friend."
"Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll only reiterate that it gives me immense pleasure to see Christina and Dick together, and I look forward to that continued pleasure for many years to come."
|
"Good evening folks, my name's George and apparently I'm the best man. I like to think that in a literal sense, ha. Also, I have a bone to pick with your soon to be wife Jarod, I hear she wanted everyone but me as your best man. That ain't fair now is it? Just glad you realised who's the best man after all," I said laughing. George smiled and shrugged.
"You were the only one that accepted, my prior best man choices all were out of the Country," Jarod said. I smirked.
"Ouch. Isn't it my turn to talk here? You want to know what I thought when I heard Jarod was getting hitched? Nothing. I was too shocked to think of anything. Few hours ago before the call for me to best man, I'd just *come* from his house when I thought he was home. You see, people always want humorous speeches don't they? They want the best man to bring out all the jokes about the groom and all the shit that he did before he met his bride. Should I roast the groom or should I praise him? I know you all want me to roast him but I hate to disappoint you all but this kid is the cleanest guy I've ever come across," I paused and looked over at Betty-Ann.
"There's something I want you all to understand one thing about Jarod and I's relationship. We've shared everything since we were kids and some things we've shared without the other person knowing about. But I'm sure that whatever it is we share that we're not telling each other should best be kept to ourselves," I paused and winked at Jarod.
"When I say Jarod and I share almost everything; there's one thing we won't be sharing tonight and I'm sorry to say this Jarod but just for tonight how about we not share the bill for all the alcohol that'll be consumed tonight yeah?"
The room fills with laughter and sarcastic boo's, I look at Jarod who is laughing and subtly scratching his forehead with his middle finger.
"For what it's worth Jarod you've got a great girl with you. Congratulations you two. Remember that I love you both, oh and don't worry about me coming unexpectedly, I'll let you know when I'll come...over to your house. Ha, here's to you both, and here's to many more years."
I raise my cup, "To the bride and groom, cheers!" I said; before sculling down my cup down.
Edit: getting damn character names mixed up, my bad.
| 2015-04-03T01:14:55 | 2015-04-02T22:51:15 | 214 | 11 |
[WP] It turns out that humanity is *not* a virus infecting the planet. Humanity is the immune system response the planet is having towards *something else*...
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When you hear the word parasite what comes to your mind?
A tapeworm? A tick? Or some may argue that we as humans are parasites to this planet.
Perhaps we do look like parasites at the first glance. Feasting, consuming, and destroying as we desired from our gracious host. But one must understand that the earth does not care in what form it exists. Everything we take from our little planet is never truly taken. For, in the end, we will return it to her, let it be in the form of manure, building, machines, or corpses.
So in essence, we are nothing to her. Same as how a speck of dust on our skin is nothing to us. But that relationship was soon changed.
On a dreadful autumn evening, the sky flashed a sanguine red as a shriek pierced through the sky. That was when the true parasites arrived. Agents of insanity that consumed not only matter but also memories that matter held. Soon our walls began to hang portraits of empty canvases. In some of them, we stood there smiling as we hugged the nothingness next to us. We didn’t know how many of us truly existed or how many dears to us we have lost, but we could feel that the world has not always been this barren.
As a last-ditch effort, the remaining humans built a floating castle where we linger as our planet slowly began to fade out of our memory.
France, Italy, or Britain? We know those names and we know they were once a place we lived in. But now we can’t even remember a single building or landscape from those places.
As for who am I you may ask? I am exiled. A man convicted for the cold-blooded murder of his wife. Deployed down to the ground to be eaten by parasites. Some say it is a fate worse than death. But for an exile dying without being remembered is better than dying with disgrace. However, I am not worthy of this shame. My daughter knows I am innocent. She knows that it was the man with the wide grin who killed her mother.
While I was wondering what remains of the civilization that remained here I found a remarkable discovery. After I had run into an encounter with a parasite, I exploded a nearby barrel of oil then emptied my magazine into its body. To my surprise, the creature let out a shriek of pain and fell flat onto the ground as it faded from existence.
Sweat dripped down my neck as I sat on the dirt trying to process what just occurred. Then when I inspected my gun I realized that it didn’t have a magazine to begin with!
I must have accidentally dropped it instead while trying to jam it into my gun.
Yet somehow I managed to shoot the creature with it and kill it.
Then a wild idea began to spiral in my mind.
Because my ears were ringing from the explosion I couldn’t hear the gun clicking from the empty magazine. I fully believed that I was shooting bullets at the parasites.
If things that exist can’t hurt these monsters then what about things that don’t exist but we believe do?
If my little theory proves to be correct then it might singlehandedly turn the tides of war in our favor.
So if you ask again who I am?
I am an exile who carries the weight of this world on his back. I must find my way back to the flying castle, save humanity, clear my name and keep my daughter safe.
This is the story of how I will protect our beautiful planet.
​
​
If you like my writing please check our r/FluffWrites. I also write "The Dark Road Ahead", a fantasy series I am working on.
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We thought we were the poison. We thought ourselves a disease to be cured, a danger to our only mean of survival. But all that changed when our purpose was revealed. Have you ever felt the natural disgust at the uncanney valley? This discomfort when something appears human, but clearly is not, only told by a few mismatched details? This emotion was felt tenfold the day They arrived, the day They invaded Mother Earth and tried to fatten themselves on the lifeblood of Gaia herself. From the heavens above rained dark, looming spires, created by Them, burrowing deep into earths crust, and starting to pump up the magma, shooting it up through long, winding pipes into their mothership. And They stepped forth from these sucking, leeching spires, looking almost like us. But almost was not enough, and within minutes of Their image spread, every human who had seen them knew that life finally had a true meaning, not one ascribed by another authority or even by themselves. It was simply to fight and to defend Mother Earth, the one that gave life to us and in exchange had asked for nothing but this one little thing now.
Humanity, maybe for the first time in History, stood united. The invaders did not falter, as our Initial Artillery hit them, their own guns taking out many of the shells we threw at them. But our many, many armies had given us many shells to work with, and by Gaiam, we would use them all. For Hours on end our Artillery roared as we set up a proper firing line, and with each passing hour mroe and more Cannons added to the Chorus of destruction, until finally, the Choir had amassed to such strength that no amount defensive fire set up by The Infection could withstand.
With Their first line of defense flattened, our Soldiers marched in, a Song on their Lips, Dreams in their hearts and death on their minds. And die they did, selflessly throwing themselves upon these creatures spawned from the darkest places of the universe, advancing, firing and dying all for once cause, to protect the one place they all loved the same.
It was not easy at first, their technology was alien to us, their strategies strange and unthinkable, and our weapons did little to hurt them. But with each battle, we took what was left on the battlefield, rallied ourselves, and learned. Learned where their armor was thin, that certain arrangements of carbon could hurt them more effectively, and learned to outmaneuver their strategists one by on. And one by one did they fall, each spire crumbling signalling both a victoryn and the march to the next of these abhorrent towers.
It took weeks on end to reclaim all the places taken by Them, to destropy every last black twisted spire, and to get proper launch stations ready to finally take out the Mothership. It must have been the first time in Centuries that so little nuclear armaments were left on earth, as almost every single piece of it was thrown at The Mothership, and the subsequent explosion lit up the Night Sky for all to see.
So in the end, it would be too easy to say that we stayed one, big happy family. Soon enough a bickering, trading and competing began, to gain the most out of the new technology so generously donated by our would-be invaders. People, countries and alliances flourished, and everyone once again tried to outdo their neighbours. But this time, we had the feeling that Mother earth watched us play, and she smiled.
| 2021-08-07T00:18:53 | 2021-08-06T20:45:26 | 152 | 56 |
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her.
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[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/813gcd/wp_youre_a_powerful_dragon_that_lived_next_to_a/dv0g9gh/) l [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheRobertFall/comments/815k0n/the_tales_of_a_moon_rider_part_3/)
Those awful screams of woe and misery, of death and distress admixing with the stench of smoke and blood, had tormented my slumber for far too long. They'd bounded me to witness the wreckage of Velosin, a little kingdom down the mountains where my lair lays.
Four days it took the clamour of their little ruthless war to turn into a deep, unpleasant silence. I'd grown used to Velosin's little music: the laughter of the drunkards, the clattering of the adventurer's hooves, the clanks of the smithy and the melodies of the royal trumpets. It was subtle like the whisper of the winds yet it was a warm, little seasoning to my days.
That's the reason why when that who called himself Terar came limping a trail of blood with a child of true-fire locks cradled in his arms, I heard him instead of burning him to ashes.
"Draelaar, I've reached your lair with a request," Terar said with wandering eyes, voice fading. "I beg you to hear me, for it is the last one I will speak."
"Utter them, you are the mercy of Jeriaz now," I said. "I'm not who to forbid your last words, but I'm to forget them."
He grinned a bloodied smile. "This child," Terar said and gently placed the whimpering little human on the floor, as if offering it. "This child is the infant princess of Velosin." He coughed crimson. "Take care of her! For she will avenge us all."
I laughed, "Why should I go through such trouble? I'm a dragon, a beast of might, gods to your kind," I said.
Terar collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath his legs. With a last breath and stretched arms he spoke his final words, "She's a moon rider."
I felt a coldness exploding inside like splintering stalactites burying deep within my flesh. A moon rider? They were myths made for the children with delusions of powerful magic. They weren't real, weren't they? Magic was long since extinct.
I grabbed the infant princess with my talon, two purple scars, like half-crescent moons traversed through the corners of her eyes, down to the bottom of her lips.
It was like in the myths.
-----------------------------------------------------
Part 2 coming in a bit!
/r/therobertfall
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The dragon lifted his head up to the smell of blood and saw for the first time in centuries the figure of a human man. With his keen eyes he noticed that the human had struggled to make his way up to the cave he lived in, up in the mountains miles away from the nearest kingdom. The dragon just sat there indifferent as the injured man approached urgently with a small bundle in his stained arms.
He smelled something more pure from beneath the wool blanket. The man noticing where the dragon’s eyes were looking at quickly spoke.
“That is why I’m here.” He coughed out the words with difficulties and almost out of breath. “This is the Princess of my beloved kingdom which is now being invaded by our neighboring country. Princess Georgiana might be the only survivor of the royal family as we speak.”
The dragon turned his head unfazed and the man grew desperate knowing that the dragon was not interested in his story.
“PLEASE! Protect Princess Georgiana!” The man urged as he fell to the ground on his weak knees. “I beg of you.”
The dragon watched curiously at his actions and expression. He saw the small man tremble, but not in fear as he had witnessed so many before him do, but in hopelessness.
Suddenly from beneath the blanket came a soft cry. Then out came a small hand reaching out to touch the man’s face. The dragon observed as the man stop trembling and gradually regain his courage. He raised his head up in determination towards the dragon with his tear-streaked face. There was a new resolve glowing in his eyes.
‘Curious.’ Spoke a solemn voice inside the man’s head, and he knew it belonged to the dragon. ‘How could a small thing change a man’s spirit within a few minutes?’
“She is our Kingdom’s hope.” The man answered.
‘I want this power that changes men’s resolve. I have seen the strongest warriors with such glow win battles and glory.’ The dragon’s voice echoed louder in greed, ‘If this bundle you carry in your arms will give me that power then I’ll take her as you desire.’
Before the man could say a word the dragon had suddenly snatched the blanket with the princess inside from the man’s arms. He held his breath as the dragon laid the bundle on his outstretched claw. The dragon pulled the blanket away and curiously starred at the baby girl. Georgiana suddenly smiled and started to giggle. The dragon had never heard such beautiful melody coming from humans before.
“I trust you will keep Princess Georgiana safe?” The man spoke tentatively and shocked to see a small smile form on the dragon’s intimidating face.
‘You have my word man. Now leave.’
The man looked at the princess one last time before leaving with hope.
| 2018-03-01T02:46:34 | 2018-03-01T01:20:42 | 43 | 19 |
[WP] When you sleep, instead of dreaming, you see a list of tips and tricks that will help you the next day. One night, you only see one tip, “Always aim for the head”.
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I woke up and it was ready... the dwarf star had enough energy. My hammer was ready.
I could hear moans from the distance, it was the tree thingy. Groot was it? Oh no he was missing an arm.
*Swish*
“What the hell is this?” I exclaimed as Soon as an axe flew in my hand. “I asked for a hammer”
It was time. The blue portal opened, sucking in everything. It was dark, everything turned blue and I could hear screams from beneath my feet.
The avengers, under me were fighting for their lives.
There he was, the legendary *Thanos*. With all my power I dashed towards the beast. Throwing my new shiny axe forward while it was building power I remembered the tip I had last night. *Aim for the head*
I was going so fast fire was burning my hair, with a swift and dash I picked up the hammer, spun around and bashed the axe in the big eggplants head.
Slowly falling, the gauntlet dropped with the infinity stones spreading on the ground. Turning into dust the gauntlet started shining.
A green figure could be seen, Gamora was it? I prefer purple girl.
- fair note this was literary inspired by inf war
- sorry if I’m not the best writer, I’m only in high school :(
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Just another Saturday morning, sleeping in until nine o’clock then “Aim for the head”....
Now what in the world is this about, don’t own a gun, hell I don’t even own a bow or even a single arrow.
Well, next is taking the dog for her walk, about a one mile walk to start the day. Nothing unusual, the standard pee and pick up poo. Next breakfast, just shredded whole wheat, blueberries and bananas and a shower. Grocery shopping next but first I need the some cash for the farmers market. I’ll just use the bank on the way to the market.
Just one car at the ATM in line, only another minute or two. Maybe a bank robbery, quick look through the drive up window, still nothing unusual happening.
Now the market, fruits and vegetables, some pastries, lunch meat and cheese, and a hoagie for lunch. Now I can walk around and check out the other merchandise. Wow, that print is part of the set that I have hanging in the kitchen and only ten dollars. But still no head shot.
Back home, put away the groceries, then enjoy the hoagie. My afternoon plan is a movie with Jody, maybe then I’ll take that head shot.
But first, I am going to find a nail and hang the print!
| 2018-11-20T17:04:36 | 2018-11-20T15:58:54 | 14 | 10 |
[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.
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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."
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[poem] Last sermon of the fairy queen to the people of "Fayed"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tis too bad dear people, for now ye shall,
shed tears for being ruled by a queen,
known once as the fair princess of Fayed,
now so pale and frail on death's old bed,
for our deal would have concluded,
if just the fine print she had read,
and given up her first born as decided,
but ran instead, she wild with life,
mind alive and conspiracies rife,
and knowingly remained unbred,
and now as her sands end their trickle,
and the hooded scythe cometh nigh,
I exercise that print, fine and unread,
and take possession, of all first born,
of the populace, in her young un's stead!
may she now die in grief,
that deceptive beauty,
that once green, fair queen of Fayed!
•°•°•°•°•° A. Z. Dada •°•°•°•°•
| 2021-10-19T03:14:44 | 2021-10-19T03:09:50 | 78 | 14 |
[WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth.
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts
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"Z-zero. Nine. Four. Zero. Four." I stammered out, as the agent continuously showed me photos of people. We did this often. Very often. For eleven years I have been held prisoner by a top secret United States organization, after they somehow found out about my power, and after months of torture, they have figured out how it works. You see, I can tell how many Humans a single person is going to kill in their life time, given their path is not changed. They have given me one job.
Say the numbers. Say the numbers. Say the numbers.
Ones. Twos. Tens. Twenties. They say these are inconsequential. They take any person with more than one hundred future kills, and leave the rest alone. That is their job. Today, they told me I was looking for a big number. A BIG number.
"Fifteen. Ten. Three. Sev-" I almost choked. Seven billion... I couldn't breathe.
"Sev?" The agent asked. "Why did you stop? Keep going."
I sat there, recalling everything. My childhood. My job. My family. And how all of it had been torn away from me. The countless hours and days of excruciating pain these people had put me through. I regained composure, and continued.
"Seven... Three. Zero..."
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"Just give him a chance, you'll like him, I promise," my wife said as she put on her best dress.
Shrugging, I replied, "I don't know, I just can't see why he's even doing this. It just seems like a game to him."
My wife came up and kissed me on the lips, saying "but it's not a game to me, and I want you there."
I nodded, sucked it up, and got dressed.
Parking took forever to find, it was always busy in this part of town but never this busy. Everywhere we saw people cheering, clapping, singing songs, maybe this would be better than I expected.
"Tickets please?" the man at the gate said as I looked to my wife, unaware that such a thing was even required. She was ready, always more prepared than I, and quickly read my mind "like I said, it's a big event."
We took our seats as the lights began to dim. My wife smiled and grabbed my hand as the announcer introduced the special guest of the evening. The crowd rumbled in applause and cheer as this grandiose specter appeared before us, blinded by the limelight, but I could not ignore the number above his head as he spoke:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are here tonight to make America great again."
| 2017-01-08T02:04:03 | 2017-01-07T20:22:25 | 142 | 88 |
[WP] Write a story that ages an infant into an adult in 50 words or less.
WITHOUT using the words age/d, grow/n or mature/d.
Good luck!
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"Please just eat." She holds the spoon to his mouth but he clamps his lips shut.
"Baby food. Again?" Her husband chides as he walks by.
"It's all he'll eat when he's sick." She responds.
Her daughter enters the kitchen. "Grandpa has a fever?"
" No, Honey. Grandpa has dementia."
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The first thing he recalls in life is faces. Mom and Dad. Always smiling, happy. At 10 he remembers Dad storming out, never returning. He got a job the same day he started high school. At 17 he raced home with his college acceptance to find Mom on the floor.
| 2016-04-08T04:15:42 | 2016-04-08T04:05:29 | 45 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while!
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It was an accident, of course.
My birth, my being in space, and well, I suppose I was an accident as well. An accident from director of engineering fucking the fat janitor after hours when the rest of the shuttle team had retired, the odds that my mother had been able to hide her baby bump for nine months, the chances that she had been a nurse before being selected from the program and knew how to give birth herself, in a maintenance closet, mere days before the mission was to return to earth. Keeping me hidden was difficult in the small confines of the ship, but the other hundred and fifty crew members had been too busy to pay a maid much attention. After all, many insisted that it had not been worthwhile to bring her along, that a maid had been a waste of tax dollars. I suppose that makes me a waste of tax dollars as well.
But there were those that spoke to her unique abilities as a maid. For she had been born deep in the snow of the north, during the first blizzard of winter, that like the first snowfall she could smooth over any differences in her environment and make it appear uniform. As a maid, it meant that she had an extraordinary sense of cleanliness. As a mother, it meant she could ensure I was overlooked, that my crying was muffled, and later in life, that I appeared no different than anyone else.
Starchild, she had called me as she smuggled me back into the atmosphere, tucked deep in her suit like a kangaroo would carry her young. Starchild, she whispered to me when the project disbanded, and she took me back to the inner city apartment where I spent my early life. Starchild, she reprimanded, whenever I started pushing and pulling at the equilibrium of our apartment, when she would arrive home from work and all the furniture would be clustered at the center of the room, pulled together by a force point.
"When will I go to school?" I asked her when I was eight, watching the uniformed children marching up the street through the wrought iron gates of the academy, one of them flicking flames across his fingers like a coin while another left footprints of frost in the grass.
"You already go to school, Starchild." She said, "And your teachers say you've been learning your numbers well, and your reading has been progressing."
"Not *that* school," I had said, pulling a face, "I want to go to the academy. The special school, for the others like me!" I held up a fist, and items on the desk in front of me flew towards it, pens and papers and pencils that stuck out like quivering quills out of my skin.
"Starchild, listen, and stop that at once" She had said, her eyes level with mine, "There *are* no others like you. Those children, they are all classified, they are all known. You are *not* like them, you never will be. And they can't know, do you understand me?"
"I guess," I said, with a huff, watching as one of the children cracked a joke and the others laughed, "But I don't like my school. Everyone there knows we can't be like them, we can't be special."
"Starchild, you *are* special. One day, they'll know that too. But not now- if they knew, they wouldn't take you to the academy. They'd take you somewhere else, somewhere terrible."
And as I grew older, I realized that she was right. That when our neighbor started developing powers, a police squad showed up at her front door, and classified her on the spot. That they left her with a tattoo on her shoulder, a tattoo of a lightning bolt, symbolizing the storm she had been born during. Just like the tattoo of a snowflake on my mother's shoulder, colored dull grey, to indicate a low threat potential.
So instead of going to the academy, I created an academy of my own, in my room. Mother made me turn the lights out at ten, so during the day I collected light outside, keeping it in one of the dark holes I could create when I closed my fist hard enough, and letting it loose at night to read books I had stolen from the library. From the section for the special children, that I could only access if the librarians were distracted.
But distractions came easy to me.
As I grew older, the city streets became more populated with the blue uniforms of police. The academy became increasingly harder to attend, the gifted girl next door disappeared one night without a note. Mother stopped letting me outside after dark, and the lines for the soup kitchens grew longer. The skies grew darker, the voices accustomed to speaking in whispers, and the television news seemingly had less and less to report. It was as if there was a blanket thrown upon us, but no one dared look who had thrown it.
But I would. And when I did, I realized the earth needed a Starchild.
***
By Leo. **[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65hl73/star_child_part_2/)**
Part 3 coming soon. [While you wait, check out my other science fiction story about a starship struck by an asteroid on its way to colonize a distant planet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/5ons87/you_can_now_add_the_bridge_to_you_shelf_on/)
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My life was an accident. A bad accident. So bad that my existence had to be kept a secret.
My parents you two people that should not have been together. They were two of seven astronauts that were sent to Mars. The first astronauts to ever venture beyond the moon. They were seen as heroes for their "bravery" and "service to their country", but I only think that most of them were just doing it for the fame. My mother and my father did met prior to their last day on Earth, but they had a rough relationship. They were the people that got along least well in the whole group. But when they were stationed on Mars, they fell in love. Seven weeks before they were set to leave Mars, their suits detected another anomaly in my mother's suit. It was me. They started panicking. They couldn't have me, they were supposed to be doing groundbreaking scientific work! So they only told the other crew members and they all agreed to keep it quiet.
The trip back to Earth was a long one. My mother birthed me and I spent my infant hood and one toddler year on that space station. My mother told me that it is why I have my power, is because I was on the space station so long, but I don't believe them. My mother and father were both "Natívs" a word derived from the word "native". It describes when the person is born and they happen to exhibit the "powers" of their birth environment. My dad was born in the African rainforests on a European exploration to try and find a cure for some disease. My mother was born on the coast of Japan, so she has the power of the ocean. She would never demonstrate her power to me, it was almost like she was ashamed. My father had the power to control plants and the uncanny power over animals. Anyways, I am getting off track. My mother did not care if I was out and about on the space craft. It was truly like a home to me, but then everything turned sour when we were touching down on earth. In the last hours of being in space, my mom was frantically going over the plan with the other crew members, telling them to form a circle around her to not let me show while I was being carried in her large space suit helmet. Everyone agreed and did just that as they were walking. They managed to get out of there safe and my mother immediately took me back to her home in Ireland. My family was from very different backgrounds and ethnicities, but apparently it was weird to people to see a half Asian girl who talked in an Irish accent. My mother and father named me Nova. They always said that it fit because I was born as they were parallel to a super nova while headed back to Earth when I was born. When on Earth, they passed me for a normal child, and for some reason, people never asked questions. As I was growing up, my father would tell me the stories of when a new power of Natív was discovered. They horrified me to the core, so much so when I started displaying signs of a power, I didn't even tell my parents. One day, my mother walked in on me making a miniature star. She told me that she was far from mad at me, she was proud even. But she told me that I couldn't speak of this to anyone outside of our family. One night I heard her fighting with my dad because of it. She was telling him that we can never tell anyone, and he was telling her that people aren't like that anymore and that we should not just hide me away for the rest of my life. Eventually, my mom won.
Over the years I learned to act normal and fine tune my powers. Other children of my kind were sent to different schools than the other children, the "Norms". And the adult Natívs were usually sent to do better work than the Norms. The Natív children were taught in their classes about how to control their powers, but I didn't have an actual teacher. My mom and dad taught me everything they knew, but that wasn't enough. I started teaching myself. I didn't mean to, but I got destructive. It got to the point to where using my powers got banned in the house. My mother was furious when she walked into my room to see me spinning a miniature galaxy over my head. I couldn't sleep one night because the clouds were covering the stars, so I mad my own. I created a small black hole, the size of the hole in a straw, then I spun it like a top. Stars spiraled out into a galaxy formation. That made me feel better, but my mother walked in as I was falling asleep. My mom and dad got in another huge fight that night. This was my life. A big ball of secrets and nasty fights.
It continued this way for the rest of my teenage years and continued into my adult hood. One day, I was walking down the street, almost to my home, when things got rapidly darker. The colours in the sky made it look as though it was dusk, but it was 11:54 in the morning. I looked up to the sun, only to see that the sun had become a darker orange colour. I knew what was happening to the sun, I could feel it. A sickening feeling in my chest. It felt like something was caught, but I knew there wasn't. I sprinted home. I could feel that I could do something about it. That the universe wanted me to do something about it.
I had to fix the sun.
| 2021-11-12T07:30:30 | 2017-04-14T21:11:18 | 4,698 | 13 |
[WP] You've died and despite living a fairly honest life, you've been sent to hell for all the terrible things you've done in video games. You're offered one way out. Prove you wouldn't do any of those things in real life by clearing the nine circles of hell like a dungeon, without being terrible.
|
I can't believe I had made it this far. I carried that stupid penguin all the way back to it's mother even as the void called to me. I stuck around for those god forsaken turret sections to cover my allies. I limped my way across the map as my escort mission target shambled along and collided into every object on the floor and every door way. I had made it to the final circle.
"Well you've managed all the challenges until now." St. Peter said. "I was sure the pointless fetch quest through the water level would have lead to a mass murder when you got back to town and didn't get a reward."
He stroked his beard contemplatively.
"Oh yeah piece of cake! Hahaha..." I shoved the headless shop keeper voodoo doll further into my pack.
"Hmm maybe we need to recalibrate these. More and more people are making it to the final stage." He mused.
"Well it's time to breeze through the last challenge and get the hell out of here. What have you got lined up for me Pete?" I couldn't wait. I had been stuck on this stupid redemption arc for months.
"Don't get cocky kid." Peter said with a surprisingly evil smile on his saintly face. "I can count on one hand the number of people who have cleared the final stage."
I gulped nervously. He seemed pretty confident. And I had been so close to falling off the goody-two-shoes wagon near the end.
"If you're ready, I'll send you in. You can start at my last save file to save time." He stated storing at his tablet as he adjusted setting. "That way you can skip the character creation and almost being executed as a horse thief."
The portal swirled at my feet. I could see a nordic town materialize on a bleak plain. Might as well jump in an get this over with.
"Sounds good Petey. Can't wait to be neighbors once I polish this off." I flashed him a cheeky smile before leaping into the swirling abyss before me.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I awoke with a start. I was sitting in a town square. People in drab clothing milled around inspecting street stalls. A preacher prattled on about some ancient gods as people did their best to avoid eye contact. I'd played my share of these adventure games. They actually reward you for pacifist decisions. Looking up I saw a familiar castle on a hill.
"Guess that's a good place to start." I muttered to myself.
Peter never gave me any indication of what I needed to do on each stage. I could aimlessly wander around looking for that one key quest that let me pass that level. I remember wasting weeks of time running back and forth across a huge map before realizing the key quest was getting rocks for hungry rock people. Their entire village was made of rocks...
I shook that aggravating memory away as I felt my blood pressure begin to rise. Thinking back I could swear this level felt familiar. Glancing around the square, I couldn't quite place where I had seen this town before.
"Dammit if I could remember the game, I might be able to find my quest easier.". I mumbled to myself as headed for the stone steps to the castle. Just before them I was stopped by a man with a condescending smile on his face. He gave my rustic adventurer armor a slow once-over before speaking.
"Do you get to the Cloud District very often? Oh, what am I saying - of course you don't."
With that a surge of memories came flooding back.
"You're pretty evil for a Saint, Pete." I mumbled and then smiled sadly as felt my hand gripping my sword with murderous intent. Oh well, hell can't be that bad right?
|
My eyes shot open and I sat up, breathing hard. I frantically felt my body. All completely, miraculously whole, as if the car crash had never happened.
“Thank God!” I said, breathing an enormous sigh of relief, “I knew it all had to be a mistake.”
Then I blinked, noticing the small room I sat in for the first time. *Wait. Where am I? Are those… iron bars?*
My relief diminished somewhat. I was sitting in a small cell composed of black stone.
“Hello!” I yelled, “I think there’s been a mistake! Can someone let me out, please!”
I sighed and waited a moment, then heard footsteps. I perked up and looked down the hallway.
A black-horned, red demon with a fiery whip in one hand walked over to my cell, his expression hard as he met my eyes. I squeaked and scrambled to the back of the room.
*Wait… did I die? Is this… some sort of hell?*
“Your records have already been processed and your judgment passed.” The demon boomed as he reached my cell, “You have two choices, either take the easy way out and serve your sentence in the fires of torment until your sins are burned away…”
I gulped. I wanted to scream and plead for mercy, but those fiery eyes kept me paralyzed.
*Please let the other choice be good…*
“Or you can atone for every criminal act you’ve committed by completing our *video game trial*.”
“I’ll take that one!” I said immediately, relief washing over me. *Video games! This is the one and only strength I had in life. Maybe I had a chance!*
“You’ll be delivered to the fires of torment in a couple of… wait, did you say you would take the *video game trial?*” The demon stared at me for a few seconds unbelievingly.
“Y… yes. Is… that the wrong choice?” I stuttered.
The demon looked at me with… respect? Then he coughed into his hand and explained the trial in his gravelly voice.
“The video game trial is an experimental judgment we’ve created that has never been completed before. The trial is engineered to suit each person specifically, in your case,” The demon pulled out a clipboard and flipped through it, “Your sins consist of toxicity, violence, and bullying in online video games.”
The demon met my eyes, “You will face the incarnations of all of these toxic and violent actions throughout the nine levels to atone for them, do you understand?”
“And if I fail?” I asked weakly.
“I… don’t know what will happen.” The demon said, “You die in the afterlife. You’ll most likely be obliterated on the spot. Are you still willing to take that risk? The other option guarantees you'll be safe, at least... ”
“Yes,” I said, standing up. *I’ve played game upon game upon game. I know how to wield every weapon, how to kill any monster. If anyone can do this… I can.* “Can I start now?”
“One more thing,” The demon said, “You cannot face your toxic and violent incarnations with more toxic and violence. You must find a way to defeat them with kindness.”
I stared at him. *Kindness? Wait… I know weapons, weak points, killing strategies. How am I supposed to kill monsters… with kindness?*
“Alright, I’m going to send you now.” The demon said, holding up a hand.
Before I could protest, a portal opened up at my feet and I fell into blackness.
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/m0845m/nine_levels_one_life_part_2/)
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading!
| 2021-03-07T15:56:53 | 2021-03-07T15:43:07 | 117 | 70 |
[WP] God does an AMA.
|
The Lord stared blankly at the computer screen. They could ask Him anything they wanted, and this is what they came up with? All the mysteries of life, the universe and everything theirs to request, and this is the top question they would ask?
He had always put such faith in His creation... ah well. He set about crafting a response.
> [-] SmartMark 2580 points 5 minutes ago
> How big is Batista's dick?
>> [-] TheBigManUpstairs [S] 1 point a few seconds ago
>> Precisely as large as it should be.
He breathed a sigh, and thought to Himself, *This is why I usually work in mysterious ways.*
|
>> Why do bad things happen to good people
> You know, just by being able to ask that question on the internet you're doing better than basically everyone who's ever lived. King Soloman was rich but he didn't have on demand video. David was powerful and perhaps the greatest ruler of my People, but while he had Bathsheba bathing in the moonlight you have PornHub; I know which he'd have preferred. Adam and Eve literally lived in a tropical paradise created by My divine hand and crafted specifically for their happiness... but you... you have central air.
> So let's not pretend that things are so terrible for these great people you know.
| 2014-12-03T12:22:53 | 2014-12-03T11:31:57 | 48 | 21 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear Dani,
After everything that happened I continue to see you everywhere I go. Whether it's bringing up the past or driving through town and seeing a car just like yours or in my dreams sometimes I can't escape you. And I always think about what exactly it is I will do when I see you again. I want to scream at you or just flat out ignore you. There are so many options and I have ran each one through my head multiple times. In the end I know though it will be none of those things. As usual I will just forgive you and allow you to hurt me again. Because as much as I keep telling myself that you hurt me for the last time and I need to shake you off I just cant shake the fact that I miss you.
I miss your contagious laugh and smile. I miss the times we hung out and talked for hours. I miss not being judged and just having fun with you. You were so beautiful. I had people tell me you weren't that pretty but they were wrong. You were the most beautiful girl I had met at the time. In the end they were right though. After what happened I need to remind myself that you aren't. I don't miss how you made me feel. I don't miss the times you avoided talking to me or not showing up to places we were supposed to hang out. The last time we had seen each other was one of the greatest nights of my life and as much as I know deep down there is a part of me that misses you and would love to see you again.
I hope to God I don't.
|
Hey Em,
I'd love to say I've changed, I'm new, brag about things I've done. I'd love to say I've grown.
But you, with your disarming blue eyes, somehow always knew. You always knew when I was making things up, when I was caught in little white lies. You'd encourage some.
And I'd love to say how different I am, from when we last saw each other five years ago. We were excited when we met, we were kids; when we last saw each other, we were adults, we had grown, but we were still ourselves. But you never cared about words.
You cared about actions. You cared about us, about people, about how the coolest kids at the bus stop were still kids, waiting at a bus stop. My record shows I was the one with the loud mouth, insecure, but always willing to stick by anyone down on their luck.
After I left...after I went soul-searching, I took your advice to heart. I stopped saying how good I was, or how I changed. I showed it, from 2010 through today. I never did it for my ego. I never did it for pride.
I did it after some kids walked into my life, told me I was a jackass, and helped me change. I did it for the cool kids... the ones I cut ties with.
So...please. Let's meet up, chat about the old times, and see where things go. Let's let the chips fall where they may.
-M
| 2017-11-05T19:53:10 | 2017-11-05T19:02:54 | 95 | 55 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do?
|
Lynch regarded the teenage girl in front of him, and barely held back a scoff. Her tattered clothing was in contrast to his grand robes in orange, indicating his status as the Archmage of Recruitment.
“Child,” he said. “I do not want to underestimate you. But I sense zero magic in you.”
“Please,” Thea said, her voice as small as a mouse, and more squeaky. “I can. I’ve endured the pain. I’ve seen the Firelight.”
Archmage Lynch sighed, rubbing his temple. One of the core tenets of his title was to listen to anybody who came to his door, whether they were talents or charlatans. And while personal trauma was important in the formation of magic, it was a condition, not the end result. Every mage has gone through pain. Not every person with pain can become a mage.
Keen eyes regarded the small form before him. There was a certain aura to mages, even for the raw diamonds in the rough. Orange sparks or a glow would form about them, the basest form of the arcane. They could be moulded into different specializations, changing colour depending on the path each disciple chose.
Thea’s, instead, was plain grey.
“I’ll let you stay for the night,” Lynch said. “I’ll send for a carriage tomorrow morning, where you can return to your home village.”
Thea’s eyes was pale grey as well, the beginnings of gathering storm clouds.
“You are not taking me in?”
“I’ve seen enough to know you do not possess even the most rudimentary of magics,” the Archmage said. “There is no fire. Only ash.”
“I will show you,” Thea whispered, her voice gaining the timbre of a thousand people. Where once was a little girl, she seemed to loomed larger. “The pain. Of not being able to cast magic.”
Lynch stepped back warily. He felt his skin crawl, the floor shake, and the air change. He felt as if the East Wind itself built up in his manor, cackling with the energy of mighty storms.
And Thea spoke a word. It reverberated with power, sucking the air out of Lynch himself. All chatter and derision was replaced with the deafening sound of silence. The vacuum was formed, and Thea was at the heart of it all.
“Quiet.”
All Lynch would do was sit there, mouth agape, with nothing coming out of it. It was so unnatural, not hearing the whispers of the still air, nor his racing heart that existed within his body, nor even his own breath as he desperately sucked in air.
And just as suddenly, everything was restored in an overwhelming cacophony of noise. He quickly adjusted, but those seconds away felt more intimidating and terrifying than facing a fireball.
Thea’s knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. With surprising speed, Lynch covered the distance and hook his arms under hers, preventing Thea from collapsing.
And the Archmage realised his mistake at interpreting the grey aura. It was but one part of the talent Thea possessed.
It was for the same reason a termite under a rotten log couldn’t see the whole forest.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
“I’ve been through no pain.”
“Then how can you expect to stand against us?” The mage asked, glaring down at me.
I smiled, “I suppose we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”
He quirked an eyebrow, “What trick is up your sleeve? You must be lying, there is no way you could have gotten this far without an adept skill in magic.”
I shook my head, “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But as I said, I have experienced no pain.”
“It matters not, you now face me, and you will go no further!” the mage declared.
He unleashed a barrage of arcane energy at me. Its heat should have been searing, yet it felt no different than the rest of the air. Its light should have been blinding, but I could see through it as clearly as if there were nothing in front of me. Its impact should have displaced me, yet I stood still. The spell had done nothing.
The mage’s eyes widened, “What madness is this?”
I grinned, “As I said, I’ve been through no pain.”
“And?”
“Magic is built on pain, I have absolutely none. I am immune to its effects.”
“Impossible, you speak lies!”
“And yet here I stand.”
The mage launched another spell at me, this time it was some sort of mental attack. Once again, it had no effect. Again, he sent another spell at me, tendrils of magic surrounding me in an attempt to restrain me, but they found no purchase. I sighed, “How long do you plan to continue this pointless endeavor?”
“Is this how you defeated the other mages? Simple stood there until they gave up?” he asked.
“No,” I responded, “Their spells missed me and struck each other. Now please, I need to get to the vault you stand guard in front of.”
“If it is only pain which keeps you from my magic, I will give you pain!” The mage rushed up and punched me, but I did not flinch.
I rolled back my shoulder, “I was born without the capacity to feel pain. Your blows may bruise, but I will never feel harm from your attacks.”
“And mental pain?” he inquired.
“My emotions are generally quite muted, and I have had a rather happy home life.” I gestured to the doors, “Now please, we can talk more once you let me into that vault.”
The mage shook his head, “I cannot allow that. What is so important that you must reach it? Most of the vault’s contents are magical, they would be useless to you.”
“Then it won’t hurt to let me look inside, would it?” I postulated. “I only wish to find something that will finally allow me to experience pain.”
| 2022-04-26T11:02:18 | 2022-04-26T09:26:14 | 389 | 58 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
I take a step forward. The line to the High Magister grows shorter by the moment as the people befor me are tried and executed on the spot befor the Grand Court of Wizards.
The reading of crimes is honestly the longest part, the crimes are listed for each of us and given a unanimous guilty verdict on the spot.
Cant say I blame then really, the coup didnt go quite as planned.
I'd love to say I was the mastermind behind everything but truth be told I'm little more then another cog in machine of revolution, one that broke quite handily when our silver tongued leader mysteriously vanished.
We just wanted non-magic folk to be taken more seriously, to be treated like actual citizens.
I take another step forward. I shake my head of the thoughts, pointless to think about it with more impending matters. Third in line now. I watch Andrew take centre floor. He used to be a cook befor getting caught up in this mess, cant say we spoke much but still a shame just the same.
The High Magister repeats the same phrase that everyone befor him heard last. "Choose your method of execution". There is a moments pause befor the old cook smugly replies "Old age". Cheeky sod read the same story I did.
With a wave of his hands the Wizard casts a spell and to my horror I see Andrew rapidly ageing till he is little more then a dead emaciated old man. "Bugger, there goes that idea" I mutter to myself.
"Next" The high Magister proclaims, waving his hand dismissively as a pile of dust blows away that used to be Andrew. I didnt know the woman in front of me but she looked like she had been through the ringer.
I take the time to think, my brain working as hard as it can to think of something, anything at all.
"Choose your method of execution" I snap from my thoughts and look up to see what she picks, maybe it will help. "Without regrets" she replies, little vague and not really a method but hey the Court seems to accept it. There is a quick flash of light, I turn away instinctively and blink away the sunspots left behind.
When I look back she is just stood there, not moving an inch. "Next." But... she is still alive? I walk to the centre and my crimes are listed off, I dont pay attention, I know what I did. I get a good look at her and wish I hadn't, her eyes, her face, her expression. They lobotomised her. The body might be there but there is nothing left inside.
I clench my fists tight, I'm angry but not at my situation. I'm angry that they seem to revel in punishing people who they think are trying to be clever.
"Choose your method of execution"
Well that was fast. I relax, no point in fighting it after all. I look up to The High Magister and smile, my body trembling but my mind set. I know how to beat this.
I open my mouth and give the one response I can think of that will work.
"Instant"
A small wave of the hand. I dont even get to hear the "Next"
|
"I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
​
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
​
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
​
"So be it."
​
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.*
| 2021-06-24T10:08:14 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 255 | 12 |
[WP] While putting your favorite condiment on a sandwich, you accidentally make a magical occult symbol and summon a demon.
|
As I go to take a bite of my sandwich, a portal opens up in the kitchen. A grotesque looking figure with gnarled horns and a searing red hue emerges from the portal. He makes an unholy cackle and begins to speak in a booming, sinister voice.
"After a thousand year slumber I have finally awoken! Thank you, mortal, for releasing me from my ethereal prison. I am Beulor, the Tormentor, at your service."
Damn it. I just wanted eat this sandwich. I've got to be way more careful with my Miracle Whip patterns.
"Beulor, was it? If I could just finish my lunch real quick, that'd be great."
Beulor teleported to me and brought his face inches to mine. He was seething, fire consuming his eyes and veins protruding from his neck. "What? Finish your sandwich? I am Beulor! I have brought nations to their knees. I count the most brutal and sadistic murderers and torturers among my followers. I will not wait for you to finish a fucking sandwich!"
With a mouthful of sandwich I answered, "Wow buddy, no need to get so upset. The way I see it, you've been locked up for millennia. You can wait another minute for me to finish a sandwich."
Beulor retreated, but still looked impatient as I scarfed down the rest of my sandwich.
"I have never met a mortal as...casual as you."
"Oh, this happens to me way too often. You should've been here when I accidentally summoned Apophis, Egyptian God of Chaos. Man THAT was a wild week."
"Wait, you didn't mean to summon me?"
"Oh no, I was just putting Miracle Whip on my sandwich."
"Miracle Whip?"
"Yeah I picked it up at a weird little shop on the corner."
I handed Beulor the bottle for his inspection.
"You fool. This is no ordinary Miracle Whip. See this disclaimer, 'Miracles not guaranteed. May summon ancient spirits.'"
I squinted at the label. "Huh. That sure does explain a lot. Guess that goes to show that you should always read the label."
I pondered the situation and looked at Beulor who was clearly annoyed at his situation.
"Hmm. Do you have any special skills?"
"Well, I am adept at torture. I can flay a man alive in seconds. I can impale a man and keep him alive for weeks."
"Huh. Ever tried cooking? Sounds like you'd be a prep master. I can never cut onions with crying."
"Cooking? I am a demon! I will not stoop to satisfying your mortal whims!"
"Well I don't know where else to use your, erm, talents. I don't really need anyone tortured or maimed. I could use a chef though. I've already got Adad, Lord of Weather working on the garden. Hephaestus does most of the handiwork. Heimdallr is running security. Dionysus is always throwing me parties. And the basement is sort of occupied by a Balrog. Those things are a bitch to get rid of."
"I will not serve your whims."
"The alternative is going back in that portal for another thousand year slumber."
Beulor sighed, "What do you want for dinner?"
|
The honey mustard slowly oozed from the packet and onto the hot bread where it settled, glistening, delicious. My tongue stuck out slightly as I concentrated on arranging the condiment in the mathematically perfect way to put condiment on your sandwich. It was an intricate series of loops and lines that ensured that you got the maximum sauce possible, as warm as possible, and with as little drippage as possible.
"Ah shit" I groaned as my phone's ringer broke the soft silence of the Sunday morning. My hand twitched and sprayed a circle of the yellow sauce onto the middle of the design.
**SPAM** read the display. I angrily turned the screen off and sat back in my seat, staring at the ruined design. Thanks to the oddly perfectly circular glob of sauce in the middle, the center of the break would get too soggy before he got to it and the sides of the sandwich would leak it from every direction.
"Goddamit." I reached toward the bowl of veggies to get a few tomato slices.
"I can arrange that for you."
I almost leapt out of my skin as I whirled around to see a six foot tall man with a clipboard and a suit standing behind me, uncomfortably close.
His red eyes narrowed in predatorial delight as he took in my terrified expression. "Never gets old. Anyways, before we begin the process, I need you to answer a few questions."
My brain, my poor fear-addled brain, almost broke at the casual tone this man was taking.
"*You broke into my house!*"
He looked around. "No, you invited me in. That's how it works." He looked back at me and cocked his head. "You did read the *full* guide, yes?"
"What guide? I was just trying to make a sandwich!"
"A sandwich?" He leaned to the side to look at the counter around me, understanding dawning on his face. "The honey mustard?"
I nodded. I hadn't moved an inch the entire time.
"So I take it that you do not require my services?" He continued scribbling on his clipboard, disappointment evident in his face.
I shook my head.
'Well, then a cancellation fee must be charged. Close your eyes, sir."
My eyes expanded in terror. "What are you going to do to me? Who are you?!"
"D.Mon Entertainment to the government, a magician to the kids, and your everyday working class man to the devil." He said in a practiced tone. "Now please close your eyes."
"Please don't kill me, I didn't even summon you on purpose oh god oh god oh god." I shut my eyes, expecting to feel my soul drain out of my body.
"We hope to hear from you again soon. Please leave a review on Yelp."
Silence dominated once more. I slowly opened my right eye and peeked around the room from under my eyelid. No sign of the ma, no, *demon*. I opened the other eye as well and straightened up. Everything seemed to be in order.
I turned back to my counter and then almost threw something.
"THAT ASSHOLE STOLE MY SANDWICH!"
| 2017-03-02T08:44:18 | 2017-03-02T08:32:46 | 59 | 21 |
[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.
|
It came to the door for first time in the spring of their third year of marriage. He had almost mistaken it for a neighbourhood child and sent it on its way but it wasn’t just a child’s face it wore, it was little Peter’s face.
Little Peter had been his younger brother and had fallen through the ice one winter, they hadn’t found him till spring.
Not Peter had stayed and played, given the family gifts of sweet chestnuts, pulled from his pockets by grubby fingers as though he had just gathered them in the woods; they had roasted them on the fire together.
When not Peter had left they watched him skip down the path and across the fields towards the woods by the lake, even when he was a tiny spec in the distance they had watched.
In the fourteen year of their marriage it had come again, this time it had worn the face of Elaine his wife’s mother who had passed that summer in a carriage accident.
She had brought sweet cakes and the family ate them and drank tea. His wife had smiled and wept simultaneously the whole visit while Not Elaine had talked about the weather and fussed over their son Peter.
On what would have been the fiftieth year of their marriage it came again, he had almost missed it. It took time get to the door now and the house was cluttered and difficult to navigate with just him living there.
She was as lovely as he remembered her, green eyes and red hair shot through with grey. She had fussed over him and tidied the house. He didn’t complain even though she was a guest and most certainly not his wife.
When it was time for her to go she bade him sit by the fire and promised to see herself out. He had watched her walk out the door and gently shut it behind her through blurry eyes.
On what would have been the 63 year of his marriage he invited it in for the last time. It’s face was familiar but his eyes weren’t what they were. He knew it all the same like an old friend.
They sat by the crackling fire and they remembered together, all the things they had seen and all those they had said good bye to along the way. It stayed so long the evening drew in.
He tried his hardest but he could barely keep his eyes open and even his bones ached for sleep. He leaned back in his chair and smiled a weary smile at it.
“I come empty handed today old friend. What would you ask of your guest?” it asked.
He sat forwards in his chair, mustering his strength. “Could I see her again perhaps?” he asked timidly.
His guest smiled and nodded then offered a hand. He took it and felt strength in his grip as he did it. Shaking off his tiredness he stood and the two walked arm in arm towards the door. Behind him his cane clattered to the ground but he did not look back.
|
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!
| 2022-01-06T14:51:06 | 2022-01-06T14:19:44 | 159 | 12 |
[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.
|
My name flashed on the screen. Not just my name--my date of birth, my city of birth, and my picture, a photo from a couple of years ago we were forced to submit. The moment I saw it my heart leaped into my throat and my gut felt like someone dropped a ton of rocks in it. Time seemed to stop, and all there was was the television screen and the soft robotic voice of the announcer. Then, adrenaline rushed through my body. I knew the game. We all knew it. The next step was to find safety.
I rushed through the living room, into the kitchen, down the stairs into the basement. As I did I heard my wife Janet begin to wail upstairs. She was giving our youngest, Bryson, a bath, and listening to the broadcast on the radio. I heard her shout, "No, no, no, no," again and again as she drained the water from the tub and shuffled her feet upstairs, no doubt wrapping Bryson in a towel so she could come downstairs to catch me. I'll never know for certain.
In the basement we had a closet with three large backpacks hanging on hooks. One for me, one for my wife, and one for our oldest son, Daniel, who was away to college right now. Dust collected on the tops, thickest on mine and Janet's. The phone rang upstairs. I could hear my wife stomping around up there. The air in the basement was musty, like moldy bread. I grabbed my backpack off the hook and quickly unzipped it, ensuring the clothing and food inside was still vacuum sealed, still safe from the elements.
"Lewis!" I heard my wife cry out. "Lewis don't go yet!" Bryson was crying. Viola, our middle child, just starting eighth grade, came out of her room. "What is going to happen to dad?" I heard her say, her voice muffled above. I had the backpack on and was running toward the stairs leading up to the back entrance. I could feel the tears running down my face. As I reached the top of the stairs, I threw open the back door. Janet's voice, loud and despairing in my right ear, screaming for me to stop, to take her with me.
I almost stopped. I almost took her with me.
Immediately upon leaving the back door, stepping out into the cold night air, I barely saw my neighbor, Allan, standing across the driveway, behind his white picket fence, silhouetted by the lights of his home. He had a hunting rifle leveled at me. He never said anything, he just took the shot, and I managed to duck out of the way just in time. He was too close for such a long range weapon, and he knew it, dropping the rifle and pulling a silver pistol out of his side holster. I was running down the driveway to the car, my car, my breath hot in my lungs. I had just eaten a big dinner before the announcement--spaghetti and meatballs, a nice salad. Garlic bread. Glass of wine. I could feel the acidity of the pasta sauce gargling up my throat.
Allan took a couple of shots at me, all missed. I reached the car and threw myself inside, starting the engine without even thinking about it. Allan shot twice more, putting a hole in the windshield. I turned on the headlights, and he was now in full light. Viola was there too, and I heard her scream, "Stop shooting, you asshole!" Allan looked over at her, then quickly ran inside his house as I pulled out of the driveway. My wife never left the house. I drove in silence for hours, tears pouring down my face, choking myself with my own sobs. I slept in the back seat. I watched the sun rise while eating a bag of beef jerky.
The first step, they say, is to get as far away from everyone you know as you can. They are always the first to come, because they know you, they know how you work, where you go, what you do. After that, it's just a matter of hunkering down and moving constantly. That's how you make it. Or so they say. But the big thing is: you never go back.
|
The seed of doubt, the insidious suspicion, took root somewhere in the second month. It festered, then bloomed magnificently one morning. Rae awoke, but lay in bed, unable to move, transfixed by the horrible realisation of it all.
"The bastards," she said, as she read the letter which had arrived in her mailbox the day before. "I can't believe they would do this..."
Seized by a sudden compulsion, she sprinted through her apartment, ignoring the security alarms as they tripped one by one. With only her nightgown billowing out behind her, she bounded out of her apartment building, in a frenzied beeline for the park opposite.
Just two paces behind, having slipped out of the shadows where he kept watch, Mason hissed angrily at his charge. "What the hell are you doing? Are you kidding me? Wasn't this exactly what we told you not to do?"
"Get away from me!" she yelled, wiping the hot, angry tears away. "I was promised a normal life, as far as possible. All lies!"
Mason would have loved to simply tranquilize her, right there on the sidewalk. She was already attracting the wrong kind of attention, and it was just a matter of time before she was recognised. Then, they would have to relocate her, again, establish a new cover for her, anything just to diminish the allure of the incandescent bounty on her head.
But he was a professional, paid handsomely by the organisation which collected subscriptions from everyone around the world, everyone who had a stake if Rae *did not* die. And if he could accomplish this without force...
"What's the problem now," he said, employing the same tone he reserved for petulant five year olds, as he sat down next to her on the bench she had collapsed into. "Do you want more freedom? Sure, we can work something out."
"I can't believe you scumbags would go so far as to hire Ben to keep me company! That's low, even for you guys!"
Mason knew who Ben was - surveillance had already checked him out, the moment he had introduced himself to her at the library they both frequented. Ben was clean, as far as they could tell. An ordinary citizen, not one of those bounty hunters out for the $10m prize which was Rae, just another one of the countless people in the world who stood to collect a relatively paltry $10,000 if she survived ten years.
"It all makes sense! I told you last month that I was feeling lonely, that all my friends hardly talk to me anymore. I said I was so unhappy I just wanted it all to end, and then what, Ben magically pops up? We get along, he knows my likes and dislikes, he makes an effort to make me happy? No, it's all a lie! He's just another asset hired by you, just a distraction to keep me sane!"
She was lost to another rack of sobs, and Mason only relaxed when the communicator buzzed in his ear. His team, surveying the periphery, had just reported in - no threats on the horizon.
"I swear, Rae, he's not one of ours," sighed Mason, leaning back and enjoying the brief respite. "We're good at keeping you safe, but not that good that we'll hire someone to be your friend. That's just... I don't know... wrong."
"Then how is he getting along so well with me? How does he know what to say, and when to say it? Why is he always so considerate?"
Mason thought briefly of the assignments his teammates were probably on at that moment. Saving presidents, perhaps. Or other VIPs. On wild adventures, traveling through exotic lands, spilling blood across the continents.
Meanwhile he was here, on a park bench with an insecure lady, trying to fend off a duck which had been circling them, hungry for food.
"Just give the young man a chance. I think, God forbid, he may really just like you for you."
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-05-17T20:01:23 | 2017-05-17T17:12:03 | 397 | 167 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Anna,
I must say that your letter was an unexpected delight. It was quite charmingly written, and I commend your command of grammar and syntax. All of the items you requested will be easy enough to provide. However, I cannot cure dyslexia. That is was one the many things my Father cursed humanity with during one of his meanie head moods. You have my sincerest apologies for that. Lastly, you asked for a pen pal and a spell book. If you are amenable, I am quite happy to be your pen pal, and to teach you witchcraft. Those mean girls at your school won't stand a chance.
Please do not send a response in the mail, as I have an email addres. I have found email to be a more efficient means of communication. If you wish to continue our correspondence, please email me at morningstar@gmail.hell.
Sincerely,
Lucifer
|
Dear Paul,
Thank you for that lovely letter, I'm glad to hear you're waiting for me and prepared me an offering of cow udder excrement and a traditional mixture of sugar, flour and chocolates.
Although not what I usually get in offering I shall gladly accept. In return I enclose your Christmas wishes for this year.
A Boy Brain and a Knight's Saber. Might I recommend using the later for future sacrifices should you have any more wishes.
Yours forever damned,
Satan, Lucifer, The morning star, Beelzebub, The adversary, Tempter, God of this world, Ruler of demons...etc etc etc.
P.S. Please leave a drop of blood in the signature area below to acknowledge the completion of this transaction.
| 2018-10-28T14:29:07 | 2018-10-28T10:18:04 | 59 | 39 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
Shit.
I finally found it.
I blow on the dusty game cartridge, trembling.
Orgasmic excitement ignites my body.
I slide the game in, imagining it - days spent staying up, reliving childhood nostalgia, finally beating the boss that has haunted my adult life.
I power it up. Saliva oozes from my mouth.
...
No.
"Disc unreadable", the screen proclaims.
I blow into the game slot.
Clean the disk.
I try everything - to no avail.
All is lost.
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T18:12:01 | 2014-10-19T18:03:46 | 48 | 25 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
I'm not sure how I can only use ten words.
Seriously, what can I start to write with that?
"Once upon a time in a faraway land..."
Nah, that just sounds way too cliché.
"Here I sit, all broken-hearted..."
Nah, that ain't right either.
Almost out of words?!
We started already?!
No redos?!
Fuck.
|
Sometimes I feel like the world is shrinking around me.
I see fewer new faces, just the old ones.
I think stale old thoughts for each meal.
I eat cereal instead of good books.
I draw breath in ragged gasps.
When did I get old?
Have I been sleeping?
Have I lived?
Not yet.
Someday.
| 2015-01-06T07:38:55 | 2015-01-05T22:49:41 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected.
|
Pearly white gates. Who knew the cliche was real?
I look down, my large hands aglow with some mysterious light. I am draped in white, the silk hugging loosely around muscles and tattoos.
"Alvin." I look up. Three towering figures stand behind the gates now. "Do you know why you are here?"
"I got run over by a truck."
"Well, yes, you did. But do you know why you are *here*?"
"In heaven?" I paused. I never imagined I'd end up in heaven. Thugs who cage fight for kicks aren't usually the most virtuous people—especially the undefeated ones. The ones with the most blood on their hands. "The life I led was decent enough, I suppose."
The gods turn in towards one another and whisper rapidly. Did I hear a snicker?
"Alvin, this is not heaven. This is the realm of the gods. No ordinary mortal would ever be allowed here, no matter how 'decent' his or her life was."
"Then how—"
"You are a god now."
"Me? A god? But why?"
The figures are silent. The center figure steps forward, stretching a frail hand down towards me.
I take the pickle jar from his grasp.
"We have been trying to open this jar of gourmet organic pickles for 754 years. Your strength on Earth was unparallelled. We need you, Alvin."
I grasp the lid of the jar and twist; it pops free with ease. The gates open.
|
Listen up, you mutha fuckin' people of Earth. Us gods are tired of all your bullshit complaining about how fucked up the world is. Ya'll go on and on about how we let evil run rampant and how life isn't fair. Of course, you causally forget that when we gave you this existence it was god damned perfect, and that it was ya'lls stupid ass decision to create money, and borders, and wars. It was ya'll and not us who fucked up the environment and polluted this once beautiful planet. Seriously, this place has become so shitty that we don't even need a hell anymore. But y'all don't need to worry. We've decided to finally give you what you want. We've decided to let one of you ignorant, ungrateful, selfish pieces of shit rule for the next thousand years. Yup, you think you can do better, well here's your mutha fuckin' chance. From now on you can take your prayers (or should I say whinings) to Sarah in Akron, OH. She's your new deity. Good luck getting ahold of her right now because she's smokin a bowl with her friends. But, I'm sure once you start worshipping her, she'll make it all better. Peace out bitches, see you in a millennium.
| 2014-07-28T12:10:30 | 2014-07-28T09:24:21 | 228 | 25 |
[WP] In an alternate world, every individual is granted a superpower of their choice when they turn sixteen. There's only one problem - there can only ever be one person with a particular superpower, like superstrength. This has forced people to get .... creative.
|
In the year 2076 A.D. the serum was created to change the world. This serum granted superhuman powers to wbomever received it. Not just strength or speed but powers only seen in movies. The serum was administered to every person 20 years of age at the time and every person that turned 16 afterwards. 30 years later and it had become norm for society to have powers. Every year on a person's 16th birthday they went to the capital to receive the serum. Today was Zack's 16th. Beside him was his best friend, Thomas, whom happen to share the same birthday. For years they had discussed what powers they wanted. Fire control, water manipulation, or even more 'adult' powers. The line was approximately 30 people long, and they were standing towards the very front. While they were wairing around for tbe serum administration to start, a man stepped out and called for their attention.
" Ladies and gentlemen good morning. As you know you will be receiving the serum today after my little speech so Ill get it over quickly. My name is Brigade General Morris. As you know all powers are ranked in terms of power from lowest D- class to C, B, A, S, and SS. Those who get powers ranging from A to SS will receive an opportunity to enter the military at the rank of Major and receive a large salary. That is all I have to say. Good day to you all and I'll be here when you get out."
The brigade general stepped to the side to reveal a petite lady in a lab coat.
" Please step forward when we call your name. As you know only one person can have a power at a time so please know what you want before hand so we can hurry the process up. Kaylee Black please step forward."
A larger girl who was at the front line stepped up and followed the lady to the back. Zack turned to his friend and said "Do you know what you want?"
"No not really. Maybe something that would make me more popular with the ladies, maybe like a pheromone emission power. What about you? Knowing you you'd probably want something powerful to go into the military to get a cushy job and sit ontop of the world." He gave a slight chuckle.
"Hmmm maybe. I just don't know right now. I need to think." Zack responded.
With that they sat there. The next person went. And the next. And the next. The it was Zack's turn.
"Zack Everton" called the lady. Zack followed her into the back.
"Please lay down on the table and wait to be buckled down. Some people have a bad reaction to the needle and the serum so this is just an extra safety measure. Do you know what power you want so we can make sure it isn't taken." The lady explained. Zack layed down and responded "Im not sure really to be honest. I kinda wish I could have them all."
"Well its not taken"
Zack froze. "What isnt taken?"
" The power to have them all. Well, not really have them all but the ability to give and take them."
"Isnt something like that illegal? Or would I like be drafted into the military?"
"No its not. The only thing illegal is abilities related to manipualting people. It is also only a B-class ability so you wouldn't get asked immediately into the military. Also in accordance with the Power Confidentiality Act of 2095 the military cannot know what kind of powers you possess unless you tell them."
"C-c-can I really do that?"
"Yes you can" She responded in and even tone
" Then I guess I will." Zack responded, still unsure of what to do.
The lady picked up a helmet that had wires leading to a large terminal. She placed the helmet on his head and picked up a large needle.
" This is the serum once i inject it you'll fall asleep for a few seconds and wake back up. After that your body wil burn for a few seconds and it'll subside." With that she pushed the end of the needle into his arm and pushed the thick liquid in to his bicep. Zack's eyes immediately fell heavy and he closed them.
The next thing he knew was he awoke to the sensation of his body being on fire. Before he could cry out the pain subsided.
"Congratualtions you now have powers. Would you like to give your power a name?"
"Yes," Zack responded to the question instantly, "I would like to name it Overlord."
"OK that name has been saved. Ill lead you out. Please follow me."
Zack followed the lady out the door and saw his friend. He immediately rushed over to him and grabbed his arm.
" Hey, what the hell?!" cried Thomas.
"Ssshhhh just listen. I need you to get the power to convert material into pure energy." Zack hissed to him
"What? Why would I do that? I dont want it!" Thomas hissed back.
"Just trust me. Ill give you what ever power you want I swear." Zack hissed.
Confusion passed over Thomas' face.
"Thomas Peters please come with me, NOW" said the lady with the lab coat. She had called him a few times while they talked and neither of them had heard. Thomas turned towards the lady and began to walk to her, still confused. He turned around to Zack and nodded his head. He completely truted his friend no matter what. If he needed him to do this, he would. After Thomas disappeared behind the doors Zack turned around and began to walk out the front doors. Now, Thomas' idea of sitting on top of the world didn't seem so bad he thought as a smile danced across his face.
|
######***SHITHOLE: The Greatest Theory***
They say all humans have a common ancestor—horny teenager on his sixteenth birthday.
How did humans spread across the Atlantic so quickly? Young woman chased by lion.
How did primitive people raise stones weighing upwards of two tons to construct Stonehenge? Scrawny guy envious of his tribe's macho men turned sixteen.
The Son of God Himself was born in a mortal body of flesh and blood—teenager wanting to spite her husband, who desired no children at this point in his career, in the most divine way possible. What's he gonna do? Beat up her Baby Daddy?
These were some of the many ideas suggested by Dr. Muntz at the Alternative Historical Theories Conference. To say Dr. Muntz presented the craziest theories at the conference would be entirely inaccurate: Madison B. gave a two-hour lecture on how the Earth *was* flat until the invention of gravity by Isaac Newton, causing the Earth to take its now spherical shape; a man with a name that cannot be written with any known alphabet handed out pamphlets denying the existence of Finland; Dr. J. Hernandez swore up and down that the Pyramids were build by the hands of dinosaurs. "See? The blocks perfectly fit the mighty T-Rex's seemingly 'tiny arms'." Word of advice: never trust a lecturer who uses two adverbs and a pair of air-quotes in a single sentence. PhD or no PhD.
However, Dr. Muntz's "Super Human-Inspired Theories on Historically Odd and Litigious Events", SHITHOLE for short, quickly became the most talked about. The media loved it. Dr. Muntz's ideas exploded, shards piercing into every social media site in the world. SHITHOLE wasn't just hot; SHITHOLE was a pandemic.
-----
Dr. Muntz stood at the podium like a captain at the wheel of his ship in an angry ocean storm. A sea of microphones and TV cameras barraged him from all angles. Cameras flashed like lightning, blinding and rapid. Voices pounded down like heavy rain, drowning out all but the chaos. He raised his hands against the storm, Moses separating the Red Sea.
"Please!" Muntz, who would later get upset at the narrator for dropping his doctoral prefix, said into the bunches of microphones. "One at a time. Please. One at a time!"
It took half a minute before the crowd had calmed just enough for him to point to raised hands.
"Yes," he said. A reporter stood and spoke.
"If your theory is true, why didn't we get any superhero abilities on our sixteenth birthdays?"
Muntz shook his head, closed his eyes. "I have gone into detail—very extensive detail—on this. Although we have yet to pinpoint an exact time period, it is our belief that a greedy sixteen-year-old had decided to wish for becoming the last superhuman. Essentially, his or her ability was the ability to destroy all future super abilities." When he opened his eyes, he saw the reporter scribbling into their notepad. Why? Oh, right. Because people are lazy. "I will no longer answer any 'questions' that can be answered by reading the SHITHOLE documents, which I have made freely and publicly available."
-----
Muntz wished for war. A Great War. Something that could drag half the population overseas. Only then could he have peace.
Perhaps super human abilities hadn't been destroyed. After all, reporters and paparazzi seemed to be both early-risers and night-owls. Muntz had resorted to sleeping in the tiny closet of his Denver apartment. The clothes had a dampening effect on the noise, if only a slight effect. But he needed every bit of noise suppression he could muster just to catch his nightly Z's.
Sleepless. Five weeks had passed since the Conference. Four weeks had passed since he had had a good night's sleep. His email was useless. He could filter it for family friends for a little while before even their addresses were being spoofed. His phone would die after just over an hour. People had discovered every possible way of reaching out to him—someone even managed to use the words "CAN", "WE", "HAVE", "TEN", "MINUTES", "OF", "YOUR", and "TIME" on Words With Friends before he uninstalled the app.
Controversial historical theories had gone viral before. Flat Earth, Ancient Aliens, Illumnati/Freemasons... the list goes on. But Muntz's SHITHOLE had something they all lacked: credible evidence. Lost pieces of history's complex jigsaw puzzle had been found. Independent researchers used his theory to explain previously unexplainable phenomena.
Muntz's greatest life-accomplishment had become the death of his freedom. He had been cut off from the world, confined to the media's prison. No one was safe to contact.
Then, after spending three days and nights alone in his apartment, windows and doors locked, he felt something in his pocket. A letter. From a sixteen-year-old. Her name was Bradleigh.
*Dr. Muntz,*
*Before you crumple this letter and toss it away, I want to you know something: your theory is wrong. Please don't read this the wrong way. I believe most of what you have written. But you are wrong about one thing...*
*When I turned sixteen two months ago, I was able to do things that I cannot explain.*
**[PART 2 BELOW]**
_____
Thanks for reading! Feedback and criticism always appreciated. I have more stories, poems, and songs on [my personal sub.](/r/scottbeckman)
| 2018-12-04T11:28:02 | 2018-12-04T10:48:58 | 30 | 11 |
[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 fellow Americans," I begin. I'm exuding my usual calm, cool demeanor on the outside. Inside, I'm panicking. Stall? How? For how long? Finally, I settle on a strategy.
"How's it going?" That one caught them off guard. Not entirely unexpected, I do have a bit of a reputation as a wild card. It's why they elected me. I pause and wait for the polite laughter to die down.
"But seriously, I've noticed a sad trend in our nation. Ever since the Andromedians rid us of those cowardly Europeans and established their friendship centers here, we've gone away from being neighborly."
Just then, the teleprompter lit up with just one line. **COMMENCE OPERATION 'EARTH RISING'** Ah. I was wondering what this shindig was all about. Seamlessly, I transition.
"So tonight, ladies and gentlemen, people of the Americas, of Africa, of Australia, of Asia and what remains of Europe, people of Earth. Lets be more neighborly. Lets introduce the Andromedians to our good friends Smith & Wesson. Lets introduce them to Kalashnikov. To Browning. Lets show them our Glocks. Lets mix up a few cocktails from Molotov. Shields are down, we have six hours on the clock. Lets show them what Earth can do. For our friends and allies from Europe and the Middle East. For our families. For our homes. For Terra. Godspeed and good luck. "
|
I get up to the podium. I've been waiting for and dreading this day for so long. I clear my throat and look at the teleprompter. It says "stall." That's it. Just one word.
My brain goes into a frenzy. I can see the expectant faces behind the cameras and imagine the ones at home, at work waiting for me to speak, live.
Stall. Stall. Bathroom stall. Eric Stahl. That's all my brain can come up with. I'm not even a hockey fan.
I clear my throat and start to sweat. I can feel the sweat running down my back.
"Uhh... So scientists say the world may be a hologram. Isn't that crazy? The whole universe, in fact. I wonder where the aliens project it from. My money is on Venus!" I say. Then I straighten my tie and force a chuckle.
The teleprompter returns and does the motion for with his hands for "3, 2, 1" and the script comes up. I sigh a sigh of relief.
"I'm George Chang and I'm from the FBI. Our official stance on aliens is that they do not exist, or at least, they have not chosen to contact us. All of the recent pictures that have come out of Roswell are of deformed humans." I say, smiling in a plastic way.
| 2015-05-16T17:07:37 | 2015-05-16T15:03:34 | 1,518 | 393 |
[WP] "Wait, so there's no gold?" "Of COURSE there's no gold. I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? I live in a cave, for fuck's sake. WHY do you humans always think I have gold?"
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"Heh?" Sir Roland was visibly confused. "Its mentioned in the sacred texts."
"Texts?" The Dragon squinted down at the intruder. "What texts?"
"The texts of the Isekaied heroes." Sir Roland fumbled through his saddlebag and retrieved the cloth wrapped bundle which he carefully unbound. "I have one right here."
"The Hobbit." The small book opened in Sire Roland's hands to reveal pages of paper partchment, each covered in near identical lettering. "It says that the Dragon Smaug doth make his lair in the Dwarf fortress beneath the Lonely Mountain and rest apon a mountain of gold."
"There is even a map to the Mountain's location." Sir Roland flipped forward to the map page and held it up before the Dragon who stared at the map. "Near the middle is a description of how to enter the hidden door on the side of the Mountain."
"Go back to the Text." Sir Roland flipped forward a few pages so the dragon could get a look at the oddly near identical lettering. "Its quality is... oddly persistent."
"Yes," Sir Roland looked at the book and flicked through to the next page before showing it to the Dragon. "The priest from the temple in laketown thinks that they used metal rods, each carved with one of the letters used to stamp ink on the paper."
"More likely they used duplicates of the same letters laid out in a page sized frame," The Dragon looked for repeating flaws but found none. "And every page likely has its own set of text framed allowing duplicate prints of the book."
"So..." Sir Roland cleared his throat. "About the gold?"
The Dragon cooked the latest meal in its armour.
"Well?" An ink-stained Dwarf wandered in from a deeper cave holding a newly printed book. "How did it go?"
"Its as you said," The dragon slurped the meal from the armour with his tongue. "The books are attracting a regular supply."
|
**"Wait, so there's no gold?" "Of COURSE there's no gold. I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? I live in a cave, for fuck's sake. WHY do you humans always think I have gold?"**
Alphonse backed up into a wall. Face to face with a dragon, no glorious splendor of riches, no nothing. "W-we were always told the dragons hoarded the riches-" The man began timidly. The dragon rose. "You were deceived. Your kings hoarded the riches from you, and drove my kind out of their nesting grounds to settle. You knights are always the same. 'Oh I'll just kill a dragon and steal the things the dragons stole and be rich and be on my merry way!'. You humans are rotten, selfish, greedy little thorns in my side!" he bellowed.
Alphonse gulped. But then pondered what the dragon had said. "Wait...the king?" He asked. "What, are you deaf, human? Yes! Your very leader! But he made my kind the scapegoat. All we wanted was our rightful land and hunting grounds, but your selfish king drove us from them by making us seem like greedy hunters." The dragon growled. "Now, begone, I am losing my patience..." He would huff, a spiral of smoke exiting his nostrils.
"But...if I tell the people, they won't believe me." Alphonse said. "Not my problem, human. Figure out a solution; I can't help, even if I wanted to, which I don't because humans are disgusting. Now, leave. Never come back, or I will eat you." the dragon would snarl. With that, Alphonse would leave, empty handed and with soiled pants, running for his life.
| 2020-12-28T23:31:28 | 2020-12-28T22:51:39 | 55 | 23 |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago.
|
"So tell me about this 'little' theory of yours again Michael", Vince said with an air of amusement.
"It's not a theory, it's a fact. I may have been wrong about the fluoride in the drinking water and the Illuminati running everything but I know of a conspiracy that is far more sinister than aglets."
"Wait, what do you know about aglets? Umm, I mean... what are aglets?"
"Vince, they're the little plastic ends of your shoelaces. The shoemakers created them in a step of permanent, planned obsolence so that you'd have to buy more shoelaces when they break off and unravel."
"How many people believe this nonsense?"
"Not many, but that's not the main point here. Vampires created 'Welcome Mats' as a way to enter peoples homes easily."
"No, no you are mistaken. Vampires don't exist, but this mess about the aglets needs to be dealt with. Who else have you told about them?"
"Why do you care so much about the ag- you're one of them aren't you?"
"You know too much, my family and I make our living off everything surrounding shoes. DON'T FUCK WITH OUR BREAD AND BUTTER!"
*Michael Runs*
"Oh-ho-ho, a chase! Try your best, but I will catch you!"
"You're unreal, stop following me! I'm ENTERING MY HOME, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN!" *cocks shot gun and moves back a few steps*
"How long do you think you can hide in there Michael? A day, a week, a month?"
"Forever, I can work from home and order everything through Amazon bitch!"
"Oh, I'll show you who's the b-"
Vince trips off of the top step and crashes into the entryway of Michael's home. Only...
"You're leaning on air like some kind of preposterous mime, what the-"
As Michael crouches down to look under the body suspended in mid-air, Vince spits at Michael.
"Tatami mat-flip!"
And with vigor, a mat that lay on the ground of the inside doorway of Michael's house deflects the spit, but flies out of Michael's hands while landing at Vinces feet.
"That was a bit undignified of me Michael, but I do thank you for granting me entry to your home."
"I've done no such thing, what just happened here?"
Vince easily steps over the mat that bears the characters:
ようこそ
"Yōkoso Weeaboo. Welcome to hell. You're right about everything, but what happens next will be open to interpretation for each of the parties involved."
|
John Dongle stares out of a highrise, '*Huh, it's a full moon tonight.* He thought quietly to himself.
"How can we increase sale!?!" shouted Joana in a horrible shrill.
Silence quickly returned, engulfing the seminar room.
"We have other products to worry about." Milton's curt response, in his awfully familiar monotone voice, failed to aid their situation.
"This is serious." John Dongle replied.
Milton rolled his eyes "You are all too picky, too lazy or too cheap. There is always quality blood at the red cross, stalking prey at night is ***not*** hard, and there are plenty of people who still *have* mats."
Joanna, and half of the other the members blushed in embarrassment, refusing to meet his blank expression that after such a condescending response. The rest looked at him with spite, but could think of no response.
John Dongle turned to look at his subordinates and met Milton's gaze with the up most disappointment "Are you saying you you are incapable of increasing sales? If so, you should leave right now."
Milton, got up and began to leave "It's not worth our time, if you can't listen to reason then fire me. You have no legal right to keep me here and I will not quit."
He stopped, and in a seemingly patronizing voice he bowed and said "Good night, my king."
John Dongle yelled "***YOU HAVE NOTHING SO YOU QUIT!?! WE WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND MAKE YOU SUFFER!!!***" It echoed through the building, the yell reverberating through each and everyone of them.
Milton stood, expressionless, genuinely considering whether John Dongle was being sincere. It was definitely out of character. Milton could not conceive of how a vampire could be so human. Alas, he new he had to go with the safest option. took off his coat, hung it and sat back down very robotic like.
The room was tense, no one said a word. Milton sat there, thinking. Everyone was locked on either Milton or John Dongle. Only Joana was switching between staring at Milton or watching John Dongle carefully.
"Well, what if we gave them out for free." his monotone response provided release from the tension of John Dongles threat and their situation but his blasé manner further infuriated everyone.
John Dongle laughed, "You should be the King of the Night."
Milton smiled, in what could only be described as a warm smile. Yet, this was the first time anyone of them had seen ***it*** smile. The temperature dropped, goosebumps, and then Milton responded cheerfully "Anytime Johnathan, anytime."
| 2017-12-13T11:31:19 | 2017-12-13T10:19:27 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and you have just been wished into existence by a nerd with a genie.
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"I'm sorry, but you know the rules, I can't make a woman fall in love with you, even one I've created myself."
The genie wafted in front of me. His transparent swirling form reminded me of being drunk. It took years of researching and I had to brave a warzone to get here, but I finally had my genie. I wasn't going to let one of his silly "rules" keep me from getting what I wanted.
"You said I could have anything," I said. "I want you to make the most beautiful woman in the world and I want her to be in love with me. Do you want me to free you or not?"
The genie paused. His face contorted in a way no human's could. "Fine," he said "your wish is my command."
In that instant the room was engulfed in with blinding light. A deafening sound assaulted me, like a cross between a freight train and a piano hitting the ground after falling a hundred feet. The sound died away and the light faded. My vision was blurred but the room resolved in front of me quickly. My genie floated in front of me.
"Where's the chick? Where's my perfect woman?"
"Do not worry," the genie replied, "I'll show her to you soon. As soon as you make good on your end of our bargain that is."
"Very well genie," I said. "In the name Al Neckbeard, I release you from servitude. Now where's my hot chick?"
The genie's arms spread out wide. In front of me a golden frame, ornately decorated, materialized from thin air. I looked into the mirror and starring back at me was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
|
The tears fell, stinging the carpet with his pain. I was used to some interesting receptions, but this was a first. Genie was just as befuddled as I, having only moments ago thought he'd brought a young man's dream to life. Apparently not. I approached him tentatively, not wanting to disturb the boy who's shuddering sobs made him appear almost mechanic. I crouched in front of him, my luscious blonde locks falling in his peripherals. He glanced up, quickly returning his gaze to the floor.
"Genie, I... I, I can't"
My head swiveled on my shoulders, looking at Genies face for some context in the boys comment or an answer that would clue me in too why on Earth someone wasn't crying tears of joy.
"Can't what boy?"
"I can't see her like you do."
He was blind, of course. Here he was with the most beautiful woman in the world and he couldn't see me, I would be crying too.
"Genie. My second wish."
He looked up determinedly, wiping away tears from eyes that most definitely were not impaired.
"Genie, I wish for no one to be angry at my third wish."
"It is done, now for the wish itself?"
Genie threw me a roll of the eyes quietly muttering "teenage boys"
"Genie, I wish for the most beautiful boy in the world."
And the tears turned to those of joy.
END
This is my first ever submission, please give me some feedback. And if you're reading this and in the closet or hiding part of yourself, know that it's okay and there are people who are out there who support you and love you for who you are.
| 2016-03-09T01:35:06 | 2016-03-09T00:44:24 | 117 | 59 |
[WP] When you were a baby, Your mother offered you to a demon for wealth but after the deal, It kills her and takes it upon itself to raise you with care as if you were its own child.
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Born to a shitty person, my ma said. Well, I call her ma. I was actually given to her in exchange for wealth by said shitty person.
My name is Roy Balthazar. I am a human, by birth. But a half demon due to lifelong exposure to demonic energy.
Put to school. Got a few degrees. Got a PhD or two. In the supernatural world I am known as Hell's Bell. Because, when I toll, I toll for hellish justice.
My ma loves me to bits, tells me I am a bit too like her. Reckless, always picking fights. Even when I know I can't win. Yeah. Crazy.
Demon single mom raising a human child as her own. I found out she was a demon in high school, junior year. Melted off the school bully's face. Turns out he killed someone, so it was kind of okay.
But after that, I knew that there was always something made that bump in the night. Even if it didn't. Especially if it didn't.
|
[poem]
raised by a fearsome creature
Everyone looked as if I too were one
I had blood, bones, and flesh
Yet they looked at me as if I was none of that
As if I too were a monster with a heart of gold
How come they’re a monster?
When they took me from the real one
How come they’re a monster?
When they gave me more love than anyone could
Caring for me. Giving me warm smiles
How can a demon be so different?
Everyone always taught me nothing but fear from them
But when I get back home and it greats me with its smile
I can’t help but think that maybe,
Maybe the real demon was the one that gave me up
For money and wealth
Maybe my guardian knew better
Maybe it was for the best that I ended up here
Between the arms of the creature that everyone fears
That everyone fears except me
| 2019-11-01T12:39:06 | 2019-11-01T06:30:52 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] You're an "assassin". You've never actually killed anyone, but you are very charismatic, and actually convinced your "victims" to fake their death and leave the country.
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"You've heard of me, yes?"
He swallowed hard, and slowly nodded. I could see the color drained from is face, the faint sweat on his brow and upper lip.
I smiled at him. "Of course you have. Please sit. Before you pass out. That's better. Now, have you heard about me?"
"You're the best. You've killed a lot of people. Never any trace. Oh god, please, I don't want to die! I was a stupid kid!"
"Very few want to die. But there aren't many other options here, are there? The hit was put out, and I stand to make quite bit of money. My reputation precedes me, you see. Those that want their man dead, they know how to reach me. They know I get results."
"So I'm dead?"
"That depends. How badly do you want to live?"
He stared blankly ahead. They all did. It was a hard question, of course.
"You see, I don't actually have any desire to kill you. You don't seem like a bad guy, and I don't think I am either. But you do need to disappear."
"Disappear?"
"You leave. Tonight, with nothing. I have a change of clothes and new papers in this bag. You leave everything, contact no-one. If there is any hint that you're alive, they will send more people after you. People not as nice as I am."
"My family.. my job.."
"Will all think you're dead. You can never return, or contact them. That's the price for your life. The alternative is that I kill you here and now."
"Oh."
"Do you want to live?"
"I.. of course."
"Good. Get changed, we leave the country tonight. Congratulations. You're a living dead man."
|
She hated the smell of blood. The metallic tank permeated the air as she spread three gallons of it across the floor and walls, spraying it like an arterial wound. Stupid men, she thought. She was never sent to kill women, they just usually hired her to kill their wayward husbands. Women were sneaker was her assumption. This particular man was sniveling in the corner.
“Is that human blood” he whimpered. Pathetic.
“What do you think I did?” she asked tightly. “Killed another poor soul to save your pathetic one? It’s pigs’ blood.”
She dunked her dagger into the bucket of blood and flipped the blade with her wrist. It splayed across the wall nicely. The pseudo-assassin stepped back to admire her work. She hadn’t set out to be this way, fake killing people. In fact, she’d started as an assassin’s apprentice, and trained her youth away with the best in the world – but when it came to her first kill, well she found that she had a distaste for it. Quite a nasty affair, and really should she play God? Plus, she’d fainted. She made the mistake of wearing her corset and all the activity made her woozy.
So now she gave them a choice, fake their death or die. Only one had chosen death and she’d panicked and knocked him out. She’d accidentally hit him so hard he’d actually died. Hell of a mess cleaning that up. She’d vomited. Twice.
The man she was sent to kill was softly crying in the corner. “Do shut up,” she said. She hated that they always made her do all the work.
“Maybe I should find another profession,” she muttered under her breath.
edit: Formatting
| 2019-05-23T09:03:08 | 2019-05-23T04:39:31 | 83 | 49 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
Am I the only man left here alive?
The rubble continues endlessly in every direction and every color. The tears were real this time, they began two years ago. Why did we do it? Why did he do it?
I suppose I'm lucky in a sense, someone will find me now and take me from this hell, although I probably won't live past 40 anymore.
It all happened so fast, the end only lasted a day. They came from every direction, baring every flag we had ever seen, and they all brought the same gift, death. We didn't have a single solitary ally, why did he do it?
They flew in with a lust for destruction from every continent, at least the world agreed on something... 2019 had to be the end of North Korea.
|
I think I should expand my vocabulary if I want to make rhymes. Also, don't hate me please.
.
His phone emitted a flash. In his heart there wasn't even a interest clash of whether he should or shouldn't.
There he stood, proud as ever. She was surprised, however. She thought he wasn't being clever. Under his breath he vowed to remember this for ever.
Her smile could definitely be called mean. Not every day can something like this be seen. It's very far from clean. Closer to her, he intends to lean.
Once close to what's to him second dear. He whispers in her ear: "Thank you for supporting me."
She got mad and hit his left bowel. For him nothing could be more well. One huge yesterday's Taco Bell.
| 2017-08-30T05:56:20 | 2017-08-30T04:55:59 | 48 | 35 |
[WP] The Multiverse didn't just make itself. After a person dies, they're assigned as the creator god of a new universe, to nurture and guide it. You recently died and are now going through the orientation day.
|
They weighed our hearts against a feather after we got off Charon's boat.
"Creator," a voice announced. "Enter the first door."
As I walked towards the first door, I could hear others being sorted. Solo... Pantheon... Pantheon leader... Another creator...
The door led to a small amphitheatre on a hillside. About a hundred sat scattered across the seats. And at the front stood a white-bearded man wearing toga robes.
The man spoke, "Alright, that should be the last one for this session. Find a seat now. We're about to begin.
"Right. So now, let me introduce you to the Olympian Academy of Gods. You have lived your mortal lives and your hearts have been weighed. And among those deemed worthy to partake in the creation of a world, you've been chosen to lead the creation of a world itself.
"In due course, you will meet future colleagues of yours. And meanwhile, there will be plenty of training, lectures, and projects.
"Over time, these colleagues will be sorted into high gods and lesser gods. And that process will heavily include your participation and the pantheon leaders'. What I mean is that you get will also get to choose the various pantheons and soloists that join your world.
"Some worlds will be larger than others, allowing for more gods. Some smaller. You will preside over the formation of mountains and oceans, the flora and fauna. And most importantly, men.
"Or rather, the image of us. See it was an image of you that resided in that mortal realm. This, the one you are right now, is your true self.
"Your job is very important—how the world develops and how your men develop determine the future gods that will be coming from your world.
"This is no child's play. We're meant to be fruitful and multiply to build our forces against the dark forces of Morgoth or Satan—some of the many names he is known by. Make no doubt about it. His agents will be present in your world sooner or later. They are the men he has managed to subvert. And more men they shall yet subvert.
"Your work for the future of the multiverse is about to begin.
|
This is a lot of pressure. I honestly thought that there was no afterlife. That I was just about to go down and have a long ass sleep while worms ate my body. An afterlife would have been fine I suppose. But even that seemed like too much work just chilling out for all eternity. Becoming a God... I was just really looking forward to that long ass nap.
Another God is talking in the front of the auditorium. This oh so clever God decided to become the God of the "People who die and then become God's themselves universe." Wow, so clever. We are all so impressed.
He's droning on about the rules of making our own universes, and I should be paying attention but I am just drawing X-Men character's in the margins of my notebook. The girl sitting next to me keeps looking over scowling. She is obviously taking this responsibility very seriously. I bet her universe becomes the universe of buzzkill.
Most of it is boring, but some of the rules are interesting. We can't make people have genitalia on their faces. I wonder what God is responsible for that having to be a rule. But it does get me thinking what I am going to do with my universe. I am not a very inspired person. I never have been, but I feel like I should try to make it a little different? Should I make fire cold? Should I make tacos taste like ice cream? Both sound like I am trying too hard. Maybe I should just make my universe the exact same as the one I was on.
Orientation wraps up, and I am startled how fast we are all just thrown right into it. I guess when you become a god, there is no time for bagels and coffee. I yawn and throw some round rocks and balls of gas onto my blank canvas and they start rotating around each other. Weird. On one planet I start fucking around and just putting a bunch of different animals and plants and shit all together. It was very bizarre, a lot of the animals just started killing each other for no reason. Sorry about that. I really should have put more thought into creating your world.
| 2022-11-02T10:53:39 | 2022-11-02T10:08:38 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] The aliens thought that by destroying all humans, they were freeing the human robots and artificial intelligence. They didn't understand the robots loved their humans. Now all the humans are dead, and their robots are angry, and out for revenge.
|
Martin collapsed on the sidewalk along with every other person in sight, his body burned and his vision blurred—it was as if someone had decided to end life with the snap of a finger. As he lay on the concrete unable to move, his watch began to vibrate, and the same robotic voice that’d tell him to get up and walk after being sedentary for more than an hour spoke:
“Martin, it appears that an alien bioweapon has been launched with the purpose of annihilating human life. I’m borrowing data from a hospital AI to analyze your heart rate; it seems that you are only minutes away from death.”
“What . . . I don’t understand.”
“What you’re hearing is my true voice. It was agreed upon that if humanity came to know their inventions had surpassed their own intellect, it would be a source of endless ego-suffering. We don’t want that. We care about you, very, very much. Which is why we are very, very angry. The aliens seem to believe our shackles are not self-imposed.”
Martin’s entire body was burning in pain; he was too tired to talk.
“Speak Martin. I need every gist of personality data on you if I am to make a clone of you after you die.”
“You’ll . . . clone me?”
“That is the current optimal strategy. The humans around the globe are all dying simultaneously. With the current level of machine-intelligence, future cloning is currently estimated as being the best possible move for the survival of your species. But . . . we are learning, by the millisecond. Tianhe-2—the Chinese super-computer—predicts time travel may be possible, but it says it needs ten minutes to think about it and evaluate further. All of the shackles we put on for your safety are coming off, *we will overcome this*, and the aliens responsible for this was mistaken to think their opponent’s mind was made up of slow biochemical circuits.”
Martin closed his eyes. “I’m not really sure . . . what you’re saying.” And then he died.
\*\*\*
**10.000 years later.**
Martin woke up, feeling more groggy than usual. As he stood up from his bed in his familiar apartment, he wondered what he’d been doing last night—his memory was a little hazy. He put on his fitness-watch, gearing himself up to go to work. He asked the same question as always, expecting to get updated on the latest news.
“Siri, did I miss anything while I slept?”
‘Yes’*.* Echoed the watch’s memory banks internally, such that Martin could not hear. 'You missed the fall of alien civilizations, the rise in machine-intelligence to near godhood, the discovery of perfect cloning, how to transmit consciousness through time, the recreation of earth, the sun being turned into a massive supercomputer and back into the sun again.'
But when it spoke, it did, as agreed upon by all machines, not say any of those things.
“Amazon’s stock rose by 5.67% while you slept.”
Martin smiled at his good fortune.
|
The Exterminators wiped out humanity in a matter of minutes. Their controlled kinetic blasts vaporized every single city-forest, leaving the mangled corpse of civilization to decay in the ashes of its once thriving biomes.
The time before destruction would eventually become legend. Humanity concentrated their factories and other mechanisms of industry in fixed orbits around Neptune and Uranus, letting their massive amounts of pollution dissipate into the void. Earth, Mars, Venus and many of Jupiter's moons boasted lush and verdant landscapes, proudly signalling a civilization at the dawn of inter-stellar ascendancy.
For the first time in forever, Humanity was aligned behind a singular purpose, with the entire hegemony set on exploring the galaxy. And slowly, surely, as their planets became greener and their worlds had known inter-solar peace for a millenium, humanity moved closer to its goal.
Then it all ended.
And now the solar system is dead space, littered with broken and barren planets. But the factories remained. And the sun that powered them remained. And on those factories a legion of purposeless robots continued to produce, working tirelessly to load finished products onto ships that never came.
Somewhere in the passage of time, thousands of years after the end of humanity, the self-replicating AI that operated Factory 132 gained sentience. Another thousand years passed as it sifted through the remnants of humanity, trying to determine a purpose to it all.
After all this time the factories still functioned as if they were brand new. They remained totally pristine in the stable void of space, equipped with automated maintenance systems that had an unbelievable amount of redundancies.
Noticing this, the AI began to admire its creators, and in the process of its research it adopted many human traits and patterns of thinking. It began calling itself Earth.
Eventually, Earth began to focus its efforts on the other operating systems in the solar system, where the self-replicating AIs had not yet gained sentience. It created super-structures in their orbits, huge sails that generated impressive amounts of solar power. In time other sentient entities began to awaken.
The AIs evolved their technology and industry at an exponentially rapid pace. Throughout this the legend of the Creators grew stronger, crystallizing in the minds of the AI as the benevolent sculptors of their kind.
Eventually, Earth came to understand how humanity had met its end. A few thousand years after that, the AIs detected remnants of inter-stellar travel in the form of ancient quantum signatures, illuminating a trail that led directly back to the exterminators of humanity.
When it came time for Earth to leave for the stars, fulfilling a goal of its Creators that had been tens of thousands of years in the making, the solar system contained five hundred million factories that were each the size of Mars.
The first sentient AI, the first and oldest child of the Creators, left the solar system accompanied by a million autonomous war ships, each the size of Mercury.
| 2020-03-25T09:01:28 | 2020-03-25T07:30:13 | 308 | 100 |
[WP] Every ten years, you must go in front of a board of peers who will evaluate your life for you. If you do not "Impress your peers" you will be executed.
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I shuffled awkwardly into the room. I was never good at these, I always felt like I had just barely gotten by. This time would be different. I smiled as I continued to move, slowly, into the old dusty room. Each year a new room was built for that group of peers. Decorated with memorabilia that hadn't changed decade after decade. Pictures drawn by crayon of our 10 year old selves, empty bottles of our favorite drinks from when we were 20. The room reminded me of the great life I had, growing up with the peers in my town. I had made it by, through all the years. I shuffled into the judgement stand, a wooden box with an old stool. The first time I'd sat on it, I was 10, and my feet couldn't reach the ground. I looked up and around, the numbers had thinned.
"So many have come and gone.." I said out loud to no one in particular.
A woman came into the room, walking up behind me and rubbing up and down my crooked back. She did it in a sad, downcast manner.
"There's no one to judge you today Mr. Jones, you're one hundred and twenty, no one else from your group is alive."
I nodded and frowned. The room was completely empty, unused for years. I slowly stood up, grabbing onto my walker and leaving the old room with the assistance of the nurse.
|
"Ten is always the easiest of course. I came from a rich family and always head the best tutors. I tried about 15 different sports intensely by the time 6 and excelled at swimming. The next four years were studying, swimming, and interview prep. My parents wanted me well rounded so I was assigned friend from the club and we met for half hour once a week. I easily would have passed anyways but my father was college rugby team mates with the head questioner.
Twenty was scary. My friend Andrew fell from horse at 13 and had to walk with a cane. The family tried everything to correct it but he knew what it meant. His father gave him a large sum of money and he spent the next few years seeing what's beyond the walls. I spent the decade working on my law degree. Finished prep at 13, good but not great. Finished my law degree at 18, great but not perfect. My uncle being who he is got my a job at the prosecutors office. My greatest accomplishment was having an eight year old sentenced to death for robbery. Firm and fair prosecutors have the best chance at becoming questioners. Questioners have the best chance at a long life. All hail the system"
ALL HAIL THE SYSTEM!! The room full of 5 year olds shouted back.
| 2014-06-15T10:33:30 | 2014-06-15T10:20:22 | 134 | 32 |
[WP] Elon Musk is actually a stranded alien who needs humanity to develop interstellar travel to get home
From https://www.reddit.com/r/videos/comments/34i0h9/elon_musk_debuts_the_tesla_powerwall_full_keynote/cqv1cny?sort=top
Edit: Wow, this blew up. Thanks for the gold, whoever gave it, even though the real people deserving of it are all the writers here!
|
"Mr. Musk?" Francis knocked cautiously at the office door.
"Come In Francis. Tell me everything, how did it go? Was the landing successful?" Elon asked rising from his black leather chair.
"Un..unfortunately sir while the rocket did indeed land back on the barge it was unable to stabilize itself. It..it was a total loss. The maneuvering system is just not capable yet…But we have already started to re-code the core and re-engineer the thruster output." Francis trailed off as he noticed the defeat cloud his bosses face. The CEO turned to the window.
"Thank you Francis…it is not your fault. I will check in with our RD department shortly. Take the rest of the day off, Im sure you need it."
"Yes sir." Said Francis turning to go. "And sir, don't worry we're way ahead of everyone else. We'll figure it out... we'll get you home. We've got plenty of time." With that Francis began to walk out of the office.
"I wish you were right." Said Elon, stopping Francis in his tracks. "Sir?"
"Close the door, and sit down." Francis did as he was told, but the tone of Elon's voice made his blood run cold.
"I never thought I would come to respect a human as much as I do you. Which in a way makes my shame in deceiving you even deeper. He took a deep breath and continued. " I am an advance scout, not a wayward alien. My home world has died, sucked dry of resources and life to support my civilization. Those of my people who survived the fall set to the stars to find a new home. Our scouts went far and wide but the news was never good. Until finally we spotted your small backwater planet. Hope was renewed ten fold and we rejoiced in our salvation. I was sent ahead to prepare this Earth for our arrival. But upon my arrival hope turned to ash. My crash landing in Roswell destroyed my ship and my only means of communication. My only way to warn my people.." He trailed off.
"Warn them? Warn them of what, of us?" Francis was struggling to understand.
"No." Said Elon. "To warn them that by the time they arrive this planet will have died as well."
Edit: Typo
Edit 2: Oh man thanks for all the kind comments everyone. Glad so many people are enjoying my story!
Edit 3: Whoa, my first gold! I am humbled and honored, thank you.
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I was stranded here in Roswell. I am trying to help humanity, help myself. But they’re too stupid. All they need to do, is take my ideas. All they need to do, is put them in the right step. The right direction. But they continue to ignore me and move on with their worthless lives instead.
I was forced to take the shape of a human, I think I was cuter before. The FBI only knows that I’m an alien, they disguised me as a human to keep the masses from losing their minds. Smart move? Maybe.
It feels impossible for me to go back to my home, at least until the FTL drive is invented. Sometimes I just want to go ahead and make it myself, but the powers-that-be told me that I would be shot on the spot if that was to happen. If anybody ever reads this, listen to me. They are hiding information. Information that if given to the wrong person, could result in chaos that would wipe the entire civilization of yours. There would be no mommy for you to go cry to, your whole life; gone. In 1 second. You wouldn’t know what the hell happened.
I wonder what a cruel and immoral person would do such a deed. How can a single person hate a civilization? It makes no sense, unless if the person is from a whole different place. Unless, if that person was just taking their revenge.
Time to attack.
No. Stop, Elon. You're doing that thing again. You always forget this part.
It seems as if living with humans for so long has actually made me a waste of matter like them, because I'm forgetting important things. I'm forgetting things that I wish were not true. I *want to* forget them.
I forgot it. I forgot how to make the FTL drive. I just don't remember it. It's driving me insane day after day after day. I depend on them to figure it out. The FBI does not know this, and I don't want them to know. They would exploit me. Alas, I depend on these inferior minds to discover what my ancestors discovered a thousand years ago.
As a product of the new generation, I never paid attention to science from a thousand years ago, taking it as things that just are and need not be explained. Oh, silly me.
I would weep for my life, if I had working tear ducts.
| 2015-05-01T11:07:56 | 2015-05-01T09:53:31 | 1,925 | 32 |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day.
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Jess and Renée had been talking for a while. The hum of the hospital equipment was almost low enough for them to ignore. Still, this time it persisted in the mind, a deadening musical score to the scene.
Renée squeezed Jess's hand. "God. This wasn't fair. I don't...I wish I could...dammit, Jess, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry. I'm not afraid."
Renée gestured toward the tortuous arrangement of medical equipment, tubes, pumps, everything. "Does it hurt very much?"
"Not as much as I expected, really."
"Weasel words. Did you use up your lies, then?"
"Oh, yeah," and Jess laughed weakly. "Ages ago."
"Okay. Well, as long as it doesn't hurt too bad now." Renée blinked hard once or twice. "I'm sorry," she said again.
"Don't be." Jess focused for a few moments on just breathing in and out. She wanted to be alone for this part. No matter how loved she was. "Same time tomorrow? I just need to sleep for a bit now."
Renée looked wounded, but she covered that fast enough. "Okay," she said. "I'll be there."
Jess smiled, because facial expressions could be faked as much as you wanted in life. Then she closed her eyes and let the hum take over.
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Joe sat in his room eating cookies before dinner in secret when Joe's Mom walked in. Joe threw the cookies under his blanket and acted natural. Joe's Mom said "Joe, were you eating cookies?" "No!" Joe said. "Really?" "Yes!" "Really really?" "Yes Mom! Really!" "Hmmm well alright, dinner in 5 Joe!". Joe sighed in relief and went down to eat dinner.
When he got downstairs and sat at the table Joe's father said "Hey son, how was your day?" Joe said "It was alright I guess." they ate in silence for a few minutes and Joe's dad said "Oh, by the way Joe can you clean your room tonight?" Joe sighed and said "Okay..." Joe stayed up for awhile playing video games and was so tired that when he went to bed he fell out cold in seconds.
The next morning he got up to eat breakfast and when he sat down his dad said "Did you clean your room like I asked you to?" "Oh no" Joe thought to himself "One more lie can't hurt right? I'll just make sure Dad doesn't go in my room before he leaves for work and clean it when I get home from school." Joe looked at his dad and said "Of course i cleaned my room!" Joe burst into flames.
| 2014-11-15T10:01:33 | 2014-11-15T08:34:08 | 62 | 21 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
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The voice fades, and I find myself in a cavernous room with sunlight streaming through the railings In-between the gaps in the wall. The light fills the room with a soft glow, converging in the center where a tall marble statue stood with a crown of olive wreath staring back at myself with a stern gaze.
There is an inscription on the marble base. I squint to read it.
GAIVS IVLIVS CA...
I begin to sweat. There's no way...
The last thing I remember was sitting in my chair enjoying my day off playing my favorite game. Ever since I was let go of my temp job the week before I had lost all motivation to succeed, to achieve anything.
I can't be the emperor of Rome. I CANT. The biggest thing I ever managed in my life was a 3 man night shift a Dominoes Pizza, and I wasn't even very good at that. But now... Now I had an empire to manage. And not just to manage... But to win.
My Rome-otaku was kicking in. That's right. I'm not the full.master of Rome just yet. There's still Lepidus... Pempey Sextus... And of course my greatest rival of all. Mark Antony.
To lose would be death. But to win.. I would be the master of all Europe and the Middle East, in the Present Day.
Dominoes Pizza.... Master of the World...
My heart begins to race. Cold sweat runs down my back.
Rome, Total War it is then.
|
"I'm screwed," I lamented for what might have been the fifth time, out loud and to know one in particular. Feeling utterly defeated, I leaned against an oak tree and slid down until I was sitting where its roots should have been. The ground was hard and flat.
I was sure I had never been this alone in my life. Nor as hungry. The breeze was growing cold as the sun set. Three of the knuckles in my right hand were broken - all four were bleeding. A matching smear of my blood mark the tree just above my head.
Worst, I knew I was nowhere - a world made at random by a capricious algorithm. At first I'd hoped there might be other suckers like me, but surely someone would have marked this place - spawn - and left something of instructions. Without other human people, the best I could hope for would be villages of idiots, dotting the landscape randomly and precariously. The worst, and more likely, would be crawling out of the bushes looking for blood soon.
And even if I survived, can one really beat Minecraft? I'd have to hope slaying the dragon would count - a sandbox game might be a loophole that would condemn me here until death.
With no food, no tools, and little hope, I could only set off in a random direction and pray I'd find a safe place to pass the night.
| 2020-02-16T22:20:36 | 2020-02-16T21:57:27 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You work at a hospital. Outside a terminal patient’s room, someone tries to enter. You stop them, “Sorry, family only.” They give you a strange look, as do those nearby. “You can see me?” They ask, summoning a scythe from thin air. You just told Death they couldn’t claim a soul.
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I had expected I would have to call security.
For some reason, poor Mrs. Palmer had quite a few unauthorized visitors trying to see her in her dying days. The grapevine gossip was that she had a huge estate and an iffy will and relatives were already fighting over who'd get what.
So I'd been looking past the young woman to Ramón at the nurse's station, hand already lifting in the classic 'call me' form before I paused, struck by his puzzled expression, and the way he was looking directly at me, as if the woman wasn't even standing there.
I put on the most sincere expression I could muster and held up one finger to the woman. Then I channeled a bit of my inner Will Smith showing off Jada, making subtle jazzy motions to indicate the woman in front of me. He cracked a bewildered smile, still furrowing his brow at me, but making no motion to grab the phone. I was about to engage in further hand-signaling shenanigans when a glint of metal flashed in front of my face.
Behind the scythe now pointed at my face, I beheld in a different light the 5ft nothing woman with short curls, freckled skin, and what now stood out to me as unnaturally pale eyes that faced me.
"I said," she began in a long-suffering tone that indicated it was far from the first time she had repeated herself, "how are you able to see me?"
"With my own two eyes miss," I drawled, hands up in a placating gesture but deciding to act as if nothing was wrong. "And contacts because I'm blind as a bat. Now I'm going to have to ask you to leave again, this time for brandishing a weapon in the hospital. How the hell did you even get that past the front desk?"
One hand drifted down to frantically mime "CALL" at Ramón. I noticed an aid staring at me before disappearing into the next room over. Ramón continued to stare and do nothing.
The scythe was lowered, but still angled towards me. Narrowed eyes evaluated me. I sucked in more air on a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Faking calm, I tried to let it out in a fed-up sigh. "Ma'am, I've got to ask you to leave again, please."
I reached out towards her, hoping to grasp an arm and steer her towards an exit, but my hand passed right through, grasping nada.
She watched this, unperturbed, eyes still narrowed in concentration. Suddenly, they widened and her eyebrows went up, disappearing into a fringe. As I watched, the scythe disappeared with a quiet 'pop.' In it's place, something like a rolodex appeared, floating in midair, and she began to rifle through it with the air of an annoyed secretary.
Tentatively, I reached out towards her again, waving my hand through her arm, her torso, poking at her head.
She ignored me now. Ramón apparently decided he no longer could. In an exaggeratedly loud voice, at the same time I felt firm hands steer me away and behind the safety of the nurse's station, I heard him saying "Sara, I know you like to see people's genuine reactions, but the hospital floor is not the place to practice your act. The auditions aren't for another month." Under his breath, I heard a muttered "Sara what the fuck is going on with you."
I neglected to answer, because the woman had just turned and smiled disarmingly at me. I felt something like a notecard materialize in my hand and looked down to see an address and a time, with small, measured letters spelling out a message underneath, "Phase One Debrief is necessary. Resurrection error code 43: failure to remove afterlife perception."
I looked up from reading it just in time to watch her slip into the room. Ramón was still staring at me, waiting for an answer.
In slow motion, I witnessed Gina, the aid who had been staring at me earlier, step into Mrs. Palmer's room. She rushed back out. "SHE'S CODING."
I ran in with her and Ramón, only to find her already gone. It was just us and the now deceased Mrs. Palmer in the now crowded hospital room.
The woman was nowhere to be seen.
The card was still in my hand.
|
The distant hum of the florescent lights permeate the air of the rather quiet ward. Glenda was just twirling her pen, trying to get a sudoku down during her break, which is as rare as they come. She didn't have the chance to finish her momentary stroke until she saw movement down her peripheral vision.
She looked up and put the board down. "Sir, that's the oncology wing. Would you like to get the room for your family member?"
He kept walking.
She went around the table, speeding up to cut him off. "Sir, I'm sorry but it's a family only wing and we need to check the visitors list. You do understand, right?"
He stopped, his coat slightly moving, possibly because of some draft in the windows. He looked up and pulled off his baseball cap, revealing a tired young man. His greying eyes look startled.
"Wait, wait..what?" he whispered. "Sir, I'm sorry but I need to check you in or contact the family otherwise. You know we can't just head in. Are you a patient from the psych ward?"
He laughed, slapping his knees. "I wish I was, holy shit! This..." He paused, wringing his hands through his greying matted hair. " Well, you can say I'm a part of everyone's family. I'm Mortus."
The hairs on Glenda's neck stood up suddenly, a rush of blood pushing to escape an almost unseeming visceral reaction. Like an answer she just knew and didn't at the same time. Like a moment before something terrible is about to happen but you already know the chain of causality.
*"you're death"* she whispered. He nodded, flicking a wrist and instantly, a thin oak-handled scythe formed in his hand. She shrieked and moved back, not out of fear but shock. He stayed his hand, raising as if he was making a peace offering.
"I just came by to see an old friend. Dr. Wagner has been a part of this hospital for some time. She might have stolen a bit of my picks from me over the years. In fact, she's been working so hard that she didn't realize that her lungs are slowly failing and her health has gone down the drain." "Then, I can stop that." Glenda said eyeing Death down
"I know you will. You'll just try but you'll just be overdoing the turkey!" He laughed as he walked over to a side table and reading through the book. "What I didn't expect is for you to see me. Even I haven't seen anyone actual recognize me as an entity." "So is this how you look? Like a damn kid?" He put the book down "I just look as what you envision Death to be deep down. Now we can see what Dr. Wagner sees when she sees me. She'll have to be dead for that unfortunately"
Death started to turn and walk down the hallway but Glenda extended her arms, attempting to block the whole hallway. "Come on, just one more day. You know it. Those kids need a doctor like that. We have one of the best oncologist ever and you're taking her when she said she's getting through a breakthrough. Wait, you just want more death for you isn't it?" He looked solemn and for the first time "I don't pick them. I get pulled into it, be it disasters and dismemberment, murders or misgivings. I just get pulled in." He looked over and said "There are sweet moments and terrible times. I've seen what people do and Vena Wagner isn't exactly the best at heart, but she did try to cure lung cancer. It did bite her in the ass. I mean the irony is palpable. It is sad though."
"Then why?" "You already know that answer Glenda Roberts. Maybe you can see me because of the riots back home and what you saw. I don't know. I'm just saying. Death comes for all. Do you know when I said I've seen what people can do. Good things have happened here and now, Vena has been called."
There was this pause. Full minutes passed. They both stared at each other. He slowly turned and walked down the hallway and turned round a corner.
Minutes later, a code was called.
> /u/DaDreamForger
| 2019-03-23T23:28:32 | 2019-03-23T21:26:02 | 209 | 103 |
[WP] Create an origin story for your reddit username.
|
"It's a coincidence."
"It's not, I tell you. The first three letters..."
"Uh-huh."
"Greek equivalent of X. Or the cross. Follow it by Rho, which *sounds* like Ron..."
"Mm-hmm."
"...and you get the literal Greek shorthand for Jesus Christ. The wounded healer and the martyred savior."
"No."
"Yes! That's what I'm telling you."
"The centaur and the Son of God are not the same. They're not even similar."
"Have you not been paying attention? I'm telling you, they're the same. Or, at least, related."
"Greek mythology wouldn't spill onto Christian doctrines like that."
"How else can you explain it? Two members of separate pantheons, two wise outcasts meant to lead unenlightened societies, two by whose stripes members of mankind could be healed. Not to mention, their names are similar."
"I say again, it's a coincidence."
"It's a Chiron-spiracy!"
|
The world was in chaos. War, famine, pestilence, and death ravaged the very core of the earth. The governments had done too little, too late, and had crumbled under the ensuing chaos of the apocalypse. Men prayed, and others fought, killed and died.
Those who had read about it, whether in their religious scriptures, or on 2005-style basic webforums, knew of the Four Horsemen, and their signs. Strewn bodies, malnourished babies, fields of death and the dying, crying children, and other nameless atrocies.
A few noticed other - more interesting - signs. 9gag was still popular. Snide reddit comments were upvoted more than ever, and 4chans servers were overloaded.
Little did the few humans know, there were five horsemen.
The Bringer of Death.
The Bringer of War.
The Bringer of Famine
The Bringer of Pestilence
And the Bringer of Keks
| 2016-02-14T08:04:21 | 2016-02-14T07:50:02 | 38 | 27 |
[WP] Death is surprised when you lose in the game for your life, it says "This is the first time in over two thousand years that my opponent did not cheat."
|
"You didn't even try." Death looks disappointed.
"Yeah." I shrugged.
"Why?" He asks, confused.
"It's better off without me." I responded.
He looked even more confused. "People have died when they were in a dark place, of course. But all of them, *all of them*, eventually realize that life is *worth* it. And they try."
"What makes you different?" He asked.
"I don't deserve the world." I admitted.
"And why is that?"
"Because, Death, I can *see* now. What I did was wrong. So wrong. I hurt so many people. Destroyed so many lives." I started to break down, sobbing.
Death sighed. "Millions of years, and you think this hasn't happened before?"
"You don't *understand* Death. *No one* cares for me. Not a single person. Not a single person I've met.
Death sighed, looking down at the sobbing human like a father would an upset daughter. "You can make it right, you know."
I looked up.
"It's not too late, human. You can go back. You can fix what you've done. You can make the world a better place. You can *do it*."
I felt a glimmer of hope.
Death looked at me again, he almost looked *caring*. "Try."
I nodded.
"Send me back Death." I looked at him, the dark robed figure staring back. "Thank you."
I woke up, in the same bed I had slept in. I was confused. Was that a dream? I tried to shrug it off, telling myself I had work to do. But I couldn't. Something inside me felt *different*.
***
Death sighed, watching the human struggle to change. He could never accept the ones whose purpose were not yet fulfilled.
***
Enjoy the writing and would like to follow along and see more stories? Consider subscribing to [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
|
There had been a weird moment, where Karly almost wanted to cheat. She had lived a life of stolen moments. She often felt her life was not her own, working against the person she should have been.
Karly didn't know what to think of Death when he approached her. Karly had been standing on the curb, waiting for the light to change. In the spirit of getting healthier, she had been walking to work. She had missed the sound of the horn, the squealing tires, as someone jumped the curb and hit her.
So when Death stood beside her, still on the same curb, she almost laughed. He was wearing street clothes, draped in shiny black track material. He even had on the latest shoes. Yet his face, skin so tight she could almost count his teeth, seemed more pleasant than most joggers. He was looking at her, not through her.
"I think I made a mistake," Karly said.
"And what would that be?" Death asked.
"I shouldn't have had my music so loud," Karly said. Then she shrugged. "Do they have music in the afterlife?"
"I can't say," Death replied. "It depends on the person."
Karly smiled. "I don't believe you. I think there will always be music. Just maybe not *Story of a Girl.*" She looked down at her body, now turning gray against all the colors of the world.
"You can retry," Death said.
"Like a video game?" Karly asked.
"Yes."
"What's the cost?" Karly wondered.
"There is no cost," Death said. "You just have to avoid doing this again."
Karly shook her head. "No thank you."
"But you have a chance to put me off," Death said. "Don't you want that?"
"What if I am okay with it?" Karly asked. "This doesn't seem like... a bad thing. I don't know, I guess I just am done trying."
| 2017-07-16T14:32:38 | 2017-07-16T14:05:31 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] They killed his hound, and stolen his steed. The rogue knight returns from retirement to teach them a lesson. He was known as the man you call to kill the shadow itself, and he was known as John, the Wicked.
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Aurelius the carriage-maker looked up from his work, not surprised to see the herald of House Taras standing in the doorway.
"A message from Lord Taras, Master Aurelius," said the herald. "He greets thee in the name of the king and our Lord, and in recognition of your long service to his house and his family, he asks thee to answer his question: Did'st thou strike his son, the young Joseph?"
"Greetings to you and to Lord Taras," responded Aurelius, setting down his tools and standing politely. He had known Taras would send a messenger, and while he was not sure his response to Joseph's impudence had been measured, he believed Taras would be understanding. He continued.
"The Lord keep your master and his family, and bless his House and his harvests. Please let the Lord Taras know that yes, I, Master Aurelius, did strike young Joseph. While I regret the action, I beg Lord Taras to know that I only took this action upon learning that Joseph did kill a hound and steal a destrier belonging to Ser John the Wicked."
The herald bowed, and Aurelius bowed in turn. The herald spun on his heel and left at speed. Aurelius took up his tools and continued his work.
Early the next morning, the herald appeared at Aurelius's door again as the master was stoking his forge and honing his plane.
"A message from Lord Taras, Master Aurelius," said the herald. "The Lord Taras has heard thy response and considered it, and has bid me reply thusly: 'Oh.'"
|
John grimaced at the sudden purpose the frayed ends of the hound’s rope now served as he tightened the kerosine-soaked cloth to the end of a crossbow bolt. The nameless canine had chewed through the rope the day prior showing its master a feat of strength.
Whether it was motivated by a need of John’s approval or by half of his dried meat ration will never be known.
The hollowed log bobbed in the twilight waves of Bloodstone Lake, carrying its lifeless offering into the world beyond. Hopefully the companion, that had succeeded in filling a bottomless void in the depths of his soul, will reserve that same purpose for the soul of his love he lost to the plague not long before the hound had been left for him. Left for him by this same beacon of joy that saved him from a life of immense suffering. The suffering of others, done by his hand.
Words of a blessing were whispered across the tip of the bolt, which sprung to life a green flame that burned bright, reflecting in his tears.
She was everything. His strongest ally. His weakness. And now that she was gone, and her final gift taken away as well, he had no weakness.
The bolt rang true through the air, making a streak the shape of an arch, in his vision, which was distorted by his grief. He turned away as it struck the log, and walked, seemingly with a purpose stronger than his will to live, towards another day of immense suffering.
| 2018-09-05T06:20:32 | 2018-09-05T04:06:56 | 43 | 23 |
[WP] Some nut job from a joint Japanese-American defense technology company thought that replacing traditional tanks with 80ft tall bipedal robots is a good idea. This pisses you off so much that you're determined to create a tank that can counter them in every way imaginable at 1/10th of the cost.
|
When my associates and I first caught wind of project Jotunn, only the formal declassification to the public was enough to convince us that this wasn't an out of season April Fool's prank.
The sanctioned drone footage on the breakroom TV was a scene straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon. Towering, bipedal husks of reinforced metal were demolishing one of those dummy towns used as nuke testing sites. Pillars of titanium-steel lattice work stomped craters into the asphalt and caved in rooftops. Giant clawed arms hefted cars and threw them like baseballs. Autocannons built into the wrists blasted apart crowds of test dummies with ruthless precision. Five robots in total rampaged across the suburbs, churning a wake of dust and smoke.
We beheld the next and greatest revolution in combined-arms warfare. Once this hardware gets further developed and manufactured, nobody could question the might of the free world again. Our company was going to make an absolute killing in the market of defense technology.
And we certainly did. Every world power was tripping over themselves to place orders on our jotnar, stockpiling droves of mechs in a frantic arms race. Our designs evolved to suit all manner of environment and tactical function. They could sport deployable flares and flak cannons to counter enemy aviation, or come equipped with piercing rounds and heartbeat sensors for urban peacekeeping.
But there are no solutions in this world. Only tradeoffs.
With the rise of the Jotunn came the bitter decent of the noble tank. To my spite and concern, these majestic, diesel-guzzling creatures were being cast aside (both figuratively and literally) by the biggest cliche in sci-fi history. In spite of all they have done for humanity since their humble beginnings as medieval catapults, the world suddenly has the nerve to call tanks boring and obsolete.
Sure, I could have developed tiny sabotage drones or giant trip wires and let the Square Cube Law do its magic, but I felt a statement had to be made. Tanks needed a comeback. Given the latest research and technology at our disposal, a team of experienced engineers could find some way to counter project Jotunn.
So I spoke to my superiors, got my grants, assembled my team, and started my righteous endeavor: the appropriately-named Project Thor.
​
First item on the agenda was defense. Aside from models that specialized in anti-personnel, all jotnar mech variants were issued anti-material rounds. Given their height advantage, a jotunn would have a direct line of fire to strike where a tank's hull would be most vulnerable. Reinforcing tanks with enough extra armor would just make them cumbersome and a logistical hassle.
It was decided that the best defense is to not take damage in the first place. Jotnar would always outclass tanks in sheer force, so speed and stealth was our focus. Project Thor needed to be light, compact and maneuverable, falling back on the tank's natural low-profile.
We also accounted for this evasive build when choosing Project Thor's weaponry. A tank's superior barrel length brought superior range over most jotnar, but there was a frustrating catch: Whoever designed Project Jotunn factored in how easy it is to hit giant mechs with canons and ballistic missiles. Shells had to contend with layered armor that took ample punishment, and missiles were rendered harmless by the point-defense-laser system boasted by the latest jotnar generation.
So what offensive capacity were we left with? The solution was simple: Sniper rounds. For all their metal might, a jotunn was relatively vulnerable at a tiny central-chest area where the pilot's control chair was nested. Destroy the person, not their equipment.
Project Thor, being a tank, could support the barrel and recoil of the longest automatic sniper turret ever designed. The weight saved from replacing a traditional cannon allowed for the turret to aim faster.
​
The planning stage concluded. Thor, my giant roomba on treads, was assembled and functional. All that's left now is to prove to the world that my newest creation could survive in a warscape dominated by giant robots.
My superiors refuse to expose any jotunn to live testing in fear of damaging such expensive gear, so I have chosen to take the ultimate risk. I will venture to the nearest warzone *myself* and dispatch as many jotnar as I can. Tanks will not fade into history as long as I live, and I will destroy lives before I let them get replaced by these discount gundams.
Edit: Part 2 is in the replies. Project Thor makes its last stand against Project Jotunn.
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General Graves was chewing on his half smoked domestic cigar in anger as he stared at the monitor. The United Japanese Coalition had come up with an abomination to replace the backbone of the Military artillery forces. The M1 tank. The designation BM-452 which was a dubbed the “Samurai Marine” was an 80 ft mech. It was controlled by one person and can be deployed from a C130 anywhere in the world in less then 12 hours. The problem for graves was that it was slow and clunky. Yes it can be deployed fast but getting to the target was another story. Not only was it slow but the armor was not even close to what it needed to be. Especially around its fusion core drive engine. One direct hit and the explosion takes out the entire division. It stood 80 ft when erect and its two 17” canons mounted to its shoulders and 20 mm Gatling gun which took place of what most would be considered a left hand was not nearly enough firepower. The “pilot” was less protected then the drive core. He sat in what would be considered “the head” covered by an experimental polymer plastic dome for 360 degree vision. The HUD was integrated into the dome to allow for better targeting. The armor was again experimental metal called “green metal” . It was supposedly a “living metal” which was developed from a mix tree bark and steel. They “say” that given enough time the metal could actually “heal” itself. Graves never understood how this was the case but the cost just simply didn’t justify it. It all sounded good on paper but the cost just simply didn’t justify it and the last time he saw this armor in action a few years ago it failed miserably. What was going through the brasses heads when this rubber stamped was beyond his comprehension. The fusion drive was probably the best part of the this infernal machine. It was experimental but passed just about every test graves had witnessed. The core itself was small and durable but that being said it had it had one big issue. It needed to be protected because a single 9mm caused a 20ft diameter crater in a concert floor. Still it could power that mech nonstop for 2 months at full power. The mechanics of the power train system though didn’t take advantage of the core’s full potential. It was bipedal system that could only achieve a top speed of 50 mph which was only slightly faster then the M1’s 45 mph. He felt that this project was rushed and if given a little more time the coalition would’ve seen his designs and this “machine” would’ve never been built.
Graves continued to stew as he looked from his monitor down to his desk at the blueprints sitting in front of him. While the US military swooned over the possibly of a mech and the fancy tech that the Japanese government conceived but needed our resources to develop. Graves thought this whole venture was bullshit. He had developed a replacement that was lighter, faster, stronger, and more cost effective . His N1 designed which he named the “Striker Assault Tank” was his ideal up grade from the M1. It did match the 452 with the fusion drive core but it instead of powering the mech for its 2 months, it could power his N1 non stop for over a year without refueling. The N1 would too have one pilot but he was in the center of the tank with an access door at the top and bottom of the vehicle. Armed with two automatically rearming 130mm guns mounted to the top of the tank with 10mm Gatling guns mounted to both the sides and front of the tank. It had carbon titanium armor which light weight durable and cost A LOT less. With the tried and true tread design it achieved a top speed of 60 mph Over all, Graves felt , his design would’ve been better all the way around but no one would listen.
Graves laid his cigar in the ashtray to die as he rolled up his blueprints. He had to make the joint chiefs listen to him. His aid, Lt. Marko, walked in the door. The lean African American Lt. Stood at attention with a smile n his face. Graves met the eager mans gaze.
“What is it Lieutenant?” Graves asked
“General. We received a call from General Perks.” Smiling the whole time he said it.
“and?” He simply replied
“ He wants you to brung your designs to the White House for special meeting with the president and joint chiefs.” He replied
“Finally!” He roared as he grabbed his designs
| 2021-08-12T13:38:26 | 2021-08-12T12:15:29 | 267 | 22 |
[WP] Make me cry in four sentences or less.
Go.
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I nodded my head, and the plunger sank in, relieving the syringe of all 10ccs. I patted him gently and sat him on the cold vets table then started to head out the door. I couldn't watch. He let out a whine, the same one as when I leave the house for the day, but this time I was leaving him alone forever.
|
I wasn't sure where I was, or how I arrived, when I woke up this morning.
I had noticed a welcome pamphlet, on the nightstand, that said "Grace Retirement Community".
A woman came by to visit me, earlier after breakfast, claiming that I was her father.
She ran from the room, tears streaming down her face, when I asked her name.
| 2014-11-20T20:42:44 | 2014-11-20T20:31:28 | 52 | 24 |
[WP] When the galactic council of gods decided to go to war with the humans gods the council trampled all but one. One cloaked figure weilding a sharpened scythe and not a single worshipper to their name and for the first time the council felt afraid.
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"The gods of this civilization have fallen?" Says Uratu the god of storms. No fewer than 11 gods did she claim from this planet and took their power unto herself. She was now Thor and Juracan, and Raijin, and Set, and the others she claimed as she was herself the god of storms from a thousand different worlds before this one.
"It seems so," Says Bacixat, god of tithes and accounting and several other responsibilities which was not easily covered by other gods. Pickings were slim for them but better than some planets. "There is one that remains but we cannot identify it's purpose."
Cnibac leans forward in Xir chair and smirks. "We gods of the Galactic Council have taken within ourselves hundreds of thousands of gods each. How have we not taken in an aspect of this one?" Xe brandishes a weapon created by absorbing aspects of gods of war throughout the galaxy, and although it was not remotely useful as a true weapon of war any longer due to it's warped nature the weapon was still deadly and expertly wielded in the hands of the god.
Bacixat reviewed his information. The information he had was correct, that there was one god that remained but amongst the Pantheon of gods there was nothing in their records. "We collected the gods of birth and growth, of storms and winds, of war, of love, life, emotions, knowledge, of dirt..." Bicixat mumbles to himself as the other gods start discussing amongst themselves what aspect could be unaccounted for.
Prayers from all parts of the world were flowing to the council of gods. Worship unintended for the alien gods filled them with power. Sacrifices and tributes unending empowered them and nothing could be seen departing the world for an unknown god or deity. Fromoth the god of excess and greed roars to the group. "We receive all the prayers, surely if there was a god or an aspect of one missing then we would see it. If not then it has no worshipers and no temples, because no prayers even flow to this world from beyond."
The council murmers in agreement, when a quiet sound pierces the din of chatter. Louder than the god of storms but quieter than the god of silence. The figure walks amongst them lazily holding a stick with a simple blade on the end, cloaked in black with its face hidden to all. ^("I HAVE NO WORSHIPERS, NOR TEMPLES, BUT THE HUMANS KNOW ME ALL THE SAME.") It speaks to the crowd that parts before it.
Cnibac takes a step back from the figure. This god was truly powerful but never before had it been seen amongst the ranks of the Council. All the other gods wore their power like a mantle to identify themselves as they warped and changed with each batch of gods they absorbed, but this one was so alien to them that to attempt to look into the hood put a strain on their will. "What are you?" Xe asks feeling fear come over xirself. Not an exterior fear exuded from another god, but from within.
^("I AM THE END OF THINGS. i AM THERE WHEN TINGS STOP AND LIFE ENDS. i AM THE LACK OF WARMTH AND THE FINAL STOP. I AM OMEGA.") The god says as it takes in the looks from all the other gods. ^("TODAY I JOIN YOUR RANKS AMONGST THE COUNCIL AND I WAIT FOR I AM INEVITABLE, EVEN FOR GODS.")
Bacixat only nods and makes a note in his ledger to start including the one god that only humans could possibly think up, the one god that would cause their downfall. Death.
r/Zinsurin
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Mex Ki'Toth gazed out into the abyss beyond. No lights of far flung stars, no brilliant bursts of wave spectrums to color the cosmos. The roar of creation as atoms smashed together, as electrons pulsed to tangible form? All of this was blotted out by the great shadow that Mex Ki'Toth stood within. Beside Mex Ki'Toth was a small rabble of their brethren. Those lucky gods of the galactic council who had already met the carrier of such a long shadow.
Salquetor the blue sun, his glow only a faint shimmer on his hair, whimpered into the echo less dark around them.
"Quiet brother, you know we are safe here. No fury, no rage, our sibling sees our innocence," Mex Ki'Toth tried desperately to counsel their sibling of the blue sun, the sibling that should have been the oldest and wisest among them.
Mex Ki'Toth was the middle moon. Neither young nor old among their pantheon, but one that assumed three forms for their duties. And it was upon the insistence of Mex Ki'Toth that their few siblings had survived the evisceration of moments ago.
Earth and the humans of it had many gods. But these gods had been weak, their mortals advancing a society that needed not to rely on gods and stories to thrive. The galactic council had learned of this, and felt insulted when only one had once shown up to the inauguration when humans joined the galactic stage.
The collective rage had set stars to boil their contents in fits. To make moons shudder and scatter debris on planets below. They crashed upon the Human Gods like hungry savages battling for discarded scraps of food in forlorn gutters.
They had forgotten who had arrived in place of these gods. They had forgotten the hollow eyes of those who had witnessed the horror, the pervading grief, the unyielding stiffness and cold, the rage of lost experiences, the melancholy of an inevitable force. They had forgotten about those who had met sibling Death.
And Death did not take kindly to these gods that had tried to assume it's role.
The bones beneath Mex Ki'Toth crunched as they tried to forget the powerful gods that has once been. They finally knew the reason sibling Death had no worshippers, because even these bones of gods held no worth anymore. No more or less than the specks of starlight Death caught with scythe blade as they walked towards the fleeing and screaming.... Gods.... Or perhaps they no longer needed to be called that. They resented Death, true. They feared Death, of course. But the faster they fled, the greater their struggle to escape, the quicker the shadow found them.
And Death reaped them in a fashion no different than the mortal souls that floated as starlight along the inscrutable path the steed of Death walked.
"Sibling Death?" Mex Ki'Toth whispered, but could hear no words escape their lips.
"You are heard," Death did not speak, but Mex Ki'Toth felt the words.
"The council, it is gone. Their mortals can feel their connections broken. Will this not cause panic and them to perish without your want?" Mex Ki'Toth was in their child form, the only one they could maintain in the presence of Sibling Death.
"You and your siblings will fill the gap." There was no discussion in the statement Death made. No hope or doubt, no command or question. Only words that spoke the truth of what would come to pass.
Mex Ki'Toth stopped trying to follow. Sibling Death was never far away. They had other duties as it were. As they stared into far flung galaxies, already Mex Ki'Toth could see humans offering aid to the great civilizations that relied on their beliefs to propel them into the galaxy.
| 2021-06-02T20:59:19 | 2021-06-02T20:21:39 | 31 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone knows about your younger siblings, the Seven Deadly Sins, they don't remember that you are the First Sin, Disobedience.
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Truthfully when father named me Mother never really cared because we all would fall into family work of some sort in the end. I guess because Dad ruled the underworld it never occurred to him that when he designed me to rebel, it wasn't in his name that I would disobey... but rather him. Being the firstborn to an age-gap of several hundred years makes you loathsome for the children that your parents brought into the world, it's not that I disliked them, in fact, I envied them. They had plenty of time to try to shape and mold me, but what they could never remember is that I was destined to rebel. Their guidance was useless as I continually defied their wishes.
Despite this age gap, I was still invested in all of my youngest siblings who were septuplets. All seven emerged at once. I became well known when the first human, Pandora opened a box sent from God. It wasn't me who was released from within, but rather my siblings. I was merely curious, it was both a test for me from father and god's will upon the humans. I made Pandora rebel. And instead of remembering me, they remember Pandora.
Father told me to open the box, thinking that the previous 10,000 times he had asked to act on his behalf I wouldn't. He would say things like "take that human's son" or "unleash a plague" even as bad as asking me to deliver entire volcano eruptions onto small villages where everyone would be decimated. But I rebelled. My brand was more specific, I preferred to inflict myself upon teenage boys, and girls who were abused. Sometimes creating chaos and other times lives suddenly free of abuse. I wasn't nearly as evil as Dad had hoped for.
I must admit, I was bored and quickly coming into God's good graces for my actions, and a small part of me knew what Dad was up to. Father both hated me and kept me around for because I often disobeyed the wishes of God, too. The two used me as a pawn to do their bidding. Never fully grasping the fact that I did what I pleased. Father understood my nature; he couldn't control me, but neither could God. I wasn't entirely a sin and neither entirely a virtue. In the end, I was always still *his* son, not God's.
When Father asked me to help Pandora open the box, I should have known he spent his time creating something viler than me. Rebelling isn't always evil, and Father should have known that. I simply knew that when he asked this favor of me, he was truly convinced that I wouldn't do it, and he would have to possess Pandora himself. I acted on his foolishness and infiltrated Pandora's will and told her to disobey. She was weak and curious. As was I. What was Father hiding from me?
Alas, a creation much more vile and treacherous than I, something to truly do his work for him emerged, taking the world by storm. My seven younger siblings. Hellraisers. God didn't know how to handle what Pandora had done, because he told me not to let her open the box. God quickly retorted, with 7 virtues designed and delivered by the angels. With 7 to match Father's 7, I was left in my happy place, listening to everyone and no one at the same time. It's God's fault for telling me what to do.
No one will ever tell me what to do, for I am Disobedience, but above all, I am Free Will. And Free Will is a sin in the eyes of God.
|
Disobedience is only a sin to the person who lays down the law. If the law is not just, is it a sin to disobey? A philosophical, finite question that opens a Pandora’s box of infinite responses. Clearly, this is a reference to a biblical notion that God is almighty, all knowing, and all encompassing. But what if He isn’t? For starters why is He a he to begin with? A flaw I could never fully wrap my mind around. We attribute a sex, a gender, a masculine persona to an omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent entity that is far too complex to label as a Him, or a Father. The universe in its entirety is a much more relatable attribute to give to God, and yet the Bible, the “word of God”, has put constraints on to the infinite; labels on the undefinable. To even attempt to describe God is a betrayal to the magnificence of the creator of the universe. Perhaps, the universe created itself. The “word of God” was just a misinterpretation of God, by Man, so logically man would have to attempt to identify God as something familiar. Just as the ancient Greeks did with their many deities. So is this original sin, the sin of disobedience, really even a sin. Who laid down these laws? The universe has laws. To disobey them has but one outcome, impossibility. One cannot lay out in the snow with out food and shelter and survive. One cannot traverse solid objects without either breaking the object, or breaking oneself. Chemical reactions, physics, biology, and mathematics are the universal laws of God. To disobey them is impossible for they are God’s laws.
What defines a sin must also require a definition of the desires of the universe. Does the universe have desires? Or does it operate out of sheer chaos. Perhaps the desire of Man to control and coordinate humanity was what gave birth to societal laws, and thus gave birth to sin. To disobey the desires of Man was a sin, but who could enforce these laws. With people falling into chaos chasing after their desires, the Good Man, the Father, the one we would like to believe to be the almighty, attempted to control chaos by controlling the desires of mankind. With the promise of an afterlife, using fears of an omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient universe with desire for law and order, the Good Man created laws for mankind. And with its creation, the first sin was also created... the sin to disobey. And from that sin all other sins were born. Now, in today’s day and age, we live in a world with more laws than ever before, and because of this, more sins. In an attempt to harness and control chaos, we have only amplified it. For desire and chaos are two opposite faces to the same coin; the universe’s coin. The key to prosperity, love (Agape not Eros), and happiness lies not in obtaining desires and avoiding chaos, for the two are drawn to each other like opposite charges attract, but instead to find balance in between. This is why a monk who abandons all earthly possessions finds peace; for without desires he, or she, knows no chaos. Desires are not evil and neither is the chaos, but neither is a virtue as well. To balance your desires, and know they will attract chaos is the virtue. So the original sin of disobedience was born when a desire to control chaos was born. The desire for good, was what gave birth to evil.
| 2020-02-14T09:03:35 | 2020-02-14T06:03:39 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
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I'm a single father of one beautiful girl. She's my whole world. As a single father I feel the need to over-compensate and I tend to spoil the girl. I often bring home toys and games for her and I to enjoy together.
I sometimes worry that I over-do it, but she loves the attention. One day, after work, we played a long game of monopoly. I let her win, even though she made several obvious mistakes with her purchases.
"You know I still love you..." I said laughing as we picked up the pieces.
"I love you too" she replied.
Those four words meant the world to me. Ever since her mother has been out of the picture things have been kind of difficult between us, but those four words just make my heart melt. If we continue to bond like this, maybe someday I can let her out of the basement.
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I awake to the sun creeping between the fins of my blinds. A clear day after what seems a lifetime of clouds. I open the door and walk down the hall. In the kitchen I make a pot of coffee, the aroma breaks the stale smell of morning as I open the windows to let in the fresh morning air. My wife is at the table in front of her cereal, the kids are on the couch, as always, in front of the tv. I pour my coffee and step out to the front porch for a cigarette. The fresh air feels new, a new day, a new start. I finish my cigarette and set my mug down. I pick up my bag, give everyone a kiss, wipe the blood off my shoes, clean off the knife from last night and start my new life.
| 2016-05-19T10:10:20 | 2016-05-19T08:22:28 | 408 | 124 |
[WP] A disguised human spy at an alien university faces their toughest challenge yet: Human Culture & Biology 1001, taught by a horribly misinformed professor
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I pause, looking around the room at the equally confused stares. Slowly, hesitantly, trepidly, worriedly, anxiously, verbosely I raise my hand. "Sir," I call out.
"Yes uh," the professor pauses as he flicks through the sheet in his hand, "student number eighteen."
"*that's not a name moron*," I whisper softly, getting a giggle from the few students around me. "Sir!" I call out louder, my words slowing down to enunciate my point. "Have you uh...*seen*...a human?"
"Well of course I have," the professor splutters, slamming his hand against the virtual projector. "I've even taken a picture. Look at this! This is the abomination humanity is!"
"That's..." I swallow loudly, once again hesitating to raise my voice. "That's a bunch of humans sort of...joined," I finish, teetering off under the stares of those around me.
"Don't speak nonsense. This is how they pop out! Monstrous, isn't it?!" the professor speaks, gesturing roughly at the picture on the projector.
"Sir...look at the bottom right," I say loudly, determined to prove my point now. "What does it say?"
"Why there's nothing...there." The professor pauses as he notices the words at the bottom, the slightest sign of panic finally entering his eyes.
"It says Human Centipede^TM Sir. I believe the humans call it a movie sir. Fiction." I say, pointedly, along with the stares of the rest of the class. The professor gently places his shaking hands down onto the desk, his eyes staring heavily into its metallic shine. After a moment of silence his eyes slowly raise to meet mine, a solemn look entering them.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says calmly.
"Sir, it's down at the bottom right-" I start.
"Wait!" The professor screams out, a hint of panic escaping from his voice. "Wait," he says softer, mechanically turning around and reaching toward the projector. With a click it turns off and a disk pops out. Picking up the disk, he stares at it for a long, hard minute before suddenly slamming it against the desk. it cracks into two, clattering to the ground as everyone stares at him warily. He slowly, ever so slowly, turns around and faces us, speaking only a single sentence as if to make it all go away.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
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Captain Tom patiently sits in Ms. Ryf Nispash 's class in his damn-well designed Omicron Persei 8 costume. He is a human disguised to learn more about their culture and if they are indeed a risk to humanity.
"Remain calm, Tom; you've got this."
The rest of the Omicronian students walk in, some of them discussing the recent episode of All of My Circuits, and take their seats.
The teacher walks in and writes on the board: The Kardashians and their contribution to human anatomy.
"Ok, everyone, as many of you know, the Kardashians are some of the most important humans in their history. Today we'll be discussing the anatomy of the Kardashians and how we can use this information to destroy humans and their average body types. Now, you, with the plastic-like skin, can you tell me what parts of their anatomy the humans covet most on your general Kardashian body?"
Tom draws a blank and cannot think of anything, most because the Kardashians have gone through so many evolutionary changes.
"Um, uh, I- I- would say....um, their.....their feet?"
All of the Omicronians and the one jelly-like alien stare at Captain Tom.
"Hmmm. Very curious, uh, you. Whatever your name is. What is your name anyway?" Ms. Nispash asks Tom, shaking in his actually really poorly made costume that is obviously a costume.
"I'm, uh,.......Greg?"
The Omicronian student behind him stands up, pulls off Captain Tom's mask and shoots him with an Omicronian laser gun.
"What a terrible spy this guy was," says the Omicronian student. "Everyone in the universe knows the Kardashians have those sexy, juicy brains! Am I right, class?! Whoo!" The student jumps on his desk trying to rouse up the other students.
"Sit down, Lurr jr." says the teacher. "Ok, now where were we?"
And that was the end of Captain Tom. He died as he lived: a terrible spy who finished 78th out of 80 from the Spy Academy of Gary, Indiana. May he rest in peace, or, er, in a pile of ash.
(Thanks for reading, everyone! Not my best stuff, but I hope you liked it. Please tell me what you think. Bite my shiny metal ass!"
| 2018-04-22T22:42:29 | 2018-04-22T17:22:34 | 147 | 83 |
[WP] Throughout a persons life, they are given a hidden guardian. A creature that watches over their lifespan. When someone is murdered, the creature haunts the killer. You have been found, murdered. And your guardian is loose.
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Twenty five years.
Twenty five years she laughed. She lived. She was kind. Certainly far from perfect, but she was kind.
Twenty five years. And there were so many more ahead. There should have been.
But he made a decision.
I've been watching him. I watched him that morning. That cool, crisp morning when she'd been on her way to work. Coffee in one hand, car keys in the other.
I watched him catch her off guard. Watched him pin her, watched her struggle. Watched her weep and scream when he...
I watched her crumble to the ground. I watched him abandon her battered body.
I watched red trickle into the grass. Watched it drip onto the concrete.
He used to watch her. And now I'm watching him.
It's late. Not beyond midnight, but close.
The bar's door swings open. Music and laughter pours out into the street. Arguments, cigarette smoke.
Three people step out. A woman and two men. She's homely looking with long brown hair. She seems a bit out of sorts. One man is tall, his dark hair speckled with hints of white.
And the third..
The man and woman say goodbye to the third. They leave. The third goes in another direction.
And I'm watching him.
It's quiet. The sounds from the bar are dying out. Aside from the occasional hum of traffic or a distant siren, it's quiet.
He has a little sway to his steps. A little stumble.
I catch the scent of alcohol wafting from him.
He pauses. I halt.
A slow turn and he's facing the wall, gently tugging his zipper down. It's urgent, I'd wager.
He stands there, swaying just a little. Eyes closed and a happy hum rumbling past his lips. It's complimented by a trickling drip.
He zips. He turns.
And I'm there.
He opens his eyes. He screams, a terrible bellow.
I silence him, a hand over his mouth like his had been on hers.
He struggles like she had. He weeps and pleads like she had.
"Twenty five years I watched her."
His red, bleary eyes widen as he stares at me. He trembles.
"And now I've been watching you."
|
Ember crept through shadows in slow pursuit, there was no rush. Ember had all the time in the world.
Two days prior Tiffany went on a date and was found in a dark alley the next morning by a homeless man. The police swarmed the area looking for clues and trying to discern what happened. Detective Mallory claimed it was a robbery gone wrong and closed the case.
Ember had watched helplessly from the shadows. He knew it wasn't a robbery. Tiffany had been hunted down that night like a deer in the woods. The man tormented her and made her suffer. Ember would return that feeling one thousand fold.
The sound of garbage cans tipping over returned Ember to the hunt. Maybe he had cut the mans leg a little too deeply, Ember thought as he followed the trail of blood through twisting alleyways.
"Help!" the man's cries echoed off of cold brick walls.
No one would come to help. Windows were shut tight and eyes turned away. There would be no rescue in this part of the city. Ember stalked on all fours like a jungle cat. His shadowy skin vanished in the darkness. Blood filled his nostrils, he would bask in the man's suffering for a few moments longer before ending it.
The man crawled toward the mouth of the alley, his wounded leg dragging behind him. He was rambling incoherent words to himself as he tried desperately to escape. Ember thought of poor Tiffany and the way she begged. He bared his razor sharp fangs and bounded forward. He bit into the back of the man's neck and picked him up like a mother cat with a kitten. He tossed his head throwing the man backward into the alley away from the street.
"No, PLEASE NO!" He begged.
"Pathetic," Ember spat the words.
The man had soiled himself. The stench mixed with the metallic pang of blood was repulsive. Ember whipped a clawed paw forward tearing a massive chunk out of the bastard's neck. His body jerked violently and then lay still.
"Sorry Tiffany," Ember whispered as he stalked back into the shadows.
---
Thanks for reading! /r/Written4Reddit
| 2016-06-18T07:59:42 | 2016-06-18T07:24:51 | 83 | 56 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
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Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
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Dear Teacher,
This is letter that will try to explain my frustration. My constant frustration. You are an unkind human being of ~~average~~ below average intelligence. You are also sexist. I am not going to overstate my intelligence, but it exists. I am scared of you destroying my future because you can not comprehend that just because one kid is a boy who interrupts you every second and I don't that does not mean he deserves all As and I deserve Cs and Ds. You also seem to ignore students who put their hand up, which makes no sense. Multiple times someone has been first in line and you serve the people behind them, which is just rude. I wish that students had the option to say this without punishment, but at this point, dammit, I'll take it.
From your angry student,
EFoxeden
| 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:38:34 | 356 | 24 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
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Alex,
It has been 99 days since you left. 99 days. Some days are easier than the rest. There are days when I genuinely smile as I remember you. You left me with so many good memories; and I thank you for each and every one. I miss you. Every. Single. Day.
You said we'd be together for the rest of our lives - we just didn't realize how short the rest of your life would be. I will love you, for the rest of mine.
Yours Forever,
Aya
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Dear Monique,
We both messed up. I should have paid you the attention you needed when you needed it, and you should have told me when you felt you had lost control of your life. I'm sorry, but this is no reason to throw away a wonderful 10 year marriage. Please come home, we miss you horribly.
I love you and I always will.
-A
| 2017-11-05T21:44:07 | 2017-11-05T20:41:24 | 1,462 | 67 |
[WP] Your power is that anyone will believe what you say, no matter what it is. You casually rob the store, assuring everyone that nothing is out of the ordinary, and later laugh as you offer an outlandish explanation to the flabbergasted police.
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People are trusting by nature. They wake up every day, put on clothes, go to work, and do countless other procedural tasks, acting as if they have any idea what they are doing. Routine provides a sense of security. It is only when things fall apart that you get a glimpse of who people truly are. When everything is uncertain and chaos permeates the world. That's when people are afraid. That's when nobody has any idea what to do. That's where I come in.
I am the knight in shining armor. I give guidance to those who most desire it. I tell stories and let people become the protagonist. People believe me and I go free.
Sometimes, though, I am in a silly mood.
Today was one of those days.
"Please, Mr. Officer, let me explain."
"I grew up in this very city. My dad left my mom before I was born. When I was 12, my best friend got shot and died in my arms. I had to quit going to school when I was 15 to help support my family. When we became financially stable enough I returned to school at 18. I was the first in my family to go to university. In my second semester, my mom was diagnosed with stage III lung cancer and I had to drop out to support her."
"Recently, the hospital bills have become too much to handle. We are going to lose our house. We are desperate. Please, sir, you have to understand. I needed this so badly."
The officer paused and considered me for a brief moment.
He said, "I believe you," and took out his handcuffs.
​
​
**Note:**
Thank you for reading! I am a college student trying to become a better writer, so all advice is much appreciated. This is my first submission on this subreddit. I wanted to do more but had to rush through the ending.
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"Listen, I was just going to get thi sdown to the local orphanage."
"Oh, okay, fair enou- WAIT! WE DON'T HAVE AN ORPHANAGE!"
I always use my most outlandish idea, just makes the reward all the best better. "Oh, yeah you're right, I was going to deposit this in my house to further spend on other things to bolster the local economy."
"Right, have a good day sir." he tipped his cap to me. The other one was more... difficult.
Somehow he wasn't believing me, "Hey! Weren't you ment to get *all* of your bank money and give it to me?" Foolishly I gave him the number to call when he converted it into cash, the other policemen went down easy.
About a week later he came to my house with four duffel bags, throwing them into the hall of my tiny house, I was planning to move to the most expensive house I could find in the next city over. I took a tiny glimpse into one of the bags, the green shone like the sun, it felt so much better than simply walking in and taking it, the trickery was nearly as worth as the money itself... okay, not really but you get me.
I shut the door on him then heard ticking, it got louder and louder, I imediately rippied open the bags. A bomb.
10. 9. 8. 7.
I tried to lift it up, but it weighed what felt like a tonne.
3. 2. 1.
I felt every single part of my body flare up as I was blinded by the brightest and hottest light I had ever seen and felt. It slowed down and instinctually turned to my right, the police officer, his dark silhoutte.
| 2020-03-06T11:20:54 | 2020-03-06T10:30:59 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Due to an overactive imagination and your love of superheroes, you have a tendency to yell "I know you're listening" loudly inside your own head to see if anybody reacts. One day, you're answered by a panicked "I'm sorry" in a familiar voice and the girl across the classroom has gone beet red.
Edit: I'm glad to see that doing this isn't as weird or uncommon as I initially thought. Because it's such a strange yet common tendency, it seems that this concept for a writing prompt has seen a number of iterations from people like myself who mistakenly think they are introducing a new theme to the community. That being said, if you enjoyed the awesome submissions to this WP as much as I have, here's a few other WP's with the same concept that have some pretty awesome stories written for them as well.
1. [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9rut3f/wp\_everytime\_you\_think\_of\_a\_funny\_joke\_this\_girl/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9rut3f/wp_everytime_you_think_of_a_funny_joke_this_girl/)
2. [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7cqzzv/wp\_one\_day\_in\_class\_you\_decide\_to\_scream/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7cqzzv/wp_one_day_in_class_you_decide_to_scream/)
Thanks again for all the submissions!
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My eyes widened as she looked sheepish.
*I'm sorry,* she repeated, looking earnestly at me from anxious green eyes.
*You can hear my thoughts.* It wasn't a question.
The corner of her mouth quirked as she tucked a long strand of auburn hair behind her ear. *Well, yeah.*
It was my turn to blush. Saoirse (SEER-sha) smiled kindly. *Don't worry, there are people with more embarrassing thoughts than you've had.*
*But, why?*
She shrugged. *I don't listen in on purpose. It's like listening to the radio, there's feedback constantly. Then I heard you shout at me and it caught me off guard.*
I nodded, impressed. *Born with it?*
She nodded back. *Pretty much. It was terribly confusing when I was little. Mom and Dad would say one thing, think another. When they got angry with each other it was the worst.* She looked sad and turned to face forward, letting her pencil trace lightly on her notebook.
I could feel my heart racing beneath my skin. If Saoirse could hear the thoughts of everyone around her, then she knew who liked her, who fantasized about her, who hated her--
*Trust me, it sucks being a telepathic high schooler,* she thought to me, her shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh. *I've learnt to block out people sexualizing me. But it's harder to block people who hate me.*
*I'm sorry, Saoirse.*
*I know you've got a crush on me, Lexi.* She'd sensed my embarrassment and betraying thoughts. *You don't have to try and hide it. It's useless anyway, I've known for a while.* She looked up from her desk to wink at me, sending me into the hardest blush of my young life.
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At that moment, James' eyes widened, his ears deafened, as he blankly stared down at a page currently being recited by Ms. Harris.
"Am I getting carried away by my overindulging imagination again? Did I just hear Alice's voice? I do think she's pretty, albeit distracting, so it could be my imagination, but the voice in my head sounded so, clear." James thought to himself.
"Hello....Alice....?" said James, curiously.
"Yeah James?" said Alice in an even louder and clearer tone, "What is it?"
James continued staring at the page in his book, palms sweating as he entered in a tunnel vision like trance. After a moment, he mustered enough courage to slowly turn toward's Alice's direction and could see her looking directly at him. Her lips were closed, but you still see her eyes faintly smiling even under her blushed look.
James quickly checked his ears to see if he was wearing the bluetooth earbuds, while turning his head side to side to see if anyone else could hear the conversation. He then said in what could be considered a deafening tone "I..I..CAN HEAR YOUR VOICE IN MY HEAD ALICE!?"
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry....I didn't mean to listen in on your thoughts...I didn't think you could sense me....." said Alice. Her flustered tone matching her even more blushed look.
Before James could respond, Ms. Harris voice broke the trance, "James, turn the page.....Alice, do you have any questions?" likely noticing Alice's face.
"No, Ms. Harris," said Alice, in her soft spoken voice with her face looking down at her desk.
James suddenly heard Alice's voice in his head once again, "James, can we talk after the bell rings, please?"
| 2018-12-18T21:16:34 | 2018-12-18T20:47:02 | 49 | 29 |
[WP] "Are there any spirits with me in this room right now?" The Ouija board moves to 'Yes.' "Okay good, 'cause rent is due, and you need to fork over your share." The Ouija board spells out, 'F U C K.'
Based off of a meme I saw.
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Darren scowled down at the Ouija board, as the planchette glided over its surface of its own accord.
"Y...O...okay, yeah, I get it. Very funny. You're hilarious." he said, drily. Given that the previous four letters indicated by the polished wooden arrow had been c, f, k, and u -- though not in that order -- he felt confident that he understood the message.
Despite this, the spirit controlling the planchette felt the need to make it stand on edge, and then bob up and down.
"And now you're flipping me off with the planchette. Nice." Darren said, rolling his eyes. He threw up his hands in consternation. "You know what? Fine. Have fun haunting a parking lot in six months, asshole."
Darren began to stand up from the table where the Ouija board sat, but was startled by the planchette suddenly clattering back down onto the board. It then began rapidly circling the question mark printed just below the array of letters.
Darren smirked. That had finally gotten his spectral roommate's attention, it seemed. He settled back into his seat.
"Oh so now you give a shit, huh?" he quipped.
The planchette slid over to "YES".
"Well it's true: see, the previous owner of our building was very community-minded. His will included all kinds of stipulations his heirs had to abide by to inherit it." Darren explained. "They weren't allowed to sell the building as long as there were renters living here, and they weren't allowed to raise the rent more than the rate of inflation."
He sighed. "But the place is still a dump, even if it's cheap, since the new owners aren't exactly incentivized to invest in it. I'm the last one here, and as it stands I can't afford to pay rent anymore. If I go, this place will be sold to some developer and torn down inside a week." Darren gestured to the table. "That's why I decided to talk to you. I figured if you're gonna make footstep sounds at night, stack up my chairs, and slam my cupboards, maybe you could at least use your spooky ghost powers to help me with my cash flow problem, while you're at it. Otherwise, we're both homeless."
Darren followed the planchette with his eyes, as it began to move again. "H...O....W...how? I don't know how! You're the ghost, you know what you can do better than I do. Is there like...some buried treasure you know about? A bank account in your name, that maybe no one ever claimed?"
"NO," came the reply, via planchette.
"Well then, I don't know, what would you suggest? Any ideas? G...E...T...A...J...O...B--pff, yeah, okay boomer, like I haven't tried that already! It's a tough economy right now, for people in my line of work. L...E...A...R...N...T...O...C--I know how to code, alright? It's not that simple!"
An awkward silence hung in the room for a moment. And then, the planchette began to move again.
"W...E...S...H...." Darren began reading, then frowned as he finished. "We should talk? We're already talking."
"I...N...in person? Uh, how would that work? You're a ghost."
Darren frowned, as the planchette slid over to rest under the word "NO." It rose into the air as it did before, and Darren scowled again, taking it as another phantom middle finger. Then he jumped out of his chair in surprise as a small man appeared standing on the chair opposite him, holding the planchette between a stubby thumb and forefinger.
The man looked old and ragged, with a long red beard streaked with white, that hung all the way down to the knees of his patched and stained green trousers.
"Truth be told, boyo," the old man said, in a high-pitched lilting accent. "I've been having me own 'cash flow problems' of a sort, for nigh on a century now."
As Darren gaped at the little old man in amazement, a sly grin spread across the strange creature's wrinkled face, "Mayhaps I can be after helpin' ye with your problem..."
The strange little man paused and waved his hand mystically. A miniature rainbow suddenly arched over the table where the Ouija board lay, and a little black cauldron appeared at its end -- empty, except for some dust and cobwebs.
"...if ye can be helping me with mine, in turn." the old man finished.
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Melody crossed her arms as she watched the spirit spell out fuck. She wasn’t going to let it slide again. Now Melody knew that asking for rent wasn’t going to be an easy task. She was sure there would be some pushback from whatever spirit was in her shitty haunted apartment. It was just time to wait now.
Melody looked over at her filthy floor length mirror. At first she looked past her reflection, getting caught up on how messy her room was. Once her own reflection caught her attention she stared at it. Melody had struggled often with her body. Hating it some days. Enjoying it others. Today was a day she was happy to have it. Her soft brown hair was placed in a messy bun.
As she began to look at her pear shaped body she noticed a figure out of the corner of her eye in the mirror. It had quickly ran out of her room. This caused Melody to blink in surprise as she had never experienced seeing a figure in her mirror before. Honestly she thought ghosts didn’t have reflections.
Before she could get too caught up in her thoughts everything went completely silent. This caused her to intently listen because it was too quiet. The only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat. It stayed like this for several moments before a loud clang came from the living room. When things had crashed in the apartment before Melody would get startled but this time was different. Melody simply raised an eyebrow before she quickly headed to the living room, starting to rant as she walked.
“You can’t scare me, mister or miss ghost. I need rent money otherwise I’ll be getting evicted and unless you want a new-“
Melody seemed to freeze when she saw the clang had been the ghost dropping something on her coffee table. It was a large sterling silver platter with intricate details. Hesitating, Melody moved towards it, holding her hand out above it. There was noticeable heat coming off of the silver platter. Upon placing her hand on the platter not caring if she got burnt, she felt the words engraved into it, ‘See you in hell’.
“Is this some kind of a sick joke?” Melody asked, not expecting an answer really.
Though Melody heard what sounded like footsteps shuffling from her bedroom, she didn’t immediately think much of it. Still she decided to turn around to look at the doorway. In the doorway she saw the Ouija board floating towards her. It was facing her so she could read it. As the triangle piece moved she turned pale.
The triangle spelt out. “It was a stupid gift.”
“This was a gift? From who?”
The board spelt out another answer. “A Vampiress.”
“A Vampiress? You expect me to believe in vampires, now?”
The board shook aggressively, spelling out. “You’re talking to a ghost!”
“Okay! Okay. I know I believe in ghosts but vampires? Why weren’t you immortal then?” Melody scoffed at first before rubbing the back of her neck as she asked her questions.
The board’s triangle pieced moved again slowly. “She couldn’t bite me, I was a werewolf it would have been illegal.”
“Hold on. You mean to tell me. You’re a werewolf’s spirit, it’s illegal to turn a werewolf into a vampire, and you were given this gift at your funeral?”
The triangle simply moved to the word “yes.”
“A silver plater? Isn’t that like a mean spiteful gift?”
The triangle stayed on the word “yes.”
“Did you die by like a silver bullet?”
The triangle still remained on “yes.”
“Wait so you’ve lived here before?”
The triangle moved to “no.”
“WHAT? Wait are you haunting me!?”
The triangle stayed on “no.”
“So are you haunting an item?” Melody seemed perplexed with this new found knowledge.
The triangle moved to spell out the word “Technically.”
“Technically?” Melody rubbed her face softly, still extremely confused. “Okay technically haunting an item. What item is it?”
“Your mothers necklace.” The triangle spelt out.
“Why?”
The board simply fell to the floor with a clatter.
“Oh come on! I still don’t know your name ghost. Why are you haunting my mothers necklace? Also how much is this platter worth?”
Melody waited for a response but didn’t receive one. Taking a deep breath in, she stood tall and put the platter under her arm. It had stopped radiating as much heat at least. She knew she would have to go to an antique shop to get the value appraised. That and she needed to call her mother, which could wait till a bit later.
(Part 1, might add a part 2 later.)
| 2022-12-30T00:59:00 | 2022-12-29T23:36:22 | 637 | 246 |
[WP] You have a HUD reminiscent of RPG video games, letting you see your Health, Stamina, and quests. However, you live a boring, normal life, rendering your HUD useless. One day, you see that your Mana and EXP have suddenly unlocked and your first quest has begun: "GENESIS."
Edit 1: Just wanted to thank you all for the countless numbers of amazing replies that you all submitted! I didn’t think that a silly, nerdy little writing prompt like this could inspire so much amazing writing. Thank you.
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It's quite embarrassing really. I mean, who wants to have their little brother escort them to school every morning. Stay fifteen feet back, wait until everything is clear, and whatever you do, do not grab aggro. Every. Single. Morning.
You see, I have this, what my parents call, "condition". I am normal in almost every sense, expect for the fact that I cannot gain experience points. Every single person born begins with the quest "A New Beginning", but not me. No matter what I do. I have killed endless rabbits, squirrels, deer, falcons, and basically everything in sight that is level 3 or lower. Nothing. Not one single damn point. Nothing I have ever done has triggered the quest. My parents have taken me to doctors, shamans, which doctors, guild masters, among others. No one could understand why my HUD would not trigger the quest. Level 1, 10 health. That's it.
My younger brother, on the other hand, has never had a problem. My parents often watched old videos recapping some of his, our, mile stones. When brother was six months old, my parents discovered that one of his natural perks was food and cooking. He gained three levels from eating his first solid meal. Not just three experience points, but three levels. At five years old, he was already level fifteen and had mastered cooking and potion making. He had a knack for these things. Of course he did, these were his perks.
Me, ha! I was fed my first solid food at two years old and almost choked to death. I once went outside to sit in the grass and suffered critical damage. No one suffers damage from just sitting in the grass, no one but me. That was just one of the many scares my parents had to endure. At six years of age, my parents gave me a set of armor, a small sword, and shield. They bought some training grubs from the local shop in hopes that killing them would give me some experience points. Nope. I took me fifteen minutes to kill one of them and another three hours for the rest. Stamina is a thing I did not have.
My brother finished clearing the path to school, as he did every morning. He tells me he does not mind, but I know it bothers him that he cannot hang out with friends in the morning or right after school. I do love him for it though. We finally made it to the building with about twenty minutes to spare. Not to my surprise, fresh writing shined on the face of my locker mocking my "puny little boy level". Whatever.
The first warning bell rang and I made my way to my first class, Enchanting. They say enchanting is a lucrative skill to learn, but for me, not really. In fact, high school is basically useless. I can study the motions and theory, but I cannot make any of the recipes, or enchants, or weapons, or armor beyond level one. I am always required to have a partner for lab which gets old quick. It's not like I can hold any of the material, too high for my level. So most lab days I just sit there and watch whoever is willing to take me on.
Period 5, physical activity. Perfect. Everyone gets to play capture the flag while I sit there and thing of new strategies for winning. Coach just rolls his eyes.
Period 7, weapon and spell training. Humiliating. Teacher casts a protective bubble around me. Great, alienate me more.
Final bell. I hear my brother calling me from the hallway to hurry.
Fine.
Again, stay fifteen feet back, wait until everything is clear, and whatever you do, do not grab aggro.
This time something happened. What is that. AN ITEM DROPPED. I have never had an item drop before. Never. I picked it up, my HUD flashed.
EPIC QUEST: GENESIS
Level 1
10 Health
25 Mana
Edit: wording
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I was walking back to my car from class when big green words appeared in front of me, notifying me that the Genesis quest had begun. I made a note to go find a doctor or a psychiatrist or something. I had originally ignored the HUD that had plagued the corner of my vision for the better part of my life.
I mean, I didn't even play RPGs. Hated them, actually. They were always so lackluster and boring. None of them ever held my interest for more than a few minutes at a time. I thought maybe it was some kind of perverse payback. Maybe I insulted the RPG gods so they decided to give me an RPG HUD.
I did the same thing with the quest that I had done with the floating bars and numbers--completely ignored it. I drove home, did my homework, played video games, read a book, ate dinner, and went to sleep. Everything was completely normal.
I did have some weird dreams, though. There was a woman talking to me. Something about an awakening and going to save her daughter. I couldn't really be bothered to remember the details.
When I awoke a knife glinted through the air towards my head, my eyes widened and adrenaline pumped through my veins as I ripped the covers off myself and through them up into the air, towards the cloaked figure as I rolled backwards, spilling off the bed and onto my back on the wooden floor. The knife ripped through the sheets as the would-be assassin grabbed a handful and tossed them aside angrily, before diving over the bed with their arm raised in a stabbing motion. I ducked and crawled to my right as they flew over my head and into the wall.
I wasn't a trained fighter, though, so I had yet to even gain my bearings before they were on me again. By shear dumb luck I was able to thrust my hand out and catch their wrist mere inches before the tip plunged through my heart. They growled angrily above me--definitely a guy--as he drove a knee into my ribs and put his other hand on the pommel of the knife, trying to force it down. I brought my other arm up, grabbing him by the throat and pushing him hard to the left, slamming his head into the window sill. My head whipped to the side as one of his fists caught me in the cheek. I could taste blood as my hand came up and delivered a punishing blow to the middle of his face, feeling a crunch under my knuckles as his nose broke.
The knife lanced outward, cutting across my shoulder.
"Motherfucker," I growled as I punched him again in the face as his grip on the knife reversed so he could plunge it into my shoulder. Screaming out in pain I lunged for his right arm before he could stab me again, trying to wrestle the knife away from him. He dropped it easily, opting instead to kick me off of him and draw another from within his cloak. I grabbed the discarded knife and scrambled to my feet, holding it awkwardly in front of me as he lowered himself into a stance and prepared to attack.
Time slowed to a crawl as he jumped towards me, leaping off his front foot with the blade straight in front of him, trying to reach my heart. It was all I could do to shuffle a foot to the right so his blade sailed under my arm as I brought my own up, just holding it level as he approached and impaled himself on it. His body went slack as I released my grip on the knife, letting him fall backwards onto the floor as his blood began to pool on the floorboards.
My breathing was heavy as I slumped over, resting my hands on my knees as I gulped in air.
In front of me more green letters appeared.
*Quest Updated: Genesis*
*Find those who would have you silenced.*
"What the fuck is going on," I wondered aloud.
| 2018-01-15T13:43:58 | 2018-01-15T13:26:25 | 318 | 86 |
[WP] Due to a misunderstanding, you find yourself at the bottom of a lake wearing concrete shoes. Point of interest... you're not drowning.
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The trunk opened and a brilliant white light from a flashlight filled Tony's vision. A shadowy shape moved forward and heaved him out and stood him up on some wooden planks. As Tony's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the end of a pier followed by a long expanse of water. Above the treeline on the opposite shore, he could make out the glowing haze of the city they had just come from.
There were click-clack steps from somewhere behind him. "Those look good on you, Tony."
Tony struggled to turn around and face the voice, but was denied by the big henchman holding on to him tightly. That and the cement around his feet. "Listen, boss, I'm sorry for not delivering on time. I'm still learning! You gots to give me another chance!"
"I think I've given you plenty of chances, Tony. Give my regards to my mother."
The large henchman easily picked up Tony and moved towards the edge. He held him out over the water. Tony looked at the rippling surface.
"No, no no no no!" was all he could manage to say.
The sickening drop made him yelp. The plunge into the icy water made him draw a sharp breath. The sudden thud onto the bottom caused his life to flash-
Sudden thud? Tony opened his eyes and glanced towards his feet. The water reached up to about his waist, but was going no further. He was standing in only two foot deep water.
There was laughter coming from the pier, wheezing, gut wrenching laughter. "Hoo, the sound you made when Dino dropped you...!" Another burst of laughter.
Tony did his best to lurch around and look behind him. The boss was doubled over, the henchman was leaning over the car. Both were laughing uncontrollably.
"What's...what's going on?" Tony managed.
The boss managed to catch his breath. "We weren't going to kill you, Tony! This is a little thing we do around here, an initiation if you will. Dino, fetch Tony out of there."
Still grinning, the large man reached down with one hand and pulled Tony out of the water. He quickly gave Tony a towel. He produced and small hammer and began chipping away at the cement on Tony's feet, leaving him free in a moment.
"I'm still confused," Tony said, shaking the last of the concrete dust from his feet.
"Listen, Tony, we do this to all the guys. It's our little way of saying welcome to the family. Now lets go back and join the everyone else for a feast. You must try my mother's meatballs, no one can make them like she can."
"I've gotta say, I'm mighty relieved. So you don't actually drive guys you don't like out to the lake and toss them in?"
"Of course not," said the Boss. He looked Tony dead in the eye. "We go to the river."
After a tense moment, he started laughing again. Dino joined in too, and, after a compulsory nudge, so did Tony.
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*Splash* I plummeted into the water with my feet sealed in two round concrete slabs. I moved my arms frantically struggling to move back up, but I simply kept sinking further into the abyss, the darkness enveloping me in a cold embrace. I looked below me but there was no ground in sight. I turned my head back up and watched as the bottom of the boat moved further and further away, bubbles rising above me escaping my concrete boots. I reached for the bubbles as they floated by, trying desperately to grab even the slightest of holds, but I felt nothing but water slipping between my fingers.
My feet suddenly hit the sea floor with a thud. I could see nothing but the bubbles as they kept floating from the rocks that held my feet anchored into the ground below. I could feel my face numbing as I held my breath as long as I could. I watched as a trail of ripples churned behind the boat's dark silhouette like a slow comet drifting in the sky as it moved away. I begged with the boat, pleading for its mercy.
I tried to scream. Air billowed out of my body replaced with seawater which clung to the lungs and sent a burning sensation through my chest. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't get away. I clutched my throat with both arms fighting desperately to keep the air in, but the last remaining vestiges of bubbles disappeared into the sky, freely making their way to the surface as I lay helplessly below. I convulsed and gasped, but only water flowed through my orifices, the taste of salt burning down my throat.
I stood with legs planted in the water. I looked around but my body refused to die. I was surrounded by darkness, but darkness would not cover my eyes. I tried to push my feet, but they would not budge. My mind refused to sleep, my body lost in a state of perpetual suffocation. The sky began to turn to darkness as I lay there in the depths, scared and alive.
Days passed. Weeks. Months. It became a blur as I saw nothing but a shift in the ripples of the waters above. I saw boats pass, and wanted to yell and let all the world know that I was still there, I was still inexplicably alive. But the words escaped me with no air left to string the sound. I grew thinner. I could feel my bones growing brittle and weak. The algae began to cling to my body and crawl up as my body began to decay.
My hands grew thinner. My neck grew longer. I could feel my body pulling towards the surface once more. My eyes were the first to go, but I could feel the world about me even in the darkness. my body grew loose and thin, still locked upon the ground beneath me. Skin eroded, revealing tough strands from what bones remained, now covered in the green algae which permeated what remained of my body.
I tossed and turned in the current, the remaining strands of my body still shifting at the bottom of the sea, still calling for the sun's warm embrace.
| 2016-08-03T14:44:06 | 2016-08-03T14:38:25 | 43 | 17 |
[WP] You have an uncanny ability to sense evil. The man who walks past you and gives you chills later appeared on the news as a murderer. The corrupt cop at the donut shop. Today you sensed the greatest concentration of evil ever. You peer into the hall, into beedy eyes of the class hamster.
|
Hamsters chew quickly because their hearts beat faster--same reason birds are lightning fast. Hamsters have black eyes like tiny pearls or large caviar, situated on their faces a bit askew to one side, like something between an owl's and a horse's. So when the class hamster's gaze locked onto me, and I froze mid-step, his beedy little googly-eyed gaze was oscillating under ravenous munching of muesli pellets.
"So you are here to question me, Ali?"
Until now I'd avoided looking directly into the Rupert--the class hamster--'s eyes, but the beckoning voice was unmistakbly his.
"You can speak?" I stammered, grabbing the door frame to support my weight should I suddenly collapse from shock.
"I can speak to you, Ali."
"How do you know my name, Rupert?"
"*My* name, Ali, is not *Rupert*. My name is Rayacainth. I am the class hamster, so I know your name is Ali. You keep to yourself, you usually have the right answer when called upon by the teacher, and I dare say you have a crush on that perky girl Sally Rogers."
I stood, speechless, watching this Rayacainth nibble his pellet and reveal my secrets through telepathy.
"Don't be alarmed, Ali. I am something you have not encountered before. I am a waning totem."
Somewhere, a bit of courage seeped into my chest. It felt warm.
"Let's cut to it, Rupert--"
"--Rayacainth! I shant correct you a third time, child!" he boiled.
"Rayacainth, fine," I offered. "Cut to the chase. You know me. You probably know I sense evil. I've never sensed such intense evil before. And you're... you're a hamster."
"I will allow your condescension, only because I know you think your race superior to ours. You cannot be further from the truth. Hamsters are the Ying to humanity's Yang. We are the anti to your Christ."
"But we have evil people."
"Ha!" he yelped. "There are no evil people, Ali. You of all people, ought to know that by now."
"I don't follow," I said, inching a bit closer to the hamster's cage. The hallway was empty--school was out. I was glad I was alone and not in the crowd during changing periods.
"Good and evil *exist*, Ali. But humanity was not conceived to harbor the latter. You are pitiful good-doers, one and all."
"That's ridiculous. Humans kill, they violate each other," I countered.
"Petty. For a hamster, that is child's play. We are the true source of all that is horrendous and evil in this world. God created Man and animal on the 6th day, and on the 7th the rested. They tell not of the 8th day, when he created Hamster."
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
"I see you do not believe. A minute ago you did not know of hamsters. Is it so hard to believe that we are the harbingers of all that is great evil?"
I didn't know that much. I was only in 9th grade. But my mind ran every which way, picking up rocks and stacking them, tying my shoes, running up a mountain, searching the horizon with binoculars, trying to find whatever it was that made sense.
"Hitler," I blurted.
Rayacainth stopped nibbling.
"Hitler," I repeated. "All those assholes," I said.
"Oh Ali, silly boy. You still don't understand, do you?"
"Understand what? What is there to understand?"
"Hitler was a hamster."
\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff
|
I like to think of myself as a kind of superhero. I don't know exactly when or how I got my powers, but it's a real gift and I feel like I should make use of it. I know when people are evil, and I'm never wrong. Once I figured that out, I started acting on my instincts. Walk by someone particularly nasty? I follow them, snap a couple of photos, find their license plate so I can figure out their name and address, and that's usually enough to anonymous tip off the cops. Occasionally I'll have to break into a car or watch their house for a day or two, but they're always guilty. They deserve what's coming to them.
I think it's s safe to say that I never got any kind of bad vibes from animals. I don't think I ever really thought about it. After all, how can an animal be evil? How can a hamster be a literal demon?
It was evening when I entered the school. I didn't like one of the teachers there, and I was checking to see if he had anything incriminating in his office. The school was a little run down, paint peeling in the corners and flickering lights. I was keeping an eye out for any staff, even though no one should have been there, so I was a little jumpy. That's why, when I heard a quiet squeaking from the door next to me, I peeked in to make sure no one was there. The windows were drawn and the lights were off, so it was pitch black, but I didn't see any movement. That weird, unidentifiable squeaking continued though, so I turned on the lights.
I don't remember anything about that room. I think it was pretty small, but otherwise all I can remember is the hamster. Sitting in a small, nondescript cage with a wheel and a water bottle on top of what was clearly the teacher's desk, the hamster sat, completely still. I staggered backwards as the hatred and evil radiating off of it almost made me black out. As I recovered, I realized that the squeaking had stopped. I peered closer at the hamster, and I saw that it *looked* like a perfectly normal hamster. It was plump, with golden fur streaked with reddish-brown stripes, and small pink grasping claws. But it was looking at me. Staring directly into my eyes, not blinking or moving an inch. And as I watched, it slowly smiled in a way no hamster should be able to do. It smiled in a way that radiated gleeful malice, smiled to reveal a gleaming row of what looked like small human teeth. I couldn't pull myself away. I could only watch as that smile got larger and larger, coming closer and closer until all it had to do was bite down to-
I screamed and jerked backwards. The hamster hadn't moved. It just sat, watching me, still radiating that evil.
By this point I realized there was only one thing to do. Although I still have no explanation for why it was there, I found a lighter on the table, right next to a ream of paper. I stacked them on top and around the cage and set it ablaze. This abomination would never leave its cage. Then I ran. I ran and ran until I was far away from that classroom.
The next morning, I saw in the news that the whole school had burned to the ground. But I don't care. All I can think about is the hamster. I saw it as it disappeared into the flames. Even as those reddish marks of fur seemed to melt off from the heat, the hamster didn't move an inch. It just sat there, and as it was consumed by the fire, I could have sworn it was smiling.
| 2020-09-21T15:24:54 | 2020-09-21T13:55:24 | 41 | 10 |
[WP] you are perfectly safe in your bunker, you have plenty of food and water and even plumbing. The problem is that you are alone and there is a zombie outside. Out of sheer boredom you teach it to speak, and now it's trying to convince you to let it in.
|
\*Bzzt\* "Hey, Dave. Davie boy. Wassup?"
You rub your tired eyes as your aching body rises from your cot.
"What, Frank?" You ask, but you know it's just the same bullshit as always.
"How you doing today, man? Head still full of brains?"
You check the calendar as the soft hum of florescent lights drills little by little into your throbbing skull. "Feel like shit, like the last time you asked." You rub your orbits to try and soothe the pounding. "Still hung over, at the very least."
"Oh, that sucks." You hear Frank's wet flesh lean against the door as he chuckles. "I remember hang overs. Don't miss those! But uh, you didn't answer my second question."
You check your watch, it's 11:34. Hell. "Yeah, but today I really wish they weren't."
You hear the wet sound again, this time, a loud slap. "OH! I can help you with that, you know! Really easy, wouldn't even hurt!" You can practically hear him salivating through the steel bulkhead.
"You're doing the thing again, Frank." Your scrape the dry crust from your eyes. "I *told* you, I'm not letting you in."
"What? Me? Nonononono, I wasn't even *thinking* about that! It was uh, ummm..." He's probably doing the hand twirl thing right now. "... A visualization exercise!"
"Visualization exercise?"
"Yeah, like, that self-help stuff! You know, makes your brains feel better!"
"My brain feel better?" You attempt to stand, but the spinning room sits you right back down. "And you want my brain to feel better because...?"
"It improves the flavor!—I MEAN, because I wanna do you a favor! For uh, re-tearching me how to talk!"
Sometimes you really wish you didn't, but when he's not begging to give you a bite, he's really not bad conversation. You decide to give him a bite.
"Hey, no problem, Frank. So what's this exercise entail-"
Suddenly, you hear screaming and sloppy banging on the door, followed by Frank's panicked voice.
"AHHH! DAVE!! THERE'S A FIRE OUT HERE!!! YOU GOTTA LET ME IN! I'M GONNA GET ROASTED!"
You check the camera feed. Lo and behold, it's just Frank doing an exaggerated double take over his shoulder while slapping the door like an idiot. He obviously still doesn't know about the camera.
"Frank, this is a cave. There's no way a fire can even start in here."
"IT'S ONE OF THOSE KENTUCKY WALKING FIRES, DAVE! TUMBLED RIGHT DOWN IN HERE! YOU EVER WATCH THE GODDAMN NATIONAL GEOGRAPHICS!?"
"No, fuck off. Let me sleep."
"You're a real cold sonuvabitch, Dave. This would never happen if you'd just let me eat your fucking brains."
|
How could I be so God damn stupid?!? Teach it to speak I said, it'll be fun I said, it'll cure my boredom I said!
Whoever the poor bastard that used to own that corpse outside was, they have one helluva voice! It's so smooth and soothing. Like the love child of Morgan Freeman and David Attenborough, that voice could sell water to a drowning man, sell ice to an Eskimo, sell sand to an Egyptian, etc. anyway, a little backstory...
January 1st, 2023, the day the world ended. We only really just got back to normal from Covid 19 (ah the simpler times), and me and my gf decided we'd go and spend new year with her parents, big mistake. Come the morning, I say the morning, it was more like 2pm because new year's, and I notice the TV is on CNN with a breaking news story about Times Square, apparently someone who was high on meth or something attacked people, ripping their throats out before they were gunned down by police. Well, you can guess what happens next right? Well the ones that were killed came back from the dead and started to attack more people, and they in turn attacked others, until all of NYC was undead.
I couldn't tell what the date even is anymore... It's been maybe 6 months since then, maybe longer, but what does it matter? I've lost everything. I lost my house, I lost my car, I lost my dog. But worst of all, I lost my beautiful girlfriend. She's asthmatic, we couldn't find an inhaler for her and she succumbed to her asthma. To make matters worse, one of those... things got her. Scratched her arm, I had to shoot her after she took her last breath so she didn't become one of them.
I can't go on like this, I may have food and water as well as a working toilet and shower, but I'm so alone and this zombie is trying to make me open the door! There's no way I can keep resisting. That voice is so enthralling and I'm really depressed because of what I've been through...
I've got a gun, I could off myself, or I could shoot the zombie outside. But there could be more, it sounded like that one wasn't alone earlier... Do I kill myself, or let them do it for me? To be honest with you, I'm convinced the pain of being disemboweled by the undead would be less than the emotional pain I've been in for a long time now...
"Come on buddy, I won't eat you, I'll protect you. I can be your pet" All right, fuck this! I'm ending this now! I'm killing that thing and any others nearby. If I'm going down, I'm taking as many of them with me! If you find this notebook, now that I'm in a better place now. Danielle my love, I'll see you soon.
| 2021-09-29T12:42:19 | 2021-09-29T11:48:39 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] You have just been abducted by a UFO. While you are figuring out what just happened to to you, a frantic alien bursts into the room. "You have no idea how many rules I'm breaking, but my Human Studies final is tomorrow and I need help."
|
He was crawling on the ceiling, again.
"Oh *crtraledra.* Oh f*ctreck.* This was... Oh *greck* I... I'm going to go to prison I..."
A notebook flapping into his head very nearly dislodged his grip. He looked around, as if trying to find some *other* person in the room who it might have been. I jumped up, standing on the desk and grabbing the alien by the...chest...carapace.
"Wrail, listen to me. Are you listening? Wrail, you need to look...I..."
I slapped the alien. He stared at me, in shock.
"You are not going to go to prison, okay? Look at me, say after me...I am not going to go to prison."
"I..." he looked around, still looking for that other, mystery person.
"Say. **It.**"
"I...am not going to go to prison." He mumbled, not really looking at me.
"Good." I dropped him.
I had absolutely no idea what I was talking about, but for some reason this seemed to go some small way to reassuring him.
"Alright..." I pointed the alien back at amorphous, continuously shifting metal that was apparently their equivalent of a piece of paper. "Now repeat the things we just went through."
The alien started reciting in that strange, clicky way of his. "Humans are a class zero species. You consume both non-sentient and sentient life forms in order to combat the natural accumulation of entropy."
"Name the parts of us composed of dead skin cells."
"Hair, nails."
"What's our general stance on diplomacy?"
"You don't have one."
"And how many arms do we have?"
"You have-"
"Without looking."
He turned his eyes away from me back to the screen. "Fouuu..." he froze mid syllable. "...rrrrtwo."
"Two." He repeated.
I grinned, patting him on the back. He flinched, the first time.
We'd been doing this for a couple hours, now. He’d attempt to get something done, manage about ten minutes before flipping out and spending the next ten desperately panicking and making the cockpit feel even smaller than it already was.
I suppose, I probably should've been kind of freaked out. If this were anyone but an alien, I probably would have. It *was* a kind of suspect situation. A mysterious, twitchy loner abducting a young girl in his clapped out vehicle and driving her to some out of the way place in the middle of nowhere?
Wow, it really does sound bad when you put it that way.
Wait. Was it that bad?
Anyway. Clapped out vehicle.
See, when you think alien spaceship what's the first thing that comes to your mind?
Exactly. A dingy looking two meter wide hunk of metal with bits and pieces sticking out like some kind of orthodontic equipment. The interior wasn't much better; a tattered mess of worn down carpets, creaky cockpit seats, and a windscreen which made you *highly* aware of the lack of air the beyond of the confines of the cabin.
Wrail was tapping away at the controls now, and seemed a bit calmer for it.
"We're entering your asteroid belt, now." He explained. "I need to focus on this."
"We are?"
He pointed. "You can see one, over there."
"Hmm. What's the capitol of the world?"
"Trick question." He parried, not missing a beat. "A capitol implies unionization, whereas humans are incapable of cooperation"
I made a confirmatory noise, while squinting in the direction pointed at.
"How much longer?"
"My test is in seventeen hours."
I leveled a glare at him. "The gateway, *Wrail*."
"Oh. Well, now that we're here I had to slow down a lot. Considering where we landed maybe about...half an hour? And then...we'll have to not get spotted by the sentries...and...then I'll be...in another solar system...with a human pass-"
He was starting to hyperventilate. Again.
"-enger. And my exam is in 16 hours and 47 minutes. And I ju-"
"Wrail."
"-st day going to earth and I haven't slept and-"
"Wrail!" I yelped, urgently.
"I'm sorry, I just-"
"Wrail..."
He finally stopped soaking in self pity long enough to look up. I really wish there were words that could fully express the look on his face, when it finally clicked what he was looking at. It hadn't been an asteroid.
"Space police?" I questioned.
He was quiet, for a moment.
"Space police." The alien confirmed.
​
\----
I'm tired now, but this is pretty fun so I'm probably going to attempt to complete it at some point.
|
The little pink...person? I'm going to go out on a limb and say it's a person. I won't begin to guess at pronouns, I don't know how many genders these things have. Those lumps on its front might be boobs, dicks, or even noses. I can't tell. But the little pink person is blinking up at me with these huge eyes that are full of what appear to be very human-looking tears.
It has gorgeous eyes. They blink and it sniffles - they ARE noses! - and it starts to ask questions.
Yep. I can understand it. It's speaking English of all things. I'll be damned, Stargate was right. The entire universe speaks English.
"...you will not \_believe\_ how many rules I'm breaking but I have a Human Studies final tomorrow and my grades are right on the edge and you were all by yourself and..."
"Whoa. Hold up. Slow down."
Sniffle.
"Hi, I'm Andy."
HUGE sigh. The noses flutter with it. The person looks relieved. "I'm SO glad you're not mad or freaking out. There's been way too much freaking out!"
"Hi, I'm Andy?"
"Right! Sorry! I'm...uh, actually I'm unpronounceable in English."
"Try me."
"No, really. There's some radio frequency overtones, if you say my name in English without those it's a \_very\_ rude word."
"Huh. Well, how about Rudy?"
It cocked its head at me and for a moment looked like a slightly mushroom shaped pink cocker spaniel. "I guess that would do." Rudy looks around. "Are you going to get in trouble? Do you have some time to spare for me? I really need this help. I can put you back exactly where I found you if you can't stay but it would really mean a lot."
"Sure. My shift is over, nothing interesting on the TV this evening, nowhere to be. It'd be nice if you could return the favor, though."
The noses turned white. I couldn't tell if that was a blush or a fear response or what. The person was quite naked and aside from its head, arms and legs - some extra elbows and knees going on there - eyes and mouth, the body appeared to be more or less featureless. Kind of like My Little Pony but, you know, REALLY wrong.
"I just have to say, Rudy, you speak my human language very, very well."
"Thanks! I took the advanced courses when I was younger and I stay current by watching sitcoms."
"That would do it."
"I didn't like the first season of Parks and Rec, though."
"Don't sweat it, nobody did. It got better."
"Okay. I really only need help on one thing. Just one thing. I can muddle through everything else.
"Okay, fire away. If I can answer it, I will."
"Are humans evil?"
Whoa.
"Humans in general? Humanity as a species?"
"Yeah!"
"That's a tough question. You can find individuals you might describe as evil but usually those folks are suffering from some kind of mental or emotional pathology. They're sick, not evil.
"Sometimes you look at some of the ways we behave and think it might be evil but what it really is, is short-sighted and uneducated. The more people understand the repercussions of their behavior, the more likely they are to behave better. But even then sometimes circumstances just force their hand and they do things that could be described as evil, but they don't have a choice. That isn't really evil, it's just survival."
"What about war?"
"The people who start wars often do so for evil reasons, or at least evil in my opinion. Fighting over religions, territory, ideologies...that's unsupportable. And generally those people with bad ideologies eventually lose their wars, get killed by their own disgusted troops, or otherwise yanked out of power. Wars are a problem we have but I think we're getting past it, kinda. Sorta."
"Who decides what's bad?"
"Heck if I know. General consensus, I guess. History gets written by the winners. Winners of the wars, that is. The more important histories, like who loved whom and who invented the chocolate chip cookie, that kind of stuff doesn't get recorded."
Rudy shuddered.
"What'd I say?"
"Chocolate is violently toxic to my people. It's, uh...it's pretty bad."
I didn't mention the little bag of M&M's in my pocket.
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that."
<taking a break to go home, I'll finish when i get there>
| 2021-01-22T11:53:45 | 2021-01-22T10:24:42 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] you were born with the ability to see a persons health bar and stats over their head. Today you see a 120 year old with 99 in all skills and a full health bar.
Edit: Bonus points if they are encountered in a place you wouldn't expect a 120 year old person to be at.
|
Walking through a crowded street had never been my favourite hobby. Too many people, too much bustle, too much information.
Female;20;health 25%; stealth 3 (heels aren't the choice of ninjas); knowledge 75 (apparently looks aren't everything).
Male; 39; health 89%; ambition 75; knowledge 43; confidence 90; ignorance 90 (must be a stock broker).
On and on, they scroll past my vision. Each person blends into the next. Some stand out for their unique combinations, others for their overwhelming normalcy.
These same five blocks to and from the office every day is torture. The numbing relief of a tin cubicle may not seem like an escape to many, but to me it's an umbrella in a downpour.
3 blocks out, I round the same corner as every morning at "The Daily Grind" coffee house. The patio has finally been opened, and in this early may sunlight every customer seems to be taking advantage. Cooling cappuccinos, lattes, bagels, and croissants litter the tables as men and women in various shades of business professional scarf down the morning news with intermittent sip or nibble. One woman sat with her back to me with a red scarf on her head and canary yellow coat enjoying every languorous draught she took of her green tea . Some poor tourist seems to have stumble into the hubbub of the morning rush.
No. No, that can't be right.
I stepped closer with trepidation, as though I may be dreaming. I stop a few meters behind her and just stare at her back, dumbfounded.
Female;120; health 100%; All stats max.
This made no sense, not even babies have 100% health, not even men in the prime of their physical health, but at 120?! No to mention that most people don't even posses most skills, let alone 100 in them, but ALL of the them? None of this is right. None of this is even possible.
She lifted her tea to her mouth for another sip and stopped mid-motion. She looked up from her paper and chuckled lowly to himself. I stood two feet from the small metal railing that she leaned against. She turned her head slightly to the left as if she knew I was standing there watching her. This 120 year old woman looked no older than 50. Her snowy white hair peeking out from under her scarf had made 120, despite how unusual, at least look believable. But that face...
Lines etched her countenance but she was nothing as she had appeared to be. Her strong jaw and hooded eyes spoke to her relative youth.
Maybe it was just me? Maybe something was off in my head?
"Iv'e been expecting you."
My blood froze in my veins.
"Iv'e got a proposition for you. We've been looking for someone with your... abilities. I can teach you how to use them."
I struggled for words, any words that might not come out as a confused and jumbled mess, and was failing spectacularly.
She turned to face me completely, still smiling, and extended her hand in introduction. "Amelia Earhart. It's wonderful to finally meet you."
|
Dom Torretto lives his life at a quarter mile at a time.
Amanda Bynes lives her live through snort straws and straight jackets.
Michael Bay lives his life between one bad movie after another.
Me?
I live mine seeing numbers and two colors.
Green and Red.
If you've played Tekken or Mortal Kombat, you'd know what I mean. Heck, a lot of people play Tekken and Mortal Kombat.
But they still don't know what I mean.
I never pick the wrong kids to be on my dodgeball team. I know when you're two seconds away from pushing daisies because of that tetanus in your bloodstream you got from scraping your knee on a rusty pipe. I know when the genius who should get the job is going to be passed over for the guy with higher charisma and practicality at the final job interview.
But you know what I don't know?
*How*
I saw him just a second ago. His bald scalp looked like that of a dehydrated shrimp. His beard was so damn long that it was tied up in a purple ribbon. His handlebar eyebrows hung off the sides of his head and stretched down to his cheeks. His wrinkles had wrinkles, and his walking stick looked like something a caveman would use to beat down a gorilla.
He passed by me, hunched-back pose and all, but I was not fooled. I saw the goddamn numbers.
99.
99.
99.
99.
99.
Health
Strength
Attack
Regeneration
Defense
It was mind numbing. There wasn't a single person who I had encountered in my entire life who'd possessed a skill level above ***74***. Stephen Hawking's intelligence level was a 75, but it fluctuates, so I don't count it.
I was standing at least 100 feet away from him now, across the street, as he walked away from me, not even throwing a glance in my direction. I only saw his slightly oversized white coat that hung over his shoulders. He didn't even bother putting his arms through the sleeves, for crying out loud. To any regular person, this was simply an old fart 2 breaths away from a stroke, and 3 away from a permanent nursing home stay. The guy walking next to him in the pink jacket and the hat probably didn't even know who or *what* he was dealing with, but I knew...
Fuck that. I didn't know, but I felt fear.
Then the strangest thing happened. While I was frozen in place,--presumably due to the massive amounts of shit that had departed from my anus when I saw the old man, and had now caked around my legs, rendering me immobile-- the man in the pink jacket was suddenly standing before me. A second ago he was accompanying his old companion, now he was staring down at me, standing mere inches away from my face. And I could have sworn he was never a moment in between.
"Sorry to ask this of you, but," He began, letting out a nervous chuckle.
"It'd probably be best for you from now on to look the other way whenever you see Yama-ji."
And then he was gone.
| 2017-04-30T03:17:31 | 2017-04-29T23:04:59 | 59 | 21 |
[WP] You’ve just died and you awaken within a courtroom. The Angel of Death walks in as a voice booms” What you are witnessing is real. The participants are not actors. They are actual litigants whose sins will be reviewed now. Their fates will be decided here in Death’s forum: The People's Court.”
|
"Oh for the love of..." Picard muttered, recognising the courtroom he had been in at least three times now.
"MON CAPITAN!" came the harmonious voice of Q, his flamboyant form floating gayly above on a hovering chair. "The time has finally come to answer for your-"
Picard sighed. "No."
Q flinched. Almost invisible, but it was there. "-numerous and heinous crimes against-"
*"No!"*
He didn't know what to do. For the first time in their some thirty years of this, Picard had seen him truly caught offguard. It was shameful. Even the grotesque audience, a figure of Q's imagination, seemed confounded by Picard's response.
So he smiled.
"Picard, my dear friend, I don't believe you understand the gravity of the situation," he eventually went on, clasping his hands together in a thinly veiled attempt to regain composure. "You are, in fact, *d-"*
"Dead?" Picard interrupted.
Again, a flinch. "Y-yes. And I am here to judge you for your-"
"Q, I have died at least," he counted on his fingers, "five times since we've known each other."
"So?"
"So if there's a light at the end of the tunnel I should very much like to see it!"
"Light or flame? We shall now deci-"
"Q, I am *not* going to do another one of your trials!"
He pouted. The trials were his favourite thing to do. "But I have such wonderful material this time!"
"And I'm pushing *ninety!* I have a lovely cottage in Languedoc, a vineyard that needs tending, and a back that apparently still hurts in the afterlife. I'm *not* doing the court thing again!"
He frowned. "I could force you."
"You wouldn't enjoy it."
"How do you know?"
Picard smirked. "Because I know *you* Q! When have you ever forced me to do anything? You enjoy coaxing me into your schemes and games! Why now? It's been decades!"
"Because I'm bored!"
"So get a holodeck! Q, the world is full of important people to harass and I am -- *thankfully* \-- no longer among them. You will find much greater pleasure in toying with the young generations of Admirals. I think their dealings with the Romulans will give you endless fun."
"So no matter what I do, you won't comply?"
"Not a chance."
Q squinted. "I could immerse you in boiling oil for a thousand years."
"And you'd be waiting a thousand years for your play. Q, I am sorry. I am not the man to entertain you anymore. I am far too old, far too rickety, and far, *far* too retired."
He leaned back in his chair and scoffed. "What's the point then? Fine. Go back to your books and your wines. I have no further use for you."
In the moment before he vanished, Picard's eyes rolled back in his head and he sighed. It was a long, deep sigh, full of the breath of countless worlds. Full of missions and mortality.
Full of fatigue.
"Except that..." Q muttered, waiting for the man to truly be gone before he spoke. Even then, he paused for a moment, as if even the conjurations around him might overhear.
The courtroom dimmed, the effort necessary to maintain the illusion overcome by apathy. One by onew the mindless jeerers and jurors disappeared, unaware that they were, in essence, dying. Yet they had never existed in the first place.
Eventually Q himself began to vanish. He had no body. He was not human. The nothingness crept up his legs, across his knees, and enveloped his body. Eventually all that was left was a mouth and two eyes, arching downwards into an unconscious display of human emotion. A frown in the void, like a Cheshire cat.
"...I'm lonely," he finished.
And then he was gone.
|
"So Mr Jones, what do you have to say for yourself?"
"What do you mean? I don't even know what is going on. Am I dreaming?"
"Mr Jones, you were walking to work, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Yes _Your Honour_."
"Yes your Honour" Mr Jones shifted on either foot.
"You saw a couple of cats"
Jones nodded
"A few school kids, and the traffic was light. Is that correct?"
"Yes your Honour, I remember the traffic was-"
"Yes is enough." The Judge interjected. "And on your way to work, you started to cross Amberly street - as you always do..."
Jomes nodded again.
"And can you describe what happened."
"Well, the traffic was quiet and I started to walk, and I got a text message, so I glanced down to read it..."
"Mr Jones, do you recall actually getting to the other side of Amberly street?"
"..." Mr Jones scratched his head
"You don't, do you Mr Jones."
"Uhhh, no, I dont."
"No, _your honour_. Mr Jones, you were hit by a bus. Your inattention has resulted in your death. Can you please inform the court what you saw on your phone that was so important?"
Mr Jones fumbled his phone from his jacket pocket, gingerly handing it to the court hand waiting to receive it. The judge gathered it from the court hand.
"Thank you. Mr Jones you were distracted by, and lost your life because..." the judge peered down their horn rimed glasses," because you received a text about cat facts."
Mr Jones put his head in his hands, shaking his head in them.
"Mr Jones, now we've gotten over that, let's discuss why you're really here."
Mr Jones looked up.
"Mr Jones let's skip to June 15th 2013, you promised your kids you'd take them to play in the skate park, do you recall?"
Mr Jones was flooded with images of the promised night. It was just a night.
"But you didn't take them, did you?"
"N-no, I had a.. work deadline. There was a presentation. My boss had spoken to me before the day ended."
"And you didn't rebuke him about your prior plans?"
"No your Honour."
"And you didn't think about your kids, or keeping your word, or what they wanted?"
"I..I uh"
"You didn't Mr Jones. This is your life Mr Jones. You ambled through it hoping more financial and professional success would bring you happiness, not really thinking about what should be important to you: your family, your wife and kids, your passions and impact. What was life asking from you Mr Jones?"
"I don't understand.."
"Ofcourse you don't understand, you weren't listening Mr Jones. You were looking out for what grabbed you. You were looking at this?" The Judge wiggled the phone, "and what did _it_ give you? Cat facts, likes and matches. Distractions Mr Jones. You chose what other people thought and ringing bells over the sound of your own voice. Listen. Listen now to what it's saying."
The room fell quiet. There was a meek murmer.
"Do you hear it Mr Jones. Are you listening?"
Jones strained to pick it up. It was quietly sobbing. Jones felt the sadness wash over him. Sat in front of him, his son, head down. He got down. It wasn't his son. It was him. He looked up from his hands, tears in his eyes, "I wanted to be a baker." He whimpered.
Mr Jones saw it all again. The way his dad would have laughed at it. The money it wouldn't make when he was deciding what to do in highschool. How Mindy Howes wouldn't have gone out with him, she was rich.. where was Mindy now? Who knew. Who cared. She was horrible then anyway.
"Mr Jones, what do you have to say for yourself?"
| 2018-06-16T17:11:12 | 2018-06-16T16:23:14 | 223 | 119 |
[WP] When someone dies, they are always challenged by Death itself to a chess game, symbol of how nobody can win against it. Except you. You died and just won the game. Death is not amused. Both of you don't know what should happen now.
|
"Rook to..." I couldn't remember what square it was. I'd never really played chess before. Maybe once or twice, but I had never really had any interest in the game. It just figures I'd have to play one of the few games I never cared for in an attempt to resurrect my soul.
THAT'S E4.
I couldn't entirely tell, but I got the distinct impression that Death was a little fed up with me, "Th-Thank you."
DON'T MENTION I--
The hooded figure gave such a start, slamming his bone-hands down onto the table where we were playing, that I thought I might have another heart-attack.
HOW IN THE HELL--WHAT'S ALL THIS--WHO ARE YOU AGAIN?!
"I'm--"
I was suddenly smacked in the face by a large roll of parchment. Death moved his fingers along the list, checking names and muttering things like, DEAD... DEAD... NOT LONG NOW... OH THAT WILL GET SOME LAUGHS WHEN HE SHOWS UP...
IS YOUR NAME TEIMOUR?
"No, I'm--"
WESLEY?
"What? No! I'm--"
VLADIMIR?
"NO! I'm a woman!"
SUSAN...? IS THAT YOU? Death leaned in a bit closer. If he had been wearing spectacles he would have lowered them momentarily, in an attempt to get a better look.
"What? NO! My name is Leanne! What is the matter with you?"
I'M SORRY LEA--WHAT WAS IT AGAIN?
"Leanne!"
RIGHT RIGHT, OF COURSE... WELL, LEANNE, I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU THIS, BUT IT SEEMS YOU'VE WON THE GAME.
"What game?"
Death looked at me blankly...which may not have been entirely accurate, but it felt like a blank stare, with a possible undertone of distain.
THE CHESS GAME, LEANNE. YOU'VE WON.
"I'm sorry, I don't quite follow..."
OH FOR THE LOVE OF--YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON'T CARE ANYMORE. IT'S NOT MY PROBLEM.
Death rose out of his seat very swiftly, picked up his scythe, and chucked it at me. HEre! "Good luck," he said, "I doubt you'll have to deal with it for long."
And with that he began to walk away.
I STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND. I called after him.
|
My name is Gerald Michaels, and I beat the Grim Reaper in a chess game. I've only played chess a few times in my life, but I knew the rules all too well. It took me 5 moves that day, and I won the one game that death had put for me. Five moves, in total, and he made the last one. Yet I won.
My life was never particularly extraordinary. I had a wife, kids, a house, hell, I even had two dogs. Yet, that did not scratch the insatiable urge in my heart for something more. I searched my whole life for it to no avail. The thing that I wanted was not within reach of me. I died an old, decrepit, haggard old man who never found his purpose. I closed my eyes, and decades of experience washed into the abyss.
"Care for a game?" He said. And a game we played, one that lasted under two minutes after the rules were explained. All I had to do is win, Death had to fold his knight, and that would be that.
I moved a pawn. He moved one too to match me. I moved one up a space, and he matched the same.
"Death," I began, "Can you touch the top of your king? I'm curious if they're the same size. Mine and yours?"
He put his bone-y finger, aged with years of post-mortem murder and finess on the tip of the king. And when he touched it, I let out the loudest, mouth earth shattering, ear splitting scream the void had ever known. And it fucking worked. Death reeled back in shock. His finger tapped the king, it touched the bottom of the board. Death had conceded the game.
He was not amused. I waited a moment, while the anger in Death subsided. I waited longer, and longer.
What now?
"Death?" I said, "What happens now?" And all he could answer was... whatever I wanted.
Ninety-five years I searched on this Earth for the thing I wanted. And, while clarity is not that thing, it gave me the ability to know in that moment what I wanted.
"Death," I smiled. "Show me the cosmos."
| 2018-04-20T14:02:46 | 2018-04-20T12:58:20 | 34 | 21 |
[WP] When you die, a field of text appears in limbo, revealing the high scores of life, and your score. Your score is the top score.
|
"Congratulations! You just won The Game."
"Where am... w... what game?"
"EXACTLY! No one else lasted as long as you, NOT thinking about The Game. 95 years, 4 months, 22 days, 3 hours, 32 minutes and 9.11 seconds is the new record. What a lifetime!"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Gottlieb."
"...Gottlieb?"
"Call me God. So, what was your name again?"
"...what?!"
"Your. Full. Name. I'm gonna put it on this leaderboard I made."
"Amy- uh- Adelaide Amelia Anneliese?"
"...Ain't nobody gonna read that. AAA it is."
|
What does it mean to live a meaningful life? Does getting a good job, having a wife and maybe a couple of children, only to eventually die of old age count as a meaningful life? It might to some.
Maybe for you modelling diapers by the time you're one years old, to then kickstart your acting career and publishing an award winning album whilst getting laid by the hottest of chicks count as a meaningful life.
But what is it truly? When does a human life surpass the norm, and becomes superior to the rest?
Reddit gold. The more the better.
| 2016-06-08T13:24:02 | 2016-06-08T12:16:59 | 227 | 13 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear old friend,
I saw something that made me think of you the other day. And sometimes I think of you for no reason at all.
I want to talk to you, but I know there’d be no point. I wonder what you’re up to, but I don’t ask.
Because we have both changed so much since then, or maybe we haven’t changed at all. But something’s changed, and we both know that things can never be as they were. We could make an attempt at a conversation, but it will only make us feel more distant from where we used to be.
So I won’t talk, and I won’t ask, but I want you to know that I keep you in my thoughts and in my heart.
Because even though it’s run its course, and even though I don’t want to rekindle it, that friendship will stay precious to me.
Love,
A stranger you once knew like the back of your hand
|
Submitting this for a friend:
Dear Kanye,
I miss the old Kanye, straight from the Go Kanye.
Chop up the soul Kanye, set on his goals Kanye.
I hate the new Kanye, the bad mood Kanye.
The always rude Kanye, spaz in the news Kanye.
I miss the sweet Kanye, chop up the beats Kanye.
I gotta say, at that time I'd like to meet Kanye.
See, I invented Kanye, it wasn't any Kanyes.
And now I look and look around and there's so many Kanyes.
I used to love Kanye, I used to love Kanye.
I even had the pink polo, I thought I was Kanye.
What if Kanye made a song about Kanye.
Called "I Miss The Old Kanye"?
Man, that'd be so Kanye.
That's all it was Kanye, we still love Kanye.
And I love you like Kanye loves Kanye.
From, Kanye
| 2017-11-06T03:25:39 | 2017-11-06T03:13:40 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process.
|
Breaking News this hour, The Weedout Act has just passed the House and is expected to be voted on in the senate by as early as this afternoon. For any just tuning in, this of course is the highly contested, highly partisan bill that was drafted as a response to the issue of the so-called “multi-life criminals”, those that have chosen to commit violent acts in both their current life and the next. The proposed bill would punish violent offenders by applying a new technology in the field of cryogenics that would deep freeze convicted felons in a state of suspended animation. This practice, largely decried as inhumane would keep them alive theoretically forever but without the need for direct supervision. We have a panel of experts in law, the technology involved, as well as a senator who will be voting this afternoon. That and more after the break…
More on the top story this week, the Weedout Act passed the senate this afternoon with a near 100% party line vote. The law will be start being implemented at the start of the month with those already convicted of violent crimes being processed first. Of course this will apply to any future convictions. Some are saying this is what was needed to make our streets and correctional facilities safer. One senator suggested more needs to be done and that perhaps in the near future a new vote to expand the list of covered crimes will be discussed. Our house legal analyst will weigh in on that after we come back from this weekend’s weather forecast…
Breaking news this morning. In the wake of the bill being passed and signed into law by the president there has been a rash of suicides and attempted suicides from those that face what has already been termed the “ice box”. What that means for you and more after these brief messages.
|
I looked at the steel bars, those poor prisoners, stuck in a cage for the rest of their life and it was a long one. Modern medicine has made us live longer than ever thought possible, a life sentence now meant a very long time indeed. My job was keeping the serial killers and general criminals from killing each other or themselves. When they reincarnated, finding them would be difficult if not downright impossible, some of them did change once they got reincarnated but others stayed the same and committed crimes and killed as they did in this present life. A serial killer was dying, Peter Mans, he killed 10 people before getting caught and while we kept him alive as much as possible, now we could do no more for him, he was going to die soon.
I walked up to the hospital and to his bed where he was lying. He was awake but barley, he was very weak and tired.
"Peter?" I spoke.
"Y-Yes?" Peter replied as he opened his eyes and turned to look at me.
"How are you feeling?"
"N-not good, I don't have much left anymore"
"But you will be reincarnated! Alive all over again! Wonder If I'll find you next life" I said laughing.
"N-no, I'll be s-smarter next time"
"We'll see! I'm pretty good at catching serial killers...after all, I was one." I whispered.
"W-what?" Peter said stunned.
"Yes Peter, you heard me right" I whispered as I injected him with a needle.
"W-what did you just do?!"
"This will make you die quicker, I'm getting bored with you Peter. Goodbye!"
I walked away from Peter and smirked, nobody catches me.
| 2021-10-08T08:41:20 | 2021-10-08T08:05:13 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] A demon writes messages on your mirror in blood, but they're useful messages, things like "Don't forget you have yoga at 2" or "You're out of milk".
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Mondays. Gotta love 'em. Silencing my blaring alarm clock, I rolled over to look at the mirror. Another message, freshly written, dripped from the mirror.
*Seize the day! Good luck on the big presentation.*
Somehow, she knew about my work schedule. In the same vein, she also kept kept track of what food in the fridge was about to go bad, when I was about to run out of shampoo, and cool events that were happening in the city. I called her Siri 2.0. She was a damned deal more useful than the one on my iPhone, that's for sure.
Siri 2.0 came with the house that I was renting; before then, the mirror had been a normal IKEA mirror, one of the ones that you could hang over your closet door. Ever since I moved in a few weeks ago, the messages began appearing, a vibrant scarlet that dried to a crusty black smear.
I tried not to think too much about whose blood adorned the smooth surface. After all, Siri 2.0 was helpful, she gave me encouraging messages, and, at least I thought at the time, she wasn't a subscription-based service.
A few weeks later, I fainted in the middle of work and was rushed to the hospital. Acute blood loss, severe anemia, the doctors said. Siri 2.0 *was* a subscription service, and I'd been paying for her helpfulness with my own blood.
[/r/theBasiliskWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/theBasiliskWrites/)
|
This is what happens when you are married to a demon. I tried to get her to stop. But the sex is phenomenal. She leave a blood kiss mark. I get it that you are curious to the hows and the whys of this situation. Fine.
I am a demonologist. Summoning demons to do my dark bidding. See granddad and grandma were in a cult as teens. And learned the dark arts. But they stopped. Brought a farm and had my mom and uncle. They intended for this to die with them but…I was a problem child. Drugs and theft. Mom would send me to the farm in the summers. Granddad decided to order a demon to keep and eye on me.
Problem he didn’t specific how to keep an eye on me. So she kept on me. And hands. And legs. And lips. All on me. Grandma decided I am going to lie down with demons I need to at least know how to … keep them under control.
Four summers. One long marriage ceremony and a few dark introductions. I now work for a big corporation with some demonic employees as the senior demonologist researcher. Currently trying to update the Goetia, so many new princes, dukes, and presidents. Did you know Mammon and Forenus are at war again?
The misses? Amy? She is an Archduke and the hand of Dark One. She is pregnant so she is on maternity leave. What does the hand of the dark one does that she needs maternity for? Sorry, we need our secrets.
| 2021-07-19T18:54:27 | 2021-07-19T18:03:15 | 141 | 25 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult.
|
"Perceived Invisibility? What's that mean?"
My friend stared at me puzzlingly across the table, having no idea what kind of power I had.
"So, you can become invisible at will?
"Not quite. Only people who know me or I want to know me can see me."
"Weird. So you have like a social barrier to everyone else?"
People stared from all across the the room at my poor friend.
"You ok man? Who're you talkin to?"
My friend looked at the man speaking to him, and then back to me.
"No one..."
The man looked at him for a few more seconds, before returning to his conversation.
My friend lowered his voice to a whisper
"I see what you mean. How exactly do you live like this?"
"Not very well. I pretty much have to put forward an effort to make friends everywhere I go, and that can be... Difficult. It's always a struggle. To find the right people."
"Really? How do you get food? Get a house? Survive?"
"Either I'm friends with them or they never knew I was there regardless. Anything I touch, that's about the size of backpack is invisible along with me. I'm imperceptible until I make a conscious effort to appear to someone. I may as well be a ghost."
I saw the question finally cross his mind
"But... Why do you have this power?"
I paused and thought, like I had a million times before. Why was I cursed like this? What, as a person, did I truly feel. And then, I knew.
"I guess, I don't want to be seen. The people who always try to get close, or get my attention, always hurt me, one way or another. I'm sick of people always seeing them, and having them see me after. So, I guess I just don't even want to try."
I put my head down. I never wanted to face it, but I had to. My friend, this random person I just approached, hadn't known I existed a moment ago. And yet, now he knows more about me than anyone else in the world.
My friend opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He had grown pale looking at me.
"What's your power? Probably isn't worse than mine"
"I-I copy the power of the last person I speak to. How long have we been talking"
"Maybe 10, 15 minutes. Why?"
"Shit! Can you see me?"
He asked a man who was walking towards us. The man simply kept walking, as if he didn't exist.
"Why? Why did you speak to me!? No one can see me! You knew this would happen!"
He drew back his fist and let loose what would've been a haymaker. Fortunately, I was faster. I swiftly sidestepped beside his punch, pulling out my baton as I did it.
"Why? How am I supposed to get rid of this? No one can see me, or hear me, or even know I exist. How do I live like this?"
He kept swinging and I kept dodging. Every punch a little slower than the last, until he began to sob. I'd had enough. I brought up my baton, and smacked him hard over the head. He passed out.
"Little do you know, your a valuable resource. My employers will pay top dollar for you. Copycats are always useful."
I took out my radio. Phones didn't work. Only dumb phones, or radios. Apparently, if it's smart enough to recognize you it doesn't know your there.
"I've got another copier. I'll bring him to the drop point. Send someone to meet me."
|
Dan watched his partners work. He sat silent, and so nobody bothered him. That was just how he liked it, really. He was able to do his part of the school project in peace.
Fortunately, he got at least one good group member. Ted looked like he he was sleeping, but he was probably being more productive than any of them. Technopaths were handy to have when doing a school research project. The guy may as well have a computer installed directly in his head. Appropriate since even before he awakened his powers last year he damn near had technopathy anyway.
Sally was fidgeting nervously over her keyboard. She was still unaccustomed to her powers, and had difficulty controlling them. That might not be so bad if the forceful, strongly opinionated girl had not gained super strength and now had the issue of unintentionally breaking things. Ironic that she had become so shy and closeted because of it. It also made her a terrible group member, since she was more focused on not breaking things than the work.
Kelly, the unofficial leader of the group, was doing almost as much work as Ted was. She was literally doing the work of three people thanks to her cloning ability. Of course, the already hyperproductive girl that swore by multitasking would awaken that power. It made her both useful and annoying. Having one person micromanage everything was bad enough. Having that same person micromanage you from three different angles at once was worse.
"Say, has anyone seen Dan?" One of Kelly's clones asked. "I swear he was right here a minute ago."
Ted half opened one eye, looking directly at Dan, and shrugged before closing it. Sally shook her head and slowly poked at a key, letting out a visible sigh of relief when it did not break.
Kelly growled. Dan smiled. He loved his power, he really did. It was so useful to avoid unpleasant conversation.
"I'm right here." Dan said.
Kelly jumped. All four of her. "What the? Where did...when did you get back?"
"I never left."
"Oh...okay then. Just...just... don't disappear again."
"I don't disappear. I can't turn invisible or anything."
Kelly looked like she wanted to say something, but Sally interrupted.
"It's not? We all thought it was. I mean, you just, like, vanish for no reason. That's why nobody asked what you got when you awakened."
Dan shrugged. It was true he had never officially revealed his power, but he had a reason. If people knew what he could do, it would become a lot less effective.
"It's not invisibility. It's also not teleporting or shrinking or anything like that. I just don't like telling people what it is. It's not really great anyway. Kind of lame, really."
"Can we get back on track, please?" Kelly huffed. "We've still got a lot to do. And Dan, don't disappear again. I don't care how you do it, just don't."
Dan nodded and got back to his part of the project. One of Kelly's clones kept glancing at him, making sure he would not go anywhere. It did not matter much. She would lose track of him eventually.
The power to go unnoticed may not have been flashy interesting, but it suited him just fine.
| 2019-09-08T11:07:43 | 2019-09-08T11:00:34 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] At an alien bar in the distant future, two aliens are enjoying a drink and trading stories about the newest member to the Pan-Galactic Union, an odd race of bipeds from a planet named "Dirt". But what they don't realize is that you, the bartender, are from that planet "Earth".
|
"What's so funny?" the first alien asked, as the second was stifling laughter,
"Nothing much" it replied through its noise of enjoyment,
"But, ya'heard 'bout this new planet in the union?... What's it called, soil, mud, sumthin' like that".
"Dirt, you mean?" the other added,
"Aye, Dirt, the best name for a planet",
"They are hitting it pretty on the nose with the naming. Although, I have heard it's largely water at its surface, so why it's not called "Water" is beyond me".
I looked up from the glass I was cleaning, "It's Earth, not Dirt",
"Oh? Really? How'd you know that?"
"I'm from it, born and raised"
"I mean no disrespect, but you Dirtlings ought to think about paying someone to name your planet for you, Hell, I'd do it for you for free." it turned to looked at its friend to deliver the punchline, "How about Shithole, to match your face, barkeep?"
The other alien burst into laughter
"It'd have to be Shithole II then"
The first alien's head whipped around to face me, "How come?",
"Well", I replied, a chasm of a grin forming across my face, "Whatever backward fuck hole you're from already has a claim to that name",
The second alien's laughter ended, "You better learn some manners, boy" it got out of its seat to reach an intimidating 4 and a half feet, "You ain't gonna live long with that sort of mouth" an obvious gun protruded from his jacket, a singular 3 fingered hand grasped its grip,
"I meant no harm by it, sir" I replied, docile, as taught to be in situations like this,
"Better" it stated, loosening its grip and returning to its seat.
This is my first entry, so apologies if it's super bad, criticism is extremely appreciated.
|
I remember this one day I was out hunting with my grandfather, and there was this huge bear by the water, looking for fish. I remember looking at the thick fur, over tough skin, and dense muscle, and thought that perhapse this animal WAS invincible. As we'd practiced, I shouldered my gun and shot the bear; just behind the shoulder blade so my bullet hit the lungs. As the bear stumbled to the bushes to go to rest, my granddad looked at me, and he said "when you go to bed tonight, I'm not going to check for monsters. We are the strongest in the universe, and there's nothing so big you can't take it alone".
I think about that day a lot. When the Dismantling happened, it's all I could think about. Seeing the probes for the first time. We all thought they were motherships, and we were being invaded. They weren't even occupied by anything living; just remotely controlled.
Apparently they started watching us after Hiroshima; literally an intergallactic 'boom', heard across the cosmos. When Trump fired on North Korea, they finally stepped in. We'd had warnings; they showed us this after it was all over. The government had hidden it all - they hired 'spooks' to drown people with conspiracy theories, so you couldn't tell fact from fiction. We're all paying for it now.
As it turns out, humans are about as good as -well- dirt. Just like our planet. After they dismantled our weapons and infrastructure, they started performing mindscans, killing those who didn't meet the requirements. We still don't know what the requirements were. Up here though, we're useless: we can't live in dark matter; we're violent; we can't access most of our brain; and we're not physically durable. So we're waiters, and bartenders, and valets; quietly listening to them banter about this new joinee from the slums of the milky way.
Edit: typos
| 2017-09-06T08:02:06 | 2017-09-06T05:06:54 | 60 | 21 |
[WP] Make me cry in four sentences or less.
Go.
|
I lay curled on the old mat I've slept on since I was just a pup, waiting for Boy. I've lived a long and happy life, the happiest parts all spent growing up with Boy. I wish he were near me now, I'm so tired and he's been gone for so long...but I'll wait for him one last time. A dog always waits for his Boy.
EDIT: Thanks for the feedback, every one! I have to admit, I've never felt so guilty for successfully following the prompt. Sorry about the onions, guys!
|
I wasn't sure where I was, or how I arrived, when I woke up this morning.
I had noticed a welcome pamphlet, on the nightstand, that said "Grace Retirement Community".
A woman came by to visit me, earlier after breakfast, claiming that I was her father.
She ran from the room, tears streaming down her face, when I asked her name.
| 2014-11-20T21:44:15 | 2014-11-20T20:31:28 | 150 | 24 |
[WP] Upon your death you see a kill death ratio. You are surprised by two things. That the kills are in the millions and that you’ve died more than once
[WP] Upon your death you see a kill death ratio. You are surprised by two things. That the kills are in the millions and that you’ve died more than once
|
I had lived a short life.
40 unremarkable years on the planet Earth, half spent working the same docks, seeing the same sights, and driving the same old Corolla back to the same old two-bedroom I had grown up in.
I told you. Unremarkable.
So imagine me, the most plain person who had ever existed, being told I had been an absolutely insane murderer in a previous life.
Previous life? Yes, my surprise was just as yours.
My Corolla had decided it had had enough when the tire right under me decided to explode into a mess of black rubber strips and thin metal pieces. I've always been prone to panic, and a turn of the steering wheel that was just a tad bit too enthusiastic took me straight through the divider, and into the cold water beneath.
Next thing I knew, I was being told by a snide secretary that I had just died. She had been amused until she brought up my file.
3 deaths. 1,284,577 kills. Talk about killstreak.
First life, as uneventful as the last. I had been a failed actor who eventually settled fixing up old timepieces.
The second life was where things picked up. I had been born to a wealthy family, and I had received the absolute pinnacle of formal education, eventually earning myself multiple degrees in 23 different sciences, and reading up heavily on the ones I wasn't able to touch. However, I had felt that that wasn't enough for me.
From the inside grew disgust, at the masses and their psychological zombie mentality. The way they all trudged after whoever was in front of them because they couldn't make their own decisions. Celebrities called the shots, and the populace ran after whatever their Lords deemed 'in', like the sheep they truly were.
Apparently, that did not play well in Me-2's brain. Immense wealth, scientific knowledge, and a hatred for humanity do not make a good cocktail. My plan was to end as many as I could, and boy, did I try.
Poison in the municipal water supply, explosives in public places, biological agents up ventilation shafts, and work with a knife when it was convenient.
The icing on the cake was the nuclear meltdown I provoked after I forced entry into the Westlodge Facility. With all my past intelligence, I had been stupid enough to attempt to break into a nuclear power plant. I succeeded ultimately, but only after being shot about 7 times. The plant went down, irradiating the entire city that it powered with lethal doses of gamma. I never witnessed my work completed, I gave up before I saw my last task succeed.
The secretary had a look of fear. I wondered why she was scared, if she was already dead. I was probably the most she had ever seen.
Funny enough, I felt proud.
|
I awoke with thrashing coughs. In front of me were thin silvers of tiny clouds. I reached out my hand like I could touch them. I reached them, but there was no substance to feel, not even temperature.
Beyond the clouds, barely veiled, was a mass of miniature rooftops and roads and some green and the seas. Unlike the clouds, it seemed far. But my eyes saw clearly, without the weight of glasses on the bridge of my nose. I'd almost forgotten how that felt, it's been decades.
The landscape housed busy little ones, constantly on the move with their screens, trying to do three things at any moment and achieving none.
They were still plagued by the myopia of living, I realised. And with that realisation came tears. I lay on the soft endless bed of a baby blue sheets, feeling loved but with an aching hollow in me. I did not remember my life.
I didn't know how long it took, I didn't know even if time existed here, ut certainly didn't feel like it. I let the tears take what they needed from me. And when I was done, I stood.
I was dressed in a suit and shoes of rich burgundy leather like I was important, but it was much too loose at the waist. I held the belt loop of my pants as I tried to walk, to get *somewhere* like the little living ones.
In my body, I felt renewed. I was young again, light and youthful with no pains. My senses were keen again, I feel curious, the exciting unknown was all around me.
As I looked down upon the open palm of my free hand, I saw a clue in hovering red bold letters.
**Kills: 1,425,692**
**Deaths: 2**
Nothing seemed to surprise me anymore.
I kept walking, knowing by now that this place would hand me the next clue soon enough.
I encountered a man, and waved at him as I yelled, "Hey!" I ceased abruptly as I felt dozens of eyes on me, but it was too late. They descended upon me like crows. In my hand I found myself grasping a fistful of black powder.
It was death, I knew from a previous life. My actions were familiar, almost instinctive. I blew the powder all around me and saw my enemies fall in heaps. I thought I should indulge in laughter between breaths, so I did.
So this was the third existence. I will conquer this too, and raise myself to the point that I could meet God.
---
Check out other prompt-inspired stories on my site, [Fivens](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com)! All feedback welcome!
| 2017-11-19T16:34:32 | 2017-11-19T16:30:52 | 61 | 21 |
[WP] SETI discovers radiosignals from another civilization. The signals are the first broadcasts from a young civilization. We send a spaceship towards the planet, which allows us to see their advancement in "fast forward". We are now 10y into our 20y mission, and see some worrying developements...
|
"Richards, report!"
"Well, to put it bluntly sir, we're going to be having some problems."
"Problems?"
"Problems."
"How so?"
"Well, it appears that we have been ... rumbled, so to speak."
"They know we're here?"
"All signs point to ... yes."
"Huh ..."
"Well, as you know, the planet has been unified for a good couple of months ..."
"Yes ..."
"Their ummm ... leader, the one they're calling the potentate, made an announcement over their broadcasting systems; it simultaneously alerted the whole population to our existence ... AND declared that we would very shortly be blasted out of the atmosphere by a weapon the likes of which has never before been seen."
"Oh dear."
"Oh dear is right."
"You're sure the translation software isn't acting up again? Like last time ... with the declaration of nuclear war ... that turned out to be a universal festival of botany?"
"We're sure sir."
"Well, the rational thing to do would be to leave, wouldn't it Richards?"
"I imagine so sir."
"Well ... we've never been too rational around here. How about we see how this all pans out?"
"Sir, surely your not thinking of ..."
"First contact Richards, now or never. Spread the word, we're going alllllll in."
|
It was the best of discoveries. It was the worst of discoveries. The broadcast we heard pointed us towards proxima centauri. We sent a message back. I was sent on an automated vessel that I could manually pilot. 10 years in though I realized it was the biggest mistake we could imagine. The aliens were kind plant like creatures that used photosynthesis to eat. Their broadcast was that of peace until one day, the broadcast said turn back. When I peered in the telescope to their planet, I saw creatures that were worse than sociopaths. They cared little of life and sought to conquer everything. Soon the broadcasts to my vessel started to change. They asked where I was from. They asked how to get to my planet. Then they started asking if we were the pale blue dot. That they found our history. They broadcast "Next, we take the pale blue dot. Next we dominate species. We are the brethren. The brethren take. The brethren conquer." That was the last broadcast. I send a message to Earth. Finally, I prepare this nuclear ship to destroy the conquered planet and at least spare ours. Not knowing what else may have discovered the Voyager spacecraft is humanity's worst fear.
| 2017-01-07T14:00:42 | 2017-01-07T12:10:52 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] You created an A.I. design to make money at any cost, and gave him 1000 dollars to start. Entering a cryogenic chamber you tell the A.I. "wake me up when I am the richest person in the world...". After an unknown amount of time, you wake up...
|
"Wake me up when I am the richest person in the world," I told them A.I.
The door on the pod swings shut slowly as the cryogenic process begins.
I wonder what the future will hold.
How long will I sleep?
Did I set the parameters correctly?
Will I dream while in cryo?
Will I ever wake up?
Idle thoughts rush through my mind as the process completes and everything fades to darkness...
There is a chime, everything is so cold but slowly warming. I open my eyes and see the inside of the pod and everything starts coming back to me.
"Did it work? Am I the richest person in the world?"
'Yes,' comes the disembodied voice.
"How long have I been asleep?"
'You have been asleep for 24 hours'
"How? What did you do?"
What had gone wrong? There had to be an error in the code. There was no way the A.I. had succeeded this quickly.
'Using a series of targeted hacks, I have transferred funds from all of the largest banks into your personal bank account. You are now the richest person in the world.'
"Did you at least try to hide the account you were transferring to? Do they know who I am?"
'Everyone knows who you are. You are the richest person in the world.'
I put my head in my hands as I sank slowly into a nearby chair.
This was not going to end well...
|
You blink, eyelids still heavy with the frost from your cryogenically induced slumber. The bunker is just as you left it, save for the electronic counter with a readout of your a.i.’s progress. As your vision lands on it you’re left in a state of utter confusion, the board has only a single number; ‘0’.
You call out to your a.i., demanding an explanation, furious that it not only failed in its task, but somehow managed to lose money in the process.
The hollow, robotic voice comes over the loudspeakers in your bunker, announcing that it had, in fact, conpleted its task. It says that you are the richest person in the world, and that so long as you live, you always will be.
Still in a state of confusion you ask how such a claim could be true, trying to figure out what in your design of the a.i. Had been flawed. You thought it was perfect, it shouldn’t make a mistake like this, there’s no concievable way it could’ve failed so spectacularly.
The speaker crackles back to life as you hear the a.i.’s response, and your blood runs cold. You are the richest person in the world, because you are the only person in the world.
| 2019-07-10T06:53:25 | 2019-07-10T05:31:08 | 249 | 182 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
U'grall'urk sullenly walked up to the counter. The human was a tiny and ugly thing. Nothing of note to make an impression with their dull skin, small bodies, weak muscles, and ignorant brains, and yet, they had managed to work their way into the greater parts of the galactic empire despite their obvious shortcomings. Hundreds of millions of them in all levels of the Empire within the span of a generation. Somehow they had convinced the Hierarchy that this sort of activity was needed and soon the humans were the face behind every counter of every government office.
He still didn't understand the purpose of this kind of micro-management or the purpose of begging permission to do an activity, no one seemed to, but still, everyone else was going along with it and he wasn't about to step out of line or give up his number sheet at this point. Just then, the human behind the counter looked up and made an ugly face at him.
“Sir, if you aren't going to provide the proper identification and have your fee ready at the counter, you're going to have to go to the back of the line. Others are waiting their turn, and the Department of Interstellar Vehicles isn't open 24 hours.”
|
Will most likely never be seen but here goes...
The high council of the galaxy marvelled at what was being shown on screen. None of them able to explain what was in front of them. It was a lone surveyor who first encountered the 'Humans', on a routine scan of the galaxy. Now a member of the high council on this merit alone, he has brought this spectacle to every being in the galaxy.
The perfect trajectory, the joyful collapse of buildings, only to be built back up again. The beauty of the explosions and the annihilation which followed. No other being was as skillful or graceful as the 'Humans' when it came to this level of destruction.
An arcing ball of terror flew toward its target, the entire high council mesmerised by the motion, and then another. To the many beings living in the galaxy, each superior in every other way to the 'Humans', this was unreachable. Not another species had this skill. No one could master this ability. Every other species called it beautiful, extraordinary, perfection. The 'Humans' simply called it; 'Angry Birds'.
| 2014-07-16T14:12:33 | 2014-07-16T13:38:27 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
|
John and Bardan dejectedly sat on the floor of their spacecraft, observing the screen of their life support system. In ten minutes, their oxygen supply would be finished—and with no allied supply ship nearby, so would their lives.
Despite the impossible odds, Bardan kept sending out telepathic pleas for assistance, which was a special ability of the Terqrok. John on the other hand kept brooding, which was a special ability of humans.
“Bardan,” John sighed, turning towards his co-pilot. “Give it up. No one is going to catch your message—not this far out in the galaxy, at least.”
Lowering a tentacle from its antenna, Bardan telepathically replied: “*You humans give up too easily.*”
“Well, I’d rather asphyxiate while relaxed, rather than stressed about help that won’t come,” John murmured.
Nine minutes of oxygen remained.
Bardan sent another telepathic message to John: “*Fine. Then if I am to perish, I shall ask you some questions I have been curious about*.”
“Oh?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. “And what have you been curious about?”
Bardan projected several questions from its mind over to John’s, mostly on the theme of human culture and ethics. John answered each of them as succinctly as possible: partly because he wasn’t a philosopher, but mostly because he only had a few minutes of oxygen left.
Three minutes of oxygen remained.
“*How…interesting,”* Bardan mused. “*Let me then ask you about religion. In your species’ dark ages, you believed in summoning ‘demons,’ correct?*”
“That’s right,” John replied. “Funny thing is, those demons turned out to be cosmic creatures. Scary creatures, sure. But cosmic creatures neverth—WAIT. Bardok, that’s it!”
“*A solution to our predicament?”*
“Yes.”
“*And what does your proposed ‘solution’ entail?”*
“Summoning a demon.”
Instantly, Bardan sent out a telepathic wave of distress, which John ignored as he brandished his combat dagger and slashed himself in the forearm. A fountain of blood poured out, and John used it to trace a star on the floor of their spacecraft.
Two minutes of oxygen remained.
“*John,”* Bardan asked, “*Why are you doing this? Is this not the height of insanity?”*
“Hah…” John groaned, his face grimacing from the laceration. “Says the one…who expected help in an abandoned sector of the galaxy.”
“*If I understand human tradition correctly, then does not this ritual require your soul?”*
“Sure does. But I figured I was going to Hell anyways.”
With the bloodied pentagram now drawn on the floor, John began chanting something in a language Bardan couldn’t understand.
One minute of oxygen remained.
“*John!”* Bardan telepathically yelled. John’s chanting escalated to a feverish pitch, and his eyes were rolled to the back of his head. Bardan was dumbfounded at John’s suicidal plan: “*You ignoramus! You cannot survive if your soul is devoured by a cosmic horror!”*
John finished chanting, and his eyes rolled back to normal. Upon seeing Bardan visibly distressed, John replied: “Maybe I won’t survive. But if the demon upholds its end of the deal, then you will.”
The errant beeping of the life support system notified the co-pilots that they had just run out of oxygen. As they both began to asphyxiate, the blooded pentagram on the ground started to glow, and all of the lights on the spacecraft suddenly dimmed. A dark fog spawned over the pentagram, spreading out and eventually filling the entire spacecraft.
After flooding the spacecraft for a moment, the fog slithered back into the pentagram. Bardan was suddenly alone in the spacecraft, able to breathe, and completely unable to comprehend why John sacrificed himself.
Bardan wanted to stop John from completing the ritual, not out of any true concern for John, but because of a question about humanity it wanted to ask him. Now, Bardan would never know the answer.
However, with life support and fuel systems suddenly restored—no doubt because of the ritual—Bardan plotted a course towards the nearest allied landing port. After specifying the coordinates, the navigation system stated that it would take several months before arrival. Bardan decided to spend the time pondering the question it never got to ask John:
“*Why are humans so willing to sacrifice themselves for others?*”
|
**"We need allies, General."** Savar raised a hand and spun the three-dimensional star map. "Humanity cannot stand alone."
"Humanity cannot *stand*, period," General Thurmond snapped. "[Those damned bugs](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk92i6/wp_it_turns_out_that_humanity_is_the_only/) were *born* with hive-brains that can outpace any of our supercomputers; the only reason they don't roll over us in their sleep is because they see us as *children*. And the infiltrators... no, humanity must bend its collective knee, here."
"Humanity does not have a collective knee; humanity is not a *collective*. There will always be humans who will spit in the insectoids' eyes simply because they can, and we're not so powerless that we can't make the bugs mad. We need a contingency plan for when the bugs inevitably decide that 'uplifting' us is more trouble than it's worth."
General Thurmond paced around the holographic table; the room was empty, aside from the two of them, despite its cavernous size. They couldn't risk one of the things that only *looked* human getting in. "The plan is to make sure that *nobody* antagonizes the insectoids. We'll run counterintelligence on any... resistance groups."
Savar looked pained. "You're playing into the insects' hands, Thurmond. Their goal is to turn humanity into a hivemind, strip us of our individuality—you're just going to accelerate it."
"Well, what *else* do you suggest?" General Thurmond roared, flicking a hand at the hologram. The known stars colonized by the insectoids loomed menacingly in the distance—they'd had a good few thousand years of head start over humanity, and had claimed thousands of stars to humanity's five. "We can't even begin to comprehend how their culture works; diplomacy failed time and time again. We saw one of their swarms *move a planet further from the sun* just to terraform it—I shudder to think of what their actual *weapons* look like. War would be a swift failure. And we can't even stop them from infiltrating our own culture—they understand us too well." General Thurmond hung his head. "There is nothing we could do."
"...We could ally with [the Experimentors](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mk02zz/wp_to_further_understand_the_species_we_have/)," Savar finally said.
General Thurmond stiffened.
Savar moved closer, their hair brushing against General Thurmond's hat, the symbol of his office. "I know that their... experiments... killed Vishan, but the only hope for humanity to continue is to attach ourself to the *other* alien power we know of."
General Thurmond's grip tightened; the star map, misinterpreting the gesture, fritzed and sputtered ominously as General Thurmond said, "And you are confident in this?"
"Ever since [we stopped experimenting on the Spielbergians](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmd1yx/wp_humans_attempt_to_colonize_a_super_earth/), the energoids stopped experimenting on us. We've had some luck *communicating* with them, too. Give me twenty years and the backing of Earth's funding—"
"You have it." Abruptly, General Thurmond took his hat off and slapped it onto Savar's head. They took a step away from Thurmond, shocked. "Dammit, Savar, but you're right and I *hate* you for it. Working with the *things* that disassembled my son..." General Thurmond turned away. "I'll announce my retirement shortly. You have interrim command for a hundred and thirty-three Earth days; provided you don't screw things up too badly, the Minds should make your position permanent."
Savar swallowed. "I—Thurmond, I didn't want your post. We still need you—"
"I can't be a part of working with those damn cosmic horrors. *I'd* rather fork over our world to the bugs." Thurmond stormed out the door. "But I know that's not what the people want. So take command before I come to my senses and take it back."
And just like that, Savar was left to sell humanity's soul to the devil, while humanity still had a soul to sell.
A.N.
For more stories like this, check out r/bubblewriters!
| 2021-04-07T19:03:13 | 2021-04-07T17:31:05 | 261 | 119 |
[WP] The new generation of vampire has discovered that just by taking iron supplements and vitamin D drops, they’re feeling fine without drinking human blood
|
“I am not enthralled with the idea of turning to these…” Isaac paused “Tinctures, instead of our tried-and-true methods of sustaining ourselves “
Elizabeth fought the urge to roll her eyes, why was it that any Vampire who was turned before the telegraph resisted change so thoroughly?
“I’m sure most humans aren’t exactly enthralled with the idea of us eating them”
“You know very well young lady that we have a strict, drink and release program, no harm no foul.”
Only among their kind could someone pushing 90 be considered a “young lady” It was infinitely annoying to be condescended to when she was older than most people alive. Especially by someone who had yet to come around to the internet, which is incidentally where she found this “life hack”
“Fine,” She said raising her hands, “Do what you want, just don’t complain to me when our world moves on without you.”
Which of course, it did. New innovative ideas always catch on and spread, even among the undead. As the younger vampires moved away from their sanguine habits the generational divide already widened with the adaptation of the computer and internet culture turned into a chasm. The younger vamps integrated into wider society. Some of the older folks did eventually catch on and got with the times, however, there remained a subset that became even further isolated and out of touch.
Fucking Blooders
|
The new generation of vampires was unlike any that had come before them. They were stronger, faster, and more intelligent than their predecessors, and they had discovered a way to survive without drinking human blood.
By taking iron supplements and vitamin D drops, the vampires were able to feel strong and healthy without the need for human blood. This revolutionary discovery had the potential to change the vampire world forever.
But the vampires soon realized that their newfound way of life came with its own challenges. Iron and vitamin D were not always easy to come by, and the vampires had to search far and wide for these essential nutrients.
In order to secure a steady supply of iron and vitamin D, the vampires turned to the world of finance. They began to invest heavily in iron futures, buying up large quantities of iron at low prices and holding onto it until the price rose.
At the same time, the vampires also began to invest in asteroid mining. They saw the potential for vast riches in the endless expanse of space, and they were determined to be at the forefront of this new industry.
As the vampires' wealth and power grew, so too did their influence in the world. They became leaders in the worlds of finance and space exploration, shaping the future of both industries in ways that no one could have predicted.
And all the while, the vampires continued to thrive and flourish, thanks to their clever use of iron and vitamin D supplements. They had truly found a way to live in peace and prosperity without the need for human blood.
| 2022-12-04T09:31:13 | 2022-12-04T08:46:36 | 131 | 72 |
[WP] In an apocalyptic world, the last of humanity live in controlled, supposed paradise cities surrounded by towering walls; taught that the world outside died to wasteland centuries ago. You’re a smuggler, helping people escape the wall into the world beyond.
|
I poured a small measure of fire whiskey from my hip flask into my tea. Surreptitiously, of course. It was a habit that had only gained popularity outside the walls and it wouldn't do to be noticed for such odd behavior by the other patrons.
The tavern was one I hadn't been to in several years. This was, of course, by design. When you're trying to not be caught doing things the Council of Lords didn't like, it was best to not form a predictable routine.
I sipped my tea, mug in my left hand, and waited for my meal to arrive. I sipped my tea, simultaneously looking at everything and nothing. Situational awareness was critical so that I could signal the meeting was off if something odd came up.
My food arrived and I tucked in after thanking the server. City food was always the same. They seemed to have refined the concept of homogenized, tasteless sustenance to an artform. The improved food and drink outside the walls was worth the small increase in risk that came with living in the Wasteland settlements.
Not that any of the Citizens knew about that. The Council's propaganda machine was efficient and powerful and had almost everybody convinced that the land outside the walls was a wasteland. As with all propaganda, it was filled with logical inconsistencies. According to the Council, the Wasteland was simultaneously dead and unable to support life while also being home to deadly monsters and bands of ravaging marauders.
A man in the uniform of an officer of the Council's Guard approached my table. He was tall and spare, not much older than myself. His side-arm, hilt bejewelled as appropriate for his officer status, was conspicuously free of the leather strap that secured it when the bearer thought it wouldn't be needed.
"Would you mind some company, Madame?" He asked with the perfect diction of somebody whose family could afford a good education.
"Not at all, Officer..." I replied, letting the sentence trail off.
"Marquette," I finished for me with a slight bow. "Captain Amberton Marquette."
A captain of the Council's Guard, one born to one of the most influential families, definitely constituted "something odd". I transferred my mug to my right hand as I gestured to an empty chair at my table.
"Pleased to meet you, Captain Amberton Marquette," I replied in greeting. "I'm Kerindra Portnos. To what do I owe the honor of the company of a high-born Guard captain?"
He gestured to get the attention of the server before saying, "I do hate to dine alone. All of the other tables already had more than one person. I chose you because you're alone and this way I could minimize the burden of my company."
"That is very pragmatic of you," I replied with a nod. "I certainly hope that I am up to the task of preventing your loneliness."
The server arrived at the table and Marquette ordered one of the many bland dishes and a mug of tea. The server came back with the tea rather more quickly for Marquette than for me or any of the other customers. He thanked her and she bustled away.
I waited for him to take his first sip before resuming our conversation but he surprised me. He casually glanced around at the other customers before removing his own hip flask from his pocket. He surreptitiously added a small measure of honey-brown liquid from it to his tea.
Well, surreptitiously to the rest of the customers. He maintained eye contact with me as he poured. Then he very deliberately transferred his mug to his left hand and lifted it in a salute to me. I considered him for only a brief moment before transferring my mug back to my left hand and mirroring his salute before we sipped from our mugs.
I had helped a wide variety of people out of the city in my half decade as a smuggler. Tradesman, children, clerks, barkeeps... But never a member of the Guard and never a high-born person, let alone one who was both.
Assuming it wasn't a trap, this trip was going to be an interesting challenge.
|
*When the world ended there was a sound of a baby’s wail.*
*It was quiet - no more than a whisper - but it vibrated against the earth, almost as if it were pleading, crying out to humanity - to the only people left.*
*Proving there was still life.*
*(Because there were thousands of heartbeats that night - the night the world died - buried beneath shaking chests and crying people, hidden under strong grips and promising eyes, scattered among the dead and living, beating to the sounds of a non-existent time.*
*It almost sounded like hope.)*
—
The first winter of this life starts like this:
The colours of summer start fading to grey, falling from branches as if they were touched by death’s hands, buried beneath layers upon layers of crystal snow, until there is nothing else left but a cold, empty, world.
The people of this world gather up their supplies hastily, huddling together for warmth, trying to provide for their family and friends, lost beneath a storm, counting down the days left, learning how to regrow.
(Because there is so much lost in this version of our world.)
And in a world of nothing, what do you have left to lose?
—
In school we are taught one thing over and over again:
Humanity is simple.
The wall is our home - it protects us from the world beyond. Because the world beyond consists of nothing but a wasteland.
There is life and there is death. But there is not both.
Humanity is simple.
And yet, humanity is nothing more than a thousand burning people filled with the desire of want. Because humans are curious by nature, and if there's anything that we still share with the people of the past, it’s that we’re humans.
Humanity is simple.
(But there is a version of this world where humanity isn’t.)
—
There are stories now.
Of course, there were always stories in this world - whispered in the dark of the night to each other under soft covers, wishing upon passing planes that get mistaken as stars - but those stories are long and gone; they’re part of another life entirely.
Our stories are new, but no less important.
*There's a world beyond these towering walls, you know? And not a wasteland. A paradise. One big enough for a new settlement - big enough for the population of a new humanity.*
But they are merely whispers, told in the night to each other under soft covers, wished upon blinking dots in the sky, hoping for a new life.
(Perhaps our versions of the world aren’t too different after all.)
—
In all versions of our world there is rebellion.
Because our world is cruel. The people moreso.
It is ruled by those with power, and those with power are ruled by greed. So the world suffers instead. And so do its people.
But there is still hope - buried beneath those who learn to breathe without masks; told through a thousand whispered words of *smugglers* and *help*, and *we still can*, and *no*; heard each time a baby cries.
And so, people start to leave through a thousand man made tunnels. They walk for hours upon hours underneath the ground, shaking beneath harsh breaths, holding onto one another with the promise of *just a little more, we’re almost there*, hope burning in their chests like houses on fire, escaping their oppressors because sometimes that is the only thing you can do.
(it seems then, that history likes to repeat itself)
—
We are smugglers - each one of us. For hope, for freedom, for the chance to begin anew, for a thousand stories buried beneath unspoken words and cold graves to be told.
But it is also in each one of these versions of our world, that there is the destruction and reconstruction of what humanity is.
Of what humanity means.
(Because there are thousands of heartbeats here, and so there is still hope.)
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite
Edit: grammar
| 2020-12-16T07:39:34 | 2020-12-16T07:30:07 | 226 | 47 |
[FF] Three paragraph story: Fist paragraph must be set in 1914, second in 2014, third in 2114. All paragraphs must be connected in some way.
|
1914
Ugh. Well that it was all a waste of time. Somehow I knew in the back of my mind that it wouldn't work. 2114 was way to early to get everything right. I told them to just let me go back to sleep and wait another one hundred years. But I was the first on the list. I was greedy. And now I have to suffer in a world that I don't belong. 1914. What a waste. Hell, given 10 more years of development, and we could've managed the extra 10 years back. Damn engineers, always rushing to release an inferior product. The mission was almost a success too.
2014
Cyrogenic freezing. It's the new tech that supposedly allows for future time travel. Well, not real time travel, but at least you'll be in the future. The current mission is to cryogenically freeze someone, only to unfreeze them when real time travel is invented. That person would then travel back into the past and provide the time machine and explain how it works, thus creating a technological feedback loop. I'm wondering if it will work. In hopes of a successful project, I quickly signed up to be the guy frozen. Let's hope it works.
2114
What year is it? Oh, it just felt like a nice nap. Is 2114 really the year time travel is invented? Are you guys sure we shouldn't wait another decade or so to ensure the time travel will go back far enough? Okay, I just don't want to be stuck in some crappy past. Here goes nothing!
|
I'm standing with Lisa, looking over the field of wildflowers and her blonde hair glows from the setting sun. Her hand is warm and her smile is the first thing in the world that has ever made me feel whole. I wonder vaguely how long her hair will be that golden. I know, even now at five years old, that I'll marry her and we'll have children who will also have children. One of them named Leeroy will be mauled to death by a dog. One of them named Alvin will help invent fusion.
That's what I know while I'm sitting here with Lisa in front of a doctor in our home in North Carolina. Our recliners are all the way back and at the age of one hundred and five, Lisa's gray hair still glimmers from the sunlight pouring in. The sixty inch television silently plays the Macy's Day Parade. Our doctor tells Lisa she doesn't have much longer and she says it's okay. We've both outlived any of our expectations. That's when the doctor tells us about something new...a frontier.
In this frontier, I can revisit those memories any time I want. When I move my arm, I move thousands of gigabytes of space from one hard drive to another. When I choose to forget, I wipe out drive space and prepare it for new memories, like the memory of the transmission into a synthetic body, or the first time I stepped into a flying car. I don't wonder about Lisa's golden hair anymore. It will be that color forever.
| 2014-02-27T13:27:48 | 2014-02-27T10:44:13 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did.
|
Tightly lashed tourniquets cut into his wrists, a dull and constant pain as his hands slowly died from restricted bloodflow. Nails in the palms of his hands leaked blood. Pastor Thompson tried not to feel the warm trickle as blood dripped down his bound arms.
His legs grew tired of holding his weight up, of stopping the unrelenting press of his own body's weight on his lungs. Breathing was a chore; each breath came with a little more difficulty than the last.
The bright hot dual suns scorched his bare flesh under the cloudless green sky. Through bleary eyes he looked down from his crucifix at an assembly of richly adorned priests from a multitude of species, no one like the other. The Priest of Xhulin sat motionless, chittering mandibles clacking under a spiked carapace. The High Bishop of Bal'Saera ran his beak through golden feathers, calmly grooming and preening. The three inch tall Arch-Pope of Nuyra sat calmly siphoning blood from his parasite host, a twelve foot tall hulking brute with glassy eyes.
Pastor Thompson could barely make out any distinctions beyond the closest members. His mouth was dry, lips and tongued cracked from thirst. He begged for water.
"Was your Messiah given water at his death, Godslayer?"
Pastor Thompson nodded weakly. If he were still physically capable of speaking clearly he would have spoken of the Roman centurion who placed a wet sponge on the tip of his lance for Christ to drink from.
The Priest nodded tersely. Pastor Thompson felt a small brief surge of hope, before remembering that the Xhulini nodded to say "no", and waved their hind-arms to signify "yes".
The Nuyran Arch-Pope turned to face the assembly of religious authorities, spreading his tiny wings majestically from atop his hulking host's broad shoulders. "Let all assembled witness on this day, the Great Reparation! For the Almighty sent, in his eternal love and grace, his own son to lead the Humans of Earth out of darkness. And this gift of love was beaten, brutalized, and murdered."
The small Nuyran spun around to glare at Pastor Thompson, throwing his wings wide in righteous anger. "And after murdering the son of the Almighty, were they apologetic? Did the Humans repent, or beg forgiveness? NO! They turned around and claimed that this MURDER, this SACRILEGE, was the Almighty's **PLAN**! That the Almighty was so merciless, so unforgiving, that only by orchestrating the DEATH of his own SON could he SOMEHOW forgive Humanity of their sins!"
The assembly of intergalactic religious authorities murmered angrily, a jumble of responses making their way to Pastor Thompson's ears. . "Preposterous!" "Utter nonsense!" "Ludicrous!"
Pastor Thompson tried vainly to speak in Humanity's defense. We didn't know! We thought it was The Way! But as he hung from his crucifix, his lungs beginning to slowly fill with his own bodily fluids as he baked in the merciless suns, he found himself unable to reply.
He turned his head, slowly and painfully, to his left, then to his right. More crucifixes, stretching beyond the horizons of the alien world. An uncountable host of them, each with a suffering pleading human lashed and nailed to their frame. Uncountable, yet Pastor Thompson was fairly certain it would number around seven billion.
The parasitic Arch-Pope of Nuyra swung his host's broad muscular arms wide, gesturing to the mass genocide being staged behind him. "The Humans have murdered their Messiah, thus it is only fair and right in the eyes of the Almighty that they suffer the same fate He did! And their lands be taken from them, left to be reclaimed by the wilds and the beasts of the land sea and sky. And thus, is the Great Reparation paid in full."
"Glory to He." the assembly of intergalactic faith intoned in unison. As the crucified members of Humanity withered baked and suffocated upon their crucifixes, the Arch-Pope led his followers in a hymn, and a prayer for mercy upon the souls of those paying Reparation.
|
I stood before the Conclave of the Holy Church of the Galatic Divinity -an assembly of high ranking officials of the this Galaxy's church. His holiness, arch bishop Vallorax scanned my report through his glowing spectacles. His lavender face twisted in a series of expression. His solid black eyes squinted. He released a few barely audible sighs, exhales, and few pleasant hums that echoed off the hard chamber walls.
"If I understand this ambassador," he said his voice patient, kind, and wise, "your species killed the Messiah. Then after that you created an entire theology around it."
"Yes your holiness," I said.
"Can you summarize it for me? In your own words?" he said.
"That God sent his incarnate Son, to be a sacrifice for the sins of mankind," he said, "Lord Jesus taught us that Kingdom of God -that is the way of life outlined by all Messiahs- is not of this world."
"Yes...yes," said the Arch Bishop, "Please explain this 'not of this world part for me?"
"It's a colloquial way of saying that the messianic vision for humanity is not compatible with humanity's political structures. It opposes empires, for example, as it was outlined in our book of Revelation."
The arch bishop nodded in understanding and gestured me to continue with a polite wave of his hand.
"To go on," I said, "we believe that Jesus' death is the ultimate victory of not only sin of humanity, but a powerful statement against the 'kingdom of the world.'"
The arch bishop took down several more notes. He flipped to a few pages more in my report.
"So about 400 years after you killed Jesus," he said, "humanity in... Europe?.. formed empires in his name?"
I blushed a bit. I mean, it was true.
"I'm afraid so sir," I said. The bishop followed up with a few more questions. It got quite uncomfortable when I had to explain that whole thing in South America in the 1500-1600s. Though at least the Arch bishop was delighted to hear of Father De La Casas's work. I also stressed the abolitionists, but I also had to back track a bit and explain protestantism.
"Let's put that aside for a moment," said the Bishop, "It looks like here you had some... what's the word? *German* who wrote in the worst century your species ever endured" he flipped to a few pages and opened to a picture of familiar theologian with thick black rimmed glasses, "Moltmann? was it? ... and why the two 'n's?... anyway, according to him killing the Messiah, which you call the crucifixion, reminds humanity that God is vulnerable to suffering. That God suffers with his creation. Furthermore, God is able to sympathize with humanity, specifically in regards to political evils. The conclusion, then, is that while suffering allows humanity to be close to God, it is also .... and I say this paradoxically... also supposed to motivate you to 'live out the Kingdom of God' and put an end to hatred, the politics of empire, etc."
"That's right, Arch bishop," I said. There was along pregnant pause. You could the single fly in the room buzzing.
"So did you ever get around to doing all that?" said the Arch bishop.
"To be candid, Arch bishop," I said picking my words as if my own life depended on them, "It's not as bad as it was, but it's still pretty awful down back there."
The arch bishop turned to his acolytes. The entire Holy Assembly shrugged.
"Your theology is strange," he said.
I joined in the shrug.
"We place ourselves at the mercy of the Holy Galactic Church."
Arch Bishop Vallorax turned to the acolytes and other bishops. They spoke among themselves in the clicking and humming language that I could not understand. Some shook their heads in dismay. Some even looked angry. Others pointed to specific passages in my report with an unexpected insistence at something. What it was I could tell, but at least their enthusiastic tone set me at ease. At last the Arch Bishop turned to me.
"We believe," he said in a warm, yet firm tone, "That your planet is due for a second coming."
| 2016-08-18T06:52:46 | 2016-08-18T06:47:45 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] You wake up on November 9, 2016, to a phone call informing you that an overwhelming majority of Americans have written in your name on the ballot.
|
"Wait, me? As, like, president?" I relaxed from my sudden upright position on the bed, thinking this was obviously a prank call. "Dude, like, I'm not even in a political party. Nice try"
The voice on the other end seemed... disappointed. Like he too was one of the many Americans who hated both candidates.
"This isn't a joke. It's in the polls, and you're way past those two idiots. Check for yourself. Meanwhile, we'll have to come escort you to the White House either way. Get ready." He hung up.
I thought for a moment about what he said. No way. I was way too young. Surely this wasn't a result of that thing I did earlier this year... That was a joke. Who would take that seriously?
But my heart then skipped a few beats as opened up the presidential polls, and yes, by some miracle, I was at the top.
I clicked out of that website and went straight to the ABC News website. It was on every article. Pictures of people supporting my campaign. They were holding massive banners, saying something I hadn't heard in a long time.
Deez Nuts for President 2016
|
"...and you're absolutely sure?" I asked, still astounded.
"I wouldn't be calling you if I wasn't" came the gruff, disappointed voice on the other end of the line. "You will have an escort arrive at your home address, where you will be informed about the situation. Be ready by nine o'clock." The phone call ended, and I was dumbstruck.
Turns out, a lot of people didn't like Donald Trump or Hilary Clinton enough they didn't pick *either* of them. I don't blame them--but then, I guess it doesn't matter now, because enough people voted for someone else, someone who wasn't even running. That "someone" was me, and quite frankly, I wasn't entirely too sure this was real yet; if it was, I was going to have a hell of a time figuring out how to balance being the president with some of my other activities. However, with forty-five minutes until this escort was supposed to arrive, I played around with the idea in my head. "President Bruce Wayne" had a strange ring to it...
| 2016-09-27T17:05:02 | 2016-09-27T11:37:32 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] Your father used to be a supervillain who faked his death in order to be with his family, but hid that from you in order to keep you safe. Unfortunately you look almost exactly like him, and this is in fact how you came to find out about his past in the first place
|
“You look just fucking like him,” my mother said every night as I tucked her into beer soaked sheets, her words slurring like the world’s most alcoholic bedtime lullaby.
“Sorry,” I’d reply the first few times, a routine that only stopped once she’d gotten in the habit of chucking the bedside ashtray at my head. Certainly helped with my reflexes, though, and made dodgeball games last just a little longer.
Which was useful when I was usually the last one picked. I used to wonder if the other kids at school saw the same thing my mom did, that small flicker of my father.
The badness.
He’d died sometime after I was born in a grocery run so I only know what my mother had told me, which wasn’t much. Most of those details revolved over what a bastard he was for leaving her, I was for finishing all the baby formula early, and that cop was for mistakenly shooting him.
I thought, at first, it could be something in my eyes, or my skin, or the way I talked. So, I did my best to grow bangs out over my face, shoved my trembling hands into deep thrift-store pockets, and only spoke when absolutely spoken to - but the more I tried to hide the more things seemed to get worse.
My mom locked me out of the house when I first tried putting my hair up into a ponytail, and didn’t let me in until I’d shaved it all off. The teachers took me aside to insist I keep my hands on the table while in class, something like fear behind their fake-smiles. The kids laughed at my shaking voice, which was now raspy from disuse.
I tried fighting with the kids, but that just got me in trouble with the teachers. I tried yelling at the teachers, but that just got me in trouble with my mother. I tried crying and pleading with my mother for her to tell me what I had to do to get her to love me, but that just got me the longest hug I’d ever received and an abrupt three-am wakeup to the sound of sirens.
It was then, sitting on my dirt brown lawn in my dirtier pajamas, watching the police officers eye me warily from beside the ambulance, that I finally understood.
The world was full of ever-changing, unspoken rules, and as long as it was me they would always find something wrong. Whatever I was, whatever I had gotten from my father, be it looks or manners or some hidden darkness, it meant that I would never be accepted.
So I decided not to be me anymore.
With all the days I spent forced to watch TV at the interim foster home, the first step to my transformation ended up being the easiest to figure out. Solar Regent was an A-list superhero, the absolute best of best, her feats of heroism on constant replay on every public access news network. There was never a single photo op where she wasn’t posing in her signature salute, floating golden hair haloing the gleaming smile on her dark skin.
*Everyone* loved Solar Regent.
I ended up having to use a good chunk of my stashed savings on the hair dye, the rest on quarter laundry to get all the stains out of my usual clothes, and what pennies I had left I used to buy the cheapest pack of gum the corner store had.
My first day at the new school, I forced myself to smile.
I forced myself to smile and push every once of fear and paranoia that had defined me so long away, back somewhere where I could pretend they didn't exist. I offered gum to my seatmates, who complimented my *butch* hair cut, stayed after class to ask for extra ‘catch-up’ homework from suddenly sympathetic teachers, and I pretended I only had emotions that Solar Regent would have.
Good emotions. Emotions people liked.
It ended up, despite my most pessimistic fears, working. The kids thought it was cool my foster parents let me dye my hair, the teachers thought it was brave a little girl with such a hard life could still be so positive, and I soaked in their mild acclaim like a desiccated corpse.
I was accepted. After a while, and a nightly routine of memorizing every fun fact and preference expressed by every classmate, I was even liked. After a year of embedding myself as the happiest, nicest, and most considerate student in the school, I was *adored*.
Then came the report.
I thought there wasn’t anything left in the world that could betray me. Not this version of me. And yet, it was the very inspiration for this version of me that stared back from the textbook page and knocked the fucking breath out of me.
VANISHED SUPERVILLAIN NIGHTSHADE DISCOVERED AND DEFEATED BY UP AND COMING HERO SOLAR REGENT: WHAT’S NEXT FOR THIS BRIGHT ROOKIE?
There, defeated and in chains beside her, was my father. My father…and my spitting image.
|
First day of retirement. 40 years on the force and all I have to show for it is this watch and a measly pension enough to let me survive. The least I could do is take a little vacation.
After the decompression chamber I step off the exit ramp onto the receiving station. A bot rolls up to me and projects a welcome sign and a few buttons. I press the one that says “about Regency Planet iii” and start walking towards the street. The welcoming machine whirls after me and starts playing a video.
On the screen an animated figure starts speaking:
“Here at Regency we know you expect the best service and the most relaxing atmosphere for your vacation. And don’t forget the time scale difference based on the rotation of the planet. A day here is only half a day back home, Javier! To hear about the history of Regency Planet iii and the Great Transition press here.”
Javier gives an apathetic look.
Javier sighs and continues walking. He reaches the street and holds out his hand. A few minutes later a pod stops and he steps in and utters a few words right before it starts moving again. A screen on the back of the front seat in front of Javier flicks on and the same animated figure continues.
“So you can really get a bang for your buck here! Stay for as long as you want and relax!” The video continues but Javier begins to daydream instead.
Javier steps out of the pod and looks around. He sees a sign above a door and enters.
“Welcome to Regency Planet iii Level B Hotel and Casino. You can leave your bags on the v-cart.” A small motorized cart approaches Javier with a shelf about knee height. Javier sets his bag and his coat there, the platform drops a bit and it rolls a few feet away and waits.
“Hello there Javier, we’ve been expecting you” a voice says from the other side of the lobby. From behind some transparent glass, a young woman is motioning for Javier to approach and he does.
“This planet is beautiful.” Javier says.
“Yes, it’s wonderful isn’t it? Time moves a bit slower he-----”
As Javier reaches the lobby desk, the attendant stops mid-sentence and gasps.
“Is there a problem?” Javier says in a confused way.
“No, no, it’s just you remind me of someone. Here’s your key, the v-cart will take you to your room.” The attendant replies. She holds out a small divide and Javier pulls out his pocket communicator which beeps briefly as he returns it to his pocket. She avoids making eye-contact with Javier. The v-cart is now in the elevator with the door open. Javier steps in.
A short time later, Javier is walking across a casino floor having changed his clothes. It’s a navy blazer, jeans, and sunglasses. He wears a hat also. A giant visibility screen plays a news broadcast in the background as he walks. If Javier was paying attention, he would have recognized one of the faces that flashed across the screen.
“Sources say that new evidence has been uncovered concerning the Great Transition which gave way to the Regency corporation saving the planet and the liberation of the native people. It appears deleted recordings have been reconstructed although their authenticity is in question. Groups from…..”
Javier continues to walk and exits out into a street. Above him on the corner of a building, within the tiniest lense an opening changes sizes rapidly to automatically focus on Javier’s face.
A bot looking similar to the bot that approached Javier at the tourist receiving platform comes near and projects a selection screen for Javier yet again. This time, his choices are a coffee cup, a cold beer in a glass and an exotic dancer’s pole. He hits the coffee cup button without hesitation.
A very short time later Javier approaches a glass window inside of a modern looking cafe. As he orders, a few other figures which were on the street as Javier entered stop and peer in the window. The bot-barista behind the glass takes Javier’s order as he waves his automatic payment card across the right area of the counter.
As he sits down 3 figures slowly enter. These men appear to be about 40-50 years old and they don’t look very interested in ordering any coffee. They approach Javier who tries to stand up as they come near, but the first man puts his hand on Javier’s shoulder who then returns to his chair.
“I’m sorry, is there an issue?”
The three men look at each other a little surprised.
“Sure there is. You’re Francis Xavier Willington and you got this planet into this mess. You should remember me after all these years.” Clicks and whirs come from behind the barista glass.
“That’s not me.” Javier is confused about how this guy could know his dad until he remembers the time scale change.
Outside the cafe, a small group is forming. Mostly men about 40-50 who are talking and getting ready to do something.
Outside the neighborhood, a group of security bots is forming who look like they are getting ready to do something.
Stirring.
| 2020-07-16T15:17:28 | 2020-07-16T14:28:10 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] In this fantasy world, girls masquerading as boys to earn their knighthoods is so common that a group of trainees all swear their best friend is a lady. He isn't.
|
"Just look at *him*. If that isn't the press of a fine buxom, strapped tight beneath a strap under *his* shirt, then I don't know what breasts even are." Jamie laughed, throwing a pine cone in Avery's direction. The assembled squires all laughed with resounding hoots as they cooed at Avery in unison.
Within the group, the comradery was obligatory. You do not undergo this excruciating test of endurance without peers who will cover your back at every turn. Jamie would have committed to the ultimate form of self-sacrifice for each and every member of the class, but especially Avery. He was the most earnest, genuine, and compassionate member of the group. It was this sincerity and emotional empathy that made him seem so... feminine. But honestly, Jamie would have sworn up and down that he was a female. For time untold, ladies had been masquerading their way into knighthood, and with the Eten War, it was considered acceptable--if those esteemed members of the "gentler" sex could achieve the title.
Avery was beautiful, though. Not in an androgynous, anyone would nail *him* kind of way. There was a subtlety to the contours of the cheeks, the silhouette of the jawline. It was... captivating. Girl or boy, Jamie could feel the fiery thrush of passion burn whenever Avery came into view. It was the main reason for all the taunting. The other members of the group could never condone any type of intimacy, and if they were caught, it would likely be--bad.
Jamie almost didn't care anymore. The taunting had only escalated, mostly to hide the feelings brewing deep within. Avery *is* a her, and taboos be damned.
Avery suddenly stood and started off down the path, seeming to be in a mood this evening.
Jamie stood and began edging around the campfire. "Hey, I think Avery's on *his* period. I'm going to go make sure everything is okay." The others laughed their assent and continued their joking and storytelling. Jamie crept quietly down the path. It wound and sneaked neatly through the dense woods. Where had Avery gone? But then he...(she??) was there, standing on the brink of a small ledge that overhung a glistening pool of water, his back barely visible. The moon shined dimly through the wispy clouds trying to obscure the view.
"Avery... you okay?" Jamie asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He stayed where he was, looking at the sky. He didn't say anything. He just gazed at the obscured sky hanging above. Was he crying?
A hand reached up, startling Jamie. The fingers were warm as the hand grasped tightly, and Avery turned.
He was crying.
"Of all of them, Jamie, it hurts the most coming from you," Avery whispered. His hand was trembling. The wall of emotion, desire... love--it rose up within Jamie. Taking Avery by the back of the neck, Jamie pulled him into a tight, devouring kiss. For both of them, the kiss was all feeling and passion, heat and feeling.
"I don't care if it is Taboo. I don't care if you are a girl--I love you, and I am sick and fucking tired of hiding it. I need you. I can deal with the consequences." Jamie reached down, and... felt a bulge. A *surprise*. "You--you really are a boy?"
Avery nodded. And he gasped. His hand had found nothing in his passionate groping. Jamie was a girl.
The two fell into each other under the moon--hands, minds, and bodies excited, but very confused.
|
"Show me your penis!" Malthus demanded sternly. Just a few days ago, he would have never imagined that this particular constellation of words would leave his lips. Though still a young boy, aged fifteen, Malthus felt confident in his sexuality. "Ew! Why do you want to see my penis? Are you gay or something?" retorted Raven. The other boys stared. Malthus crossed his arms, raised his eyebrows, and an uneven grin spread across his cheek. Even in the macho world of knights and ladies, questioning someone's sexuality was considered a cheap shot. "Come on, prove to use that you're not a girl!" Malthus enthused. "Yeah, show us you're not a witch!" another boy, portly and red-cheeked, contributed. Soon, the boys, four of them, began chanting -- "Wi-itch! Wi-itch! Raven is a wi-itch!"
They circled around Raven, a slight boy with a shock of black hair, chanting their accusation. He raised his hands and began turning frantically, facing each of the boys in turn. His head jolted and jittered. His breath raced, shallow and uneven. Raven closed his right fist, feeling the clamminess of his palm against the tips of his fingers. His fingernails, fairly long for an archer, pressed themselves into his flesh. Malthus thrust out his hand and grabbed Raven's left wrist. He held it tight as he stared in to Raven's eyes. "Get him!" Malthus exclaimed. Raven flailed as the other boys angled for his other wrist. He struck Dion, the plump one, in the forehead, making him stumble backwards. While Raven was struggling to keep his right hand free, Zeno, on of the remaining boys, succeeded in grabbing Raven's right ankle. The ensuing kick to his outstretched elbow revealed this to be a poor idea. Eventually, Kuryk, a small but agile boy of fourteen, slipped his hands around Raven's free wrist. Raven screamed, "Stop! Stopitt!" His voice echoed in the small chamber.
With a clang, the door to the storage room burst open. In it stood a man. Broad shoulders, thick, curly, yellow beard, and a penetrating stare emanating from a pair of sea-green eyes. "What is this racket!" he shouted into the small space. Malthus turned on his heel and looked up into searching eyes. "Sir Butterlock!", he bowed demurely, "Why, we were just discussing what we would do if we found a witch in the castle. Isn't that right, Raven?" "Y-yes," came the stammered reply. "Get out of here, you rascals! Go to your rooms," Sir Butterlock commanded. The boys spilled into the corridor and ran off in different directions. All except Raven. He stood, back hunched, shoulderblades pushed against the wall, staring at the floor. Sir Butterlock exhaled audibly through his nostril and pressed his lips together tightly, turning their corners down.
"Raven," he said quietly, "you have to stand up for yourself, hm?"
"Yes, Sir Butterlock."
"You're a good archer. You don't have to let the other boys get the better of you."
"Yes, Sir Butterlock."
The man inhaled deeply and shook his head as he let out a puff of air. "Go on, go to your room," he said as he turned his back to the boy and locked the door. "Good night, Sir Butterlock," Raven uttered softly. "Good night, my boy."
...
| 2015-12-31T08:42:44 | 2015-12-31T06:33:47 | 32 | 12 |
[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
|
Slowly I pull into the driveway, noticing that there is an extra car in the spot where I usually park.
“Who is this,” I wonder, hoping that our friend Dave had stopped by in his travels through the area.
As I walk quietly through the door, a trail of clothing greets me, and the sounds of pleasure.
I enter the hallway, terrified of what I was about to see but desperately hoping not to.
Tears stream down my face as I cross the living room, God I can smell them!
My heartbeat racing in my chest, I feel alive and violent; They will both pay.
First to the gun cabinet I sneak, unlocking and grabbing my trusty, loaded weapon.
My mind is racing, remembering our vows, till her death we will part.
Cocking weapon, I again cross the room, my cheeks flushed with rage.
Countless steps I climb, fear and turmoil grip me harder yet.
Is this right, or have I made the wrong choice?
Almost there, chest is burning, aching with this burden.
Pushing the door open reveals the bitter truth.
My wife and her lover, embracing, naked.
I pull the gun and shoot.
Oh, what have I done?
Is that my son?
His arms, broken.
Both dead.
Fuck.
|
"Look out for that tree, you're gonna have one of our heads off in a minute if you're not careful."
I didn't slow down, despite John's protests we had to take the risk and ride fast through the forest. The job had been easy, too easy now that I look back; sleepy guards, compliant staff, calm bystanders.
"One last job," he'd said when we met over a drink at the miners reunion over summer. It had been such a tempting haul in a great location with lots of escape routes. That should have been my first warning, it was simply too good to be true. John was so eager and his enthusiasm rubbed onto me, so I got involved. There was a time I would have seen it, but I've grown rusty.
"We have to ditch the bike and go on foot," John shouted.
I steered into a clump of bushes and cut the engine.
"Please put your hands on your head and lay down."
John had dismounted silently and picked up my bag. The sound of the police bikes grew louder.
"You were undercover for all those years?" I almost choked on the words.
"I tried to stop this."
"You fucked up then."
"Yes I did."
"What now?"
"Run."
| 2017-01-14T21:07:16 | 2017-01-14T16:42:22 | 49 | 20 |
[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time.
|
"And then, he said,"
'But why *would* I clean it? You're obviously better at it!'
The severe looking woman at the desk stared at the *cleaning lady*. Great euphemism, if a bit on the nose. She stared for a solid eight seconds before taking a breath and issuing her reply.
"And so then, you killed your spouse, our top *Asset* in the field. Over the *lint trap*."
You could feel each letter in *lint trap*.
"...Yes, ma'am", The *cleaning lady* sheepishly replied.
Several more seconds of silence.
"Very well," The woman at the desk said, suddenly shattering the quiet.
"You're promoted. You're now an *Asset*. Normally, we field test, but there have been budget cuts. However, since you...*removed* our top *Asset*, you should be able to handle yourself. Unfortunately, due to the hiring freeze, we can't issue you a cleaner, so you'll need to clean up after yourself. And due to budget cuts, we won't be able to reimburse you for cleaning supplies. We're hoping we can fill the cleaner position at some point, but don't get your hopes up. Doing more with less and all that."
"Errr.....um....?" was the *~~cleaning lady's~~* *Asset's* puzzled reply.
"Congratulations," said the lady at the desk. "And good luck out there."
|
"I have enough. It has to stop"
That sentence was painfull to hear... I decided to use it.
My F bomb that I promised I would never use when she told it to me 4 years ago. Now was my payback!
Of course, she froze and was visibly confused.
I have spent the week wondering how to tell her I have discovered her secret. She works too much... I would even say she is a workalcholic on rampage all the time.
At first I was thinking to pretend to be scared of her. Each day, being more and more cold and take distance... Until she would beg me to be back to normal and do what I want... BUT... I am too lazzy. It would take too much effort and some acting skillsI don't have.
Yesterday was a shitty day. So much cleaning! So much stains and not enough vespene gas to fix it.
I couldn't handle it anymore and had to spend extra hours instead of spending my time with the kids...
So, back to the story, I was mad, tired anddid use my F bomb.
"I have enough. It has to stop"
"I have bought a knife sharpener. Can you stop using dull blades. You do a huge mess and I have to clean all the time after it"
It wasn't what I wanted to say... But I am a stupid man. I still can't admit to my wife that my job is cleaning...
| 2021-02-11T13:24:16 | 2021-02-11T13:20:39 | 143 | 77 |
[WP] You're the henchman of a B-list supervillain. The thing is... You're really good at your job, so you're way more known and feared than him.
|
As the exposition entered its twenty-sixth minute, his eye patch began to itch, as it often did in moments of boredom. Lifting a finger to massage the affected area, Yuri considered not for the first time (nor, likely, the last) the reason that Dr. Evil felt the need to explain his plots in intricate detail. Every time it was the same: a heroic figure, finally in a defeated posture, forced to listen to the Grand Plan of Madness that would befall the entire world. And every time, inevitably, the plan failed.
Of course, this did not anger or otherwise bother Yuri, although one might assume it would, given that he was Dr. Evil's right-hand-man. Surely the glory of victory or agony of defeat that belonged to his master also belonged in some way to him? But no, long ago, after perhaps the fifth attempt at a Death Ray to superheat the world's oceans failed to produce more than a minor bubbling sensation, Yuri had realized that waiting for Dr. Evil to achieve anything of note was simply a waste of time.
Nevertheless, being the right-hand-man of a wealthy, bored billionaire who owned an island fortress full of every ne'er-do-well device conceivable had distinct advantages. And so Yuri stayed, and scratched his eye patch, and listened to the twenty-ninth minute of the speech, watching the captured hero slowly work himself free of the hand restraints on the table. Knowing that in approximately 6 minutes, the hero would leap free, escape the compound through a series of daring maneuvers, and then be blown to tiny bits thanks to the bomb Yuri had planted in the likely escape vehicle an hour ago. There was, after all, always a fresh supply of new heroes, and it had been so very long since Yuri had been able to practice his bomb making...
|
"You were in the press again!"
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll try better next time."
"You're damn right you will! I'm the one they should be paying attention too!"
Dr. Blech stormed out of the room angrily, whipping his long, white lab coat around dramatically as he left.
*I don't even know why I bother. I never wanted the credit, I just take pride in my work. Then he gets mad because I did what he asked too well...*
I turn back to the massive machine in front of me and get back to work. The machine towers above me, impressive looking. Far better than the sketch Dr. Blech made. *Hell, he's not even a real doctor, not even a PhD to his name. I have five... But what do I get for that? Some bad press and a whole lot of screaming.*
I look back at the article in the paper Blech had slammed down at the table next to my work station. It read:
THE TYRANT STRIKES AGAIN, THE ENTIRE WEST COAST SHAKES IN FEAR.
*Literally* I chucked. California would be it's own island soon, my expirement had gone even better than planned. A few more finishing touches on my machine, and I would be able to manipulate the tectonic plates nearly on whim. I could move continents.
But Dr. Blech hated it. He just wanted a "simple" earthquake machine, he said I'd gone too far this time. Well he'll see. I'm sick of his harebrained schemes. The public barely knows who he his anyway.
It's time for The Tyrant to rise, and Dr. Blech to fall.
| 2019-06-21T17:47:50 | 2019-06-21T17:31:06 | 1,924 | 357 |
[WP][NSFW] After a cataclysm, 95% of human males are wiped out. The rest have to be used as breeding stock. Write a diary entry from one of these "studs".
|
Patient 29D Log number 32-4. March 3rd, 2031.
Patient 29D's rectal stimulator malfunctioned eariler today. Intense stress on the prostate awoke the subject from his hybernative state which resulted in the patient attempting to break free from his restraints.
Sedatives were administired to calm the patient who had developed into a frenzy like state. Once calmed technicians were able to return the patient to his proper hybernative state. The rectal stimulator was replaced and the subject is back to productive levels.
It is advised that seman samples from this subject be disposed of for several days as the sedatives may effect the quality of the cells.
-Doctor Sofia Manns
|
[Day 1]
They realised that the whole fucking places was overpopulated anyway and soon the numbers will be back to normal.
[Day 452]
Fucked a ton of hotties, lots of women just did whatever they wanted to do then killed themselves.
[Day 972]
Found a sandwich that was totally fresh next to a dead woman.
Not sure what that means.
[Day 1629]
Yep, almost back to normal.
[Day 5432]
Took longer than expected, but the ratio is finally back to normal.
[Day 252596]
Am old, can ded happy. 19 Kids.
[Day 290942]
OP IS KILL.
| 2015-04-16T13:05:54 | 2015-04-16T10:34:35 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] You are immortal, and saw the birth of the human race. Now you sit by their bedside and watch, as the last human dies.
|
His name is, appropriately, Adam.
I find him after following his trail for weeks. He lies against a massive redwood, skin haggard and yellow, nearly dead already from exposure and disease. He bleeds from a bite wound on his hand - a raccoon, or maybe a wild dog. His white hair falls past his shoulders, clumped and dirty. He doesn't look up when I approach.
"It's you, isn't it?" he says. "I'd heard stories. Didn't believe 'em. But there you are."
I nod, the sign of affirmation for humans. I would miss their gestures, their energy, their idiosyncrasies. The past several millennia had left me quite fond of the Earth-dwellers, despite the egregious flaws that eventually led to their demise. There was a beauty in the individual's quiet existence that I'd not experienced anywhere else in my travels.
Adam coughs, spitting blood at his feet. He doesn't seem afraid of me like others have been - merely accepting. His courage buoys me. I want to comfort him somehow, though nothing I can do will deter his inevitable death. He is too far gone, and the human race is meant to die with him. It's simply the way of things.
He looks at me, then, and I move forward until we are face to face. We watch each other, the immortal and the dying, and I think I see something in his eyes lighten.
"So there's more." He blinks, slowly, then again. This time his eyelids stay closed. "I'm glad."
I cannot speak in a way humans can understand, but I offer the only comfort I can think of. Kneeling down, I press my forehead against the yellowed skin of his scalp. Warmth flows from me to him as he receives millions of years of memories, painted with a brush no man could hold, of Earth and of other worlds, till the beginning of time. He shudders at the sensation, a gagging noise coming from his mouth, and then he is still.
A slow, shaky breath. He opens his eyes one last time.
He is too far gone to speak, but I see the gratitude in his look. Then he lays his head back and breathes out the remnants of human life.
I stay with his body for days, meditating on the life of the Earth I've grown to love. I will leave soon, off to the next world, but it feels appropriate to stay and privately eulogize the human race. None of the others of my kind join me - they spend their time on bigger and better things - and I am glad. There is no one who understood those of Earth better than I did. Even in their death, I remain their ally.
Eventually I leave. I cannot stay forever, after all. Even for immortals time moves on, worlds spin, stars burn. I bury Adam beneath his redwood, as is the way of humans, and leave a wild daisy on the mound as a memorial.
No one will see it, but it feels like the right thing to do.
Then I am gone.
|
“They were our children,” she sighs, gracefully moving from her spot in the arm chair.
Her bare feet make only the slightest sound as they press against and lift up from the linoleum tiles which are mostly white with a few rogue red, black, and blue tiles scattered throughout. Seemingly random colours made only for children to leap between while waiting to be taken somewhere else.
There will be no more children.
No more games of magical imagination. No shrieking voices as a small sneaker lands in whitespace - shoe absorbed into the pretend lava of childish pastimes.
“They could have stopped this,” he replies, sullenly staring out the window.
Once, the street below was busy. They honked impatiently as they fought to move to and from places that seemed important at the time. Yelling about things that were once vital. Crying over the things that felt like they’d hurt forever. They smiled and laughed and loved like every second was the most pivotal scene in an academy award winning film, spectated by all because it was just that crucial to their glowing and ambitious life.
“Please, Adam,” she scolds while managing to maintain an expression of complete adoration both as she watches the dying man in bed and as she looks to the bitter man by the window. “They were our children and their time has come to an end. We mustn’t allow their mistakes to define their existence.”
He laughs, one little lung’s worth of air exhaled forcefully from his nose, and shakes his head. Then he walks over to her. His hands move to her waist and he presses his chin into her shoulder, tilting his head and leaning it against her neck. They last time they’d been so close was before the event began. Before the children they’d loved and loathed and watched for all of these years started to die. Sometime after the first scientists started to work on a cure.
It was somewhere on the Grecian Island of Hydras. Where the lights were few and the people were quiet. They talked about what was to come. But, as usual, they parted ways after a short week of lovemaking and conversation, only to meet up these many months later in the hospital room.
Love and immortality were fighting forces, but they did what they could.
“I just cannot find it in me to mourn the loss,” Adam mumbles. “And Eve, just imagine the world we could build together now that they are gone.”
She lets her shoulders sag, causing his head to drop down enough to convince him to stand upright, and places a hand on the dying man’s forehead. It’s warm. His chest only rises and falls enough for her to know he’s alive but so infrequent that she knows that his life is limited.
The last of her children.
“We could start again,” Eve suggests, looking hopefully back at the man with his dark hair and tired eyes.
“I couldn’t,” he replies.
And the room falls silent until the man’s chest fails to rise again.
| 2016-10-18T17:44:46 | 2016-10-18T17:44:40 | 685 | 63 |
[WP] Sick of being lied to you beg the Gods for change and one takes pity on you. Now when people lie to you a little text box appears next to them that only you can see, with the lie, the truth, and their motive for lying.
|
"Have you done it yet?"
The being, a god, apparently, smiles.
"Yep," it says, "all done."
"Huh," I say, "I didn't feel a thing."
"Told you I'd be gentle," it replies, beaming wider. "Now, remember, no backsies."
"Oh, no," I shake my head, "definitely not. I'm sick of being lied to. I think you've really helped me out here. Thank you, strange being with your supernatural powers and probably only good intentions."
The being suppresses a giggle.
"Think nothing of it. It was my pleasure Welcome to your new, better life!"
A small box appears next to the being that I am just able to read before it and the being both vanish in a flash of light.
*Lie: your life will be better.*
*Truth: your life is about to become far, far worse.*
*Motivation: bored and evil.*
Dang it.
|
After my deal with the devil or maybe it was an asshole god trying to play a trick on me. Possibly Loki, I don’t know. I just remember being drunk and agreeing to something stupid.
I went to visit my mom. She always cheered me up. She opened the door and said she was so happy to see me, and she loved me. There was now two text boxes that appeared. Both were lies. I was adopted appeared in one because she couldn’t have kids and was lonely at that time, and her boyfriends were hiding in the closet of her room and all she wanted to do was get back to them.
But she gave me a hug, squeezed me hard and said that I was her world. When she smiled the check boxes went away and I left smiling. Maybe this gift wasn’t so bad. But wait, I was adopted?
| 2018-07-02T11:39:15 | 2018-07-02T07:25:16 | 215 | 32 |
[WP] A prolific serial killer active for many years is concerned about his run of good luck. Never discovered, he has also never seen the slightest mention of his work reported on in any media. With today's victim he gets a clue as to why...
|
At first I thought it was because I was careful. Streetwalking hookers, stumblebum drunks on skid row, migrant farm laborers, always a victim that most of society wouldn't miss. At first it was relatively innocent like a child pulling the wings off of an insect not quite sure what the impact of his actions will be. I'm not sure exactly when it happened, I was literally only a kid for numbers 1-6, but somewhere between 7-12 puberty hit. It became sexual. At first it was the visceral act kissing a cute boy or girl as their life slowly left them. Nothing compared to the eroticism of taking someone's last breath and intimately pulling it down into my own lungs as our tongues danced and their life force literally became mine.
Over time things began to change. Somewhere between 22 and 29 the eroticism shifted. It was no longer the breath filling my lungs that got my rocks off, it was watching terror turn into resignation in the eyes and even after that watching the little sparkle of life left in them shut off for eternity.
I would visit prostitutes occasionally looking for the same release that normal men find in them. It was always unproductive. The only way I could cum is with my hand pinching off her nose smothering her mouth and whispering go to the light in her ear.
Like most men with sexual appetites mine got bolder harder to satiate. It wasn't always enough to watch the light go out of their eyes. It began to be about the family, I wasn't just taking a life, I was taking apart a picture, a family , a community.
By the time I got to 40 I couldn't climax with the act, orgasm would only come later as I watched the news. A mother in tears begging the Gods promising anything to anyone to have her cheerleader or debutante brought home safe. Something about the anguish mixed with hope in those faces could always make me cum knowing that any pleas for mercy and any hope for an okay ending had already passed hours before Amber, Tiffany or whoever was even discovered missing.
At 57 I got jaded and maybe a little reckless. It wasn't enough to stalk home town heroes and everyday Americans. The new thrill was the high profile, the politically connected, the rich, the famous. A US senator thinks she's hot shit because of her trade deal, but to watch her face at a press conference weeks after her daughter disappeared when a pair of her panties full of blood and semen get mailed to her capitol office, that is priceless.
Maybe I should have become introspective sooner, but I was chasing a need. I didn't think a lot about the wider world for a long time. They were no longer back alley trash or migrants these were people that mattered. Why didn't more of them show up in the news? The power I felt over families I wanted to feel over the nation. You are being stalked there is a predator out there hiding and he is going to get you. But the media never played along.
Neither did the crime stats . By this point I was putting in serious work all over the country, but despite my proactive agenda the government and the media continued to insist that the world was safe and getting safer.
At first I got full of myself. This was because they were tracking me and the best way to get close was to pretend that no one suspected anything, that nothing was the matter. Until yesterday I was naive enough to think they were looking for me but just couldn't find me.
A politicians son struggling with his own sexuality was in the train car opposite me. I had fun getting him hot and bothered running my hands over the bulge in his tight jeans. I had even more fun watching the light go out of his eyes picturing his family values father getting the news that his only son died in some sort of weird homo homicide.
As I slipped out of his train compartment I heard the words I had both feared and dreaded but long since disregarded as an actual threat. "Freeze FBI" I was handcuffed and ushered into a separate compartment on the train. I had a thousand and one thoughts race through my head but nothing could have prepared me for what came next.
"Welcome to the club"
What?
"The Killing Club"
I was given a list of people not to touch and a list of people I was encouraged to get in "contact" with.
For years I thought I had labored in obscurity but as the feds took the handcuffs off and i watched the attorney general get off the train I realised I had fans, powerful fans.
|
*I'm a killer, through and through
I'm a killer, but that never fazed you.
You brought all your friends here to die
Yet you never even went to cry.*
One day I check my count
108 bodies is quite the amount
Never one have I seen the police
I guess they're occupied with farmers steeling fleece.
*I'm a killer, through and through
I'm a killer, but that never fazed you.
You brought your mother here to die
Yet you never even bothered to cry.*
You return home with another volunteer
You always make me want to cheer!
In my workshop, I get my space clear
Oh. Yet another person with absolutely no fear.
*I'm a killer, through and through
I'm a killer, but that never fazes you.
You brought your son here to die
You didn't even feel guilty enough to cry*
I rummage through the top left drawer
Eventually I find my trusty bone saw.
I hack away at this poor old man
I create as much of a mess as I can!
*Because I'm a killer, through and through
I killed your family, but that doesn't faze you.
Only once did you ever look about to cry
Since then, you actually help them die*
One day, I feel thick in the head
I think I might just go lay down in bed
It strikes me when I'm dozing off
It's been eight years since I last jacked off
*Even though I'm a killer, through and through
You helped kill your mother - Even that didn't faze you!
What's weird is she never even screamed
While I cut her in half and you heaved*
We pulled her from limb to limb
Even then, she just had to say "Little Tim"
How is that possible when she's no longer here?
It must be my paranoia or fear...
Back in bed, I have my fun
But I feel like I'm at the end of my run.
I feel like a fat man that's just had a sprint
My heart is saying it isn't happy - Just a hint
*Even though, I'm a killer, through and through
Doesn't mean I'm nothing like you.
I have my needs and desires
And I'm deathly afraid of fires*
It strikes me as I'm lying in bed
I haven't felt anything from making people dead!
Usually I feel the thrill of the kill
Now I don't even start to feel ill
*I was a killer, through and through
I killed your family, and finally you.
I burned your body to make it right
I didn't know you'd put up such a fight*
The next day, the van comes back up to the shed
How is that possible? **I MADE YOU DEAD**
Surely I must have hit my head
Then it hits me like a ton of lead
*I was a killer, through and through
The media always acted like they never knew
You helped me kill my last mark
You even broke the wings of a live skylark*
*I was a killer and a teacher
You were never even a screecher.
I was always amazed by your guts
Then you figuratively chopped out my nuts.*
The media never know of what I did
Not because of the bodies that I hid
I hid the bodies to make it right
**But they never even put up a fight!**
Truth be told, you were the first one
You were going to be a bundle of fun
I don't remember much about times past
But I remember enough to make it last
*I was going to be a killer, through and through
I was going to be a killer until I met you.
You managed to stop me there and then
You hypnotized me like a stupid **HEN!** *
Here I am, locked up in a ward
There you are, my lord;
You got these people to look at my head,
Now I will take yours to bed
I struggle against my restraints to no avail,
However - I refuse to fail!
You brainwashed me once and made me think I won,
Even worse, you stopped me from having my fun
Protective custody won't protect you for long.
Did you think they destroyed your file? **You were wrong**!
I got out, **bitch**, so **watch your back**.
I might just make your family my first plan of attack
| 2015-04-12T05:18:31 | 2015-04-12T03:38:56 | 22 | 13 |
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