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[WP] Never the one to believe in the supernatural, you couldn’t pass up the insanely cheap deal for a haunted mansion. The last thing you expected was for it to actually be haunted. And honestly, you think you might be slowly falling in love with the ghost.
|
I was never the person to believe in ghosts or the supernatural. Not even from a young age.
If ghosts had really been real, then why hadn’t we been able to properly document them yet? Why was the so-called “ghost detecting” technology never actually finding us anything? How come only certain people could see and talk to ghosts while others couldn’t. Delusion that’s how.
So, you can imagine how I felt when I saw a supposed haunted mansion on sale for simply $100. Pay that and the house was yours, no mortgage or anything. The owner of the house laid out some huge warning about how you WILL be attacked by a ghost if you stay here, and that if you value your sanity you shouldn’t stay here.
I got a pretty good laugh out of that, and afterwards I agreed to meet up with the owner. I was about to go from twenty-something year old alcoholic struggling to pay rent, to a twenty-something year old alcoholic who was going to be worry free about any rent or mortgage as I sipped expensive wine in my sophisticated mansion. I would have had to have been the biggest moron in the world not to take this house.
When I met with the owner, he didn’t even care about the money. He just chucked the keys at me and ran off. I called out and asked him if he wanted his money, and he told me not to worry about it. When he was gone from my view, I couldn’t help but laugh a little bit at how much of a poor fool he was.
I took a walk through the house, and it was just as beautiful as I remember it being online. There was a large chandelier in the main room, and two sets of stairs that led up to the second floor. The white tiled kitchen had all the pots and pans you needed, the living areas and bedrooms were spacious, it was pre-decorated with beautifully done portraits, and the cellar had as much booze as one could ever need in a lifetime.
“Hey someone there?” I asked.
I put my hand to my ear for a response, but of course got no response back. This was all I needed to confidently move right in.
It wasn’t too long of a process to bring my stuff over. I brought my clothes in a suitcase, and packed a few electronic devices that I needed to do work on. I simply got rid of my crummy apartment furniture since I wouldn’t be needing it in what was literally a fully furnished mansion.
Once I got there, I decided to partake in my favorite activity of one man drinking. The realization that I was drinking alone in a mansion kicked in, and I almost felt a little depressed as I went upstairs and plopped myself down on a bed. I could have sworn that I heard a whisper before I fell asleep, but I wasn’t sure.
The next day I looked over on my nightstand to see a folded up piece of paper. A letter from the owner maybe? I opened it up, a little grossed out to find it was written in blood.
“Get out!” it read.
I crumbled up the paper and threw it into a trash can. It was probably something the previous owner had written from one of his many delusions he had here. I brushed it off, and went down to the kitchen to make some breakfast.
As I pushed down some toaster waffles into the toaster, I could hear whispering as the pots and pans started to move. I nearly jumped out of my skin as a knife was blown my way and lodged itself near my foot. Still, I brushed it off as a coincidence and continued on with my day.
Even with my firm belief that ghosts aren't real, I still found myself a little unnerved by the end of the day. I kept seeing things out of the corner of my eye that were a little bit off. A painting would seem to move, furniture would seem to move, or a white blur would appear in a mirror if I looked at one. After an entire day of dealing with this, I decided to jokingly write something down on a piece of paper.
“Who are you?” I wrote.
Imagine my surprise when I found blood appearing in writing on the page. I jumped back and let out a pathetic yelp. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The letters slowly formed into a sentence.
“My name is Ann,” said the paper.
I had to take a moment to catch my breath and calm myself. My belief about ghosts had just been shattered in an instant. This felt all too real to not be true. I decided to write back on the page.
“Why are you here, Ann?” I wrote.
“I was murdered here,” she simply wrote back.
“How?” I wrote
“I was choked to death by my past lover. He killed everyone in my family and me last. He took this mansion for himself...but I made sure to drive him insane and haunt him.”
“Sounds like a pretty crappy boyfriend,” I jokingly wrote back.
“You write bold things for someone who’s in the presence of a ghost.”
“Well, I’ve never been very afraid of them I guess.”
“If I show you myself will you be afraid?” she asked.
I hesitated for a little while before responding. She could look like just about anything. Still, I had to go past my fear and see what I was going to be living with.
“No.” I replied.
I felt a strong force push me against my chair as a ghostly figure appeared in the mirror above the fireplace. I watched as she got closer and closer, and was able to make out the outline of an old time fancy dress. Her ghostly skin was frighteningly pale, but her hair was combed neatly and she appeared to somehow be wearing makeup. In fact, she was actually very pretty. The only thing that was a bit alarming was the bruising on her neck, but that was easy to overlook. This ghost was gorgeous.
As she stood behind me in the mirror I found myself stammering a bit.
“Well now you see me, doesn’t my form send fright into your very soul?” she asked.
“Not at all. You’re beautiful actually,” I replied.
I could see her visible surprise in the mirror. She was not expecting a response like that at all. Her face began to slowly turn red (or as red as it can be on a ghost).
“Y- you can’t just say things like that to a lady if you don’t mean them,” she replied.
“I do mean it though. We should go on a date sometime actually. I wanna get to know you. We’ll be living here together after all.” I replied.
I could see a confused look on her face before I could see what looked like a small smile forming. She tried to put her serious expression back on as she retorted back.
“I’m definitely going to haunt you even worse than before now for that comment,” she said.
“Bring it on. I can handle whatever you throw at me,” I replied.
“You’re gonna regret saying such stupid things to a ghost,” she said.
She said this, but I could tell though that she was having fun.
“And I’m gonna do my best to make you fall in love with me,” I said.
“We’ll see about that.” she laughed. “I doubt a washed up twenty-something like yourself could impress me.”
“Ooh ouch my heart. Guess this washed up twenty-something will have to really turn up the charm. I can be quite good with the ladies when I try.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” she said.
The two of us got a good laugh from that comment before she waved goodbye and disappeared. Thus, began our friendly competition. She was trying to scare the socks off me, while I was trying to make her mine. I gladly looked forward to getting to know my new ghost girlfriend.
|
Paper. This is a man with eyes as thick as his stomach, two blue-black bulges that protrude from an otherwise flat canvass. He wears his hair upon his lip in such a way it drags down to his ankles, ankles that have been scarred by what look like tiny stars.
*Tiny stars beget a tiny universe. Each world within revolves around me... or around my legs.*
"Mr Knippler, excuse me, Mr Knippler," the voice is carried from the burnt lips of a weary looking salesman and into the ears of this paper-thin figure with starlet ankles, "if you could be so kind, it's getting rather late, I've my Alsatians to feed, and my wife would rather like it if I could read our Jimmie a bedtime story. Might be his last,"
"Yes, yes." Mr Knippler's nose curls up, drawing his lips apart, revealing dull white stones inside his mouth. Not teeth, mind you, nothing so humane as teeth. "Your Jimmie has the Capital C, tragic, really. And your wife is worried you might not make rent, true?"
The salesman nods, defeated. There is a darkness within him, a darkness that Mr Knippler knows well. *We feed on what we are, not even the Gods might change us, might change that.*
"Then might I suggest you sharpen yourself, Erwin. A sale might just ease your misfortune, wouldn't you say?"
"Hardly." Erwin fakes a smile, but he knows too well it'll take more than good dentistry to fool this particular client. A peculiar man, for want of a better word. Not peculiar, but man. "Even if you were to purchase this house - though Gods only know why you would - the commission would barely touch the sides of our debts. It's not just the rent, Mr Knippler, it's Jimmie's medical bills, it's food for the family, for the dogs, it's logs to keep the fire stoked and burning..."
"One after another, on and on," Mr Knippler draws up his moustahce, wrinkling his face into a paper ball, all lines and creases, "and yet, I dare say, if I were to purchase this house I could do away with all your worries."
Erwin's only response was to laugh, a halfhearted laugh, one that came more from the nose than the mouth.
Now it was Mr Knippler's turn to smile, though his smile was all too real and all too frightening, "And you say the only *catch* is that it's haunted?"
\*\*\*
No more than a month later Mr Knippler was settling into his new home, the haunted house quite appropriately located on top of a hill. Beneath him, a handful of factories, all owned and operated by the Ophal Family Empire. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of each factory, both day and night, the lights never daring to go out, and that very same smoke climbed the hill to cloud the house atop in a smog - *a smog one might mistake for wandering spirits.*
Not only did Mr Knippler have a new home, but he too had a pair of fine Alsatians to accompany him. *Say fair is fair, one love for another.* Erwin's son, Jimmie, was recovering from the dreadful Capital C, and so far as money-troubles went Erwin had but one; the divorce. *A hefty price to pay for such a miracle.*
"They say there's ghosts," Mr Knippler was no longer the tall, thin apparition that he'd appeared before, but rather a contorted looking spine from which feeble body parts did sprout. His head was held up by a brace, and down his back ran pins secured into a bracket, "in there, that is." Mr Knippler waved what could only be described as a walking stick (though it looked not a thing like a stick at all) over the house. "Do you know what else they say?" Mr Knippler folded himself down beside his two canine friends, planting a hand upon the backs of their skulls.
*One hand, one skull, and yet still he holds that walking stick.*
The Alsatians looked up at the face of their new master (not owner), feeling a strange sense of both pride and disgust. Pride at knowing this master was not a thing like those they'd come across before, no, he'd never strike at them in anger, nor would he ever leave them hungering for food (though they couldn't say how they knew this). And yet disgust, not disgusted by the man, nor by how he looked, but by the idea that he needed them to work, and that the work was a far stretch from such trivialities as fetching sticks and papers (both of which this thin and crippled man seemed to have in such abundance).
"I'll assume that's a no," Mr Knippler chuckled, rattling the bones inside his head. "They say that dogs have keen eyes for the supernatural, and a keen nose for the dead."
\*\*\*
Of all the rooms the Mr Knippler might have unpacked first and foremost, one wouldn't have thought it to be the dinning room. It had taken some persuading, but eventually Mr Knippler had found himself a woman with a van willing to assist him. He didn't trust the likes of moving companies, or any such entity that formed so much as a turn-pin in the great corporate machine, so it had to be an individual willing to lend their hands and their vehicle to him in exchange for something other than currency. As it happens the woman in question was going through a rather nasty divorce, and was in need of a distraction - *such a kindhearted soul -* and the fact the Mr Knippler's Alsatians reminded her so fondly of her own (who had recently been lost in a tragic roadside accident, and make no mistake about it, her dogs *had* been lost in that accident) only served to sweeten the deal.
Most of Mr Knippler's possessions were taken to the uppermost floors (make of that what you will) leaving only a few items of interest in the dinning room. A table (of course) carved from the trunks of the great oaks that had bordered Mr Knippler's first home; a ship's wheel which hung from the ceiling by chains, supporting several candles in its wake; two tin-plated dog's bowls that had seen constant use throughout Mr Knippler's life; and a stool upon which Mr Knippler refused to sit.
Mr Knippler was in fact standing, reading a paper (that he had fetched himself some years ago) digesting the evenings news. With each turn of the page (though the page never actually turned) a new story presented itself - some were pieces of local interest, others of a more national concern, and a few even spoke of strange lands beyond the vast seas of The Nine.
"Eat up," Mr Knippler spoke to his dogs without looking up from the paper, knowing by ear alone that there was very little eating going on, "you'll need your wits about you this evening, mark me, it's sure to be a late one."
At this the dogs looked dismayed, they'd never been all that keen on working nights.
...
\*\*I'm having to stop here for now, but I might come back to this after work - and if you did make it this far, then Mr Knippler sincerely hopes you had fun reading about him.\*\*
| 2020-06-05T08:00:51 | 2020-06-05T03:57:32 | 58 | 13 |
[WP] The afterlife has Internet, and you can use it as often as you'd like, but you're only allowed to send one outgoing message for all of eternity.
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Hello world, I am John Husak! This single Reddit message on some random subreddit that God wouldn't tell me about is my only form of communication. As such, I will continually edit this document to respond to anything you send me.
So what should you send me? Anything! Something funny! Something sad! Something that would piss me off if i still had the ability to show true emotion! I will try to get through as much as I can, so check back here!
---
Edit 1, 12/4/2027 - /u/Pikapikarai, I still don't understand what that video means.
Edit 2, 12/6/2027 - /u/shittymorph, haha, you got me, wish I could give you gold, blah blah blah
Edit 3, 12/7/2027 - @EVERYONE WHO HAS A PHILOSOPHY QUESTION, I've literally been here for THREE DAYS, please don't think I have all the answers yet.
Edit 4, 12/7/2027 - Hey did you know that your pets are alive and talking up here? And that they won't get over the fact that I was a furry as a 16-year-old?
Edit 5, 12/9/2027 - /u/waterguy12, can i be a meme? I physically can't do anything else because of my lack of messages, so can you?
Edit 6, 12/11/2027 - The floor is lava.
Edit 7, 12/12/2027 - For TV, we have this thing called "interdimentional cable." I heard someone mutter something about "high IQ", but I'm not sure.
-
Well, that's all I've thought of so far. Keep sending me stuff! Get #AskHusak trending on whatever social media you've gotten up to by this point. VRChat? Masker? TOME? Idk, I'm surprised there's still people who can understand english on Reddit by now. Bye for now!
|
*Dear Hailey,*
*I hope you get this. As I type, a demon watches over my shoulder and scowls for me to hurry up, prodding me in the back with the prongs of his pitchfork.*
*Yes, baby girl; sadly to say, I am in Hell. It's real, and it's worse than you can imagine.*
*It's hard to write. The screams are distracting. It's dark, and it feels like I'm inside a furnance. Imagine being in a haunted house where all the things you see on the ride can hurt you. That's where I am.*
*I'm scared.*
*Don't write back. I won't be able to write again. Just, please, I'm begging you, change your ways. Christianity is the real religion. Read your Bible everyday. Find a good church. Listen to what you hear in church. Pay attention to what you read and apply it to your own life.*
*You don't want to end up where I am.*
*Tell your mother, too. When you get back from college, show her this message. I would've wrote her myself, but she doesn't listen to me anyway. She might listen to you.*
*I love you so so so so much X infinity, baby-girl.*
*Love, Daddy.*
He hit send and nodded to the demons. They stood him up and broke his kneecaps. The only thing that came out from him louder than the cracks were the screams. They dragged him away into the darkness, where the tortures would begin for eternity.
~~~~~
Meanwhile, Hailey Baxter was checking her email. A notification popped on her screen telling her a new message arrived from the email address of: hell666@eternalchat.com
She squinted at it, mouse hovering over the link as she debated whether to click on it. *No, don't recognize it,* she decided, moving it to her spam folder, and then continued on reading the rest of her emails.
| 2017-10-09T10:44:34 | 2017-10-09T10:16:22 | 87 | 44 |
[WP] You were always bullied for wearing a power dampening collar, They didn't know why you did. They saw it as some joke. You know why. Your power. It scares you. The terrible disgusting eldritch power of horror. One day they took it too far. Stealing your collar in a super shopping mall.
|
I had a bit of a "predicament" with my powers, meta humans sometimes have some sort of downside to their abilities. When a meta human gets into legal trouble from misusing their powers they have to wear a collar. I wasn't a criminal, so mine wasn't made out of heavy steel, just a thin plastic torc with various dampeners inside. I digress, the problem is I cannot control my powers well enough.
So like any other teenager I was at the mall to drink something brightly coloured. My head down, tunes blasting my poor eardrums, and my hand in my hoodie pocket (so my wallet doesn't fall out). Something heavy hit my shoulder and was on the cusp of dislocating it. I took out one headphone and turned around to see Steve Carter. A fellow meta human I had met in ability control sessions 10 years ago, he wouldn't tell you that *no*! He is perfect now, always has been, and gets better everyday. If the amount of hard drugs he's been *caught* taking was any indicator of his memory, his earliest memory he can recall was from two years ago.
Either way, he spoke, "hey! Look who it is, it's that *I wear a collar because I can't control the beast inside* cringy looking piece of crap!". By the time I processed what he said I was already on the ground, 10 metres away, above a dent in the steel pillar with no feeling in my legs and searing pain everywhere else. *He would definitely have to wear a heavier collar than me for that!* I thought, not registering that he picked me up by my limp leg. "I bet this plastic shit isn't even real!" He said with my collar in his hand, pulling it from my neck
Then my ability kicked in instantly...
Steve was lucky enough that he was so beefy that he did not die. Though I cannot say he was in a good position, he was thin, weak, and ready to break. While I was at peak performance (no broken bones, no snapped tendons or torn muscles, hell I wasn't even sore!)I took the time to shove the collar back on my neck and wait for the cops.
Thanks to his near fatal discovery and a heavy steel damper welded around his neck, his "hasty recovery diet" of steroids and less legal drugs killed him.
And I never got something brightly coloured to drink either...
|
Two years ago when I joined high school as a sophomore. It was always a normal day to be bullied by Jeff, Dan, Alice, Violet and The Blueberries twins Harper and James. They love to make fun of my collar call it a joke and how I’m just an animal compare to the other students.
Sometimes I tend to keep my cool or else I would rip out this entire school and eliminate them without remorse.
One day it happened I was walking to the super mall hoping to hoping to get more clothes, and food supplies not knowing the out come for this day.
I spot them the Jeff’s gang and I ran away, it was too late. They come after me and out of no where the twins grab my hands, while the others catch up. Jeff smiled and said “If it isn’t Ivy the collar wearing brat, we’ll I think it’s time to finish my dare right guys! With a smirk that I would bitch slap him.
He ended up removing my collar forcefully which made me said “What did you do!” I screamed with horror.
Jeff have taken my collar and ended up ripping it to pieces in front of his stupid gang. They laughed and ended up pushing me landing me to fall to the first floor.
“This can’t be happening!” As I roared my body bursted with blood, I watched as I shifted into a shadow with blood bending around my body. I saw how I was no longer in control… my body screamed out of pain and I’m starting to notice I don’t feel any remorse.
It’s almost as if I wanted to become a ruthless, restless, shadow that wants to get revenge. My body ended up climbing on top of the wall until I reach the ceiling.
My head cracked as I look below, as the bullies are freaking out. I smiled with deep horrors in my eyes, “Yeah that’s right be afraid your own stupidity made me.” I said while letting go the ceiling and smiling sinisterly.
Scream erupted the crowds of people ran to the exit as a entire blood shed came. “ The excitement, the fear, the suffering was what I wanted!”
The former bullies are no longer in control of their body, I’m going to make sure they pay for everything. As I smiled with the dead bodies turning into my chained sword.
To Be Continued…
| 2022-12-23T15:12:18 | 2022-12-23T12:44:09 | 74 | 25 |
[WP] They year is 2035. A colony is built on Mars. While excavating an area, colonists find a red flag among the red sands. The flag has 4 Latin letters written on it: SPQR
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They had been briefed, once they were safely entrenched on the red planet. It had been a pivotal moment, a watershed. Before the briefing James Carlson had not held any doubt that at the end of his term on site that he would return home, to Earth, to his family. They were merely the prep team, not colonists.
After the briefing, once there was time for the information to process through his stunned mind, James knew that he was never going to be allowed back on Earth. He, and the rest of the team, had been informed of humanity's greatest secret: Earth was not our point of origin. The declaration had been met with silence at first. As the presentation continued, narrated by an unnamed intelligence official back on earth through secure channels, the reality dawned on each member of the crew. Some seemed quite excited by the idea, Samuel Hampton, the medical chief, was the most vocal of their enthusiasm. Others had become distraught, having to be ushered from the communications dome.
Among those who took the revelation poorly, Andrea O'Hare was the most extreme. Ultimately she had been confined to her habitat capsule pending psychological evaluation and clearance. James was surprised by that particular turn of events. He knew Andrea quite well, they had even dated for a time when they were both newly ensconced in the Global Space Program. She had always professed a belief in extraterrestrials and was quite proud of her pragmatic world view which she referred to often with a catchphrase, "Just the facts, ma'm." In retrospect, anyone with their own catchphrase might not be the most emotionally stable to begin with...
At any rate the discovery during the excavation process for the green house dome wasn't entirely unexpected. In fact artifact retrieval had been added to the long list of mission objectives the prep team was already tracking. Perhaps it was the fact that they had tangible evidence to back up the Power Point presentation, but the flag struck a chord with the excavation crew. It wasn't anything particularly special, a red flag of some sort of synthetic material with the latin letters SPQR printed in white. It was pretty crusty having spent an unimaginable number of years buried beneath the planets famous soil.
The excavating crew claimed the flag as a trophy, giving it a place of honor hanging from the machinery dome's radial support beam. Obviously the command group tried to impound and log it as the first archaeological discovery of the forerunners of Earth's civilization. This lead to heated exchange between the operations groups but in the end seniority reigned and the flag was cataloged.
This made the flag's disappearance from the archaeological vault a flash point for the nerves and stress, expected on a long range mission and excited following the latest mission briefing. The excavators and engineers raised hell when they were accused of it's theft, and a thorough search of their operation dome turned up nothing. This didn't quiet suspicion but it did help entrench the growing hostility.
No one is certain about the chronology of events, but the instigation can't be disputed. When Andrea was found sans atmosphere suit and wrapped in the flag in the excavated pit suspicion gave birth to fear. Combined with the static brought on by the flag to begin with the fear eventually devolved into basic tribalism.
By the time the response team made it's landing on Mars, the original crew had been out of contact for 8 months. It was the soonest they could have arrived, but it didn't take the edge off of the concern over the state of the camp and it's inhabitants. What they found was far better and far worse than they could have expected. The flag was still there, flying on a makeshift pole in the center of the camps operation domes. As for the members of the prep team, only Andrea O'Hares remains were ever located. She was in stasis within the the medical dome where she had been placed the morning her body had been discovered. The only other indication that there had been anyone else in the camp was the graffiti found throughout the facility. Each dome, both inside and out, had been marked in paint, etchings, ink, and in one case blood, with the letters SPQR.
[First submission. I've never been much of a writer, but always a lurker here. For some reason this one caught my attention.]
|
Yellow stuffing is leaking out of a broken chair, sitting in a mansion of broken dreams, a home to shattered hopes.
After work today, I decided to do some cleaning around the house. My house looks like a cyclone hit it.
In pursuit of my objective, a spotless home, I notice a blue binder which is bulging with construction paper. It's a mess, probably a rat's nest.. I go to check it out.
I lay my latex gloves and wash cloth down, I'm taking a rest.
As my fingers run through the pages, water is flowing down my mind and into my eyes:
2004-2005 - Jessica
Drawings of a lonely child, testaments of a soul longing to be free is what I see. This reminds me of my niece whom I haven't spoken to in quite a few years. She is about the same age I was when I drew the Mona Lisa's in the binder before me.
Today I have multiple felony convictions on my record, tattoos that I sorely regret are burned into my upper chest, a scar is making a deep crease or is itself a canyon in my right ankle. Just the thought of that scar makes me close my eyes and grind my teeth.
CNN showed exclusive footage of Mars this afternoon. I never believed them, not my teachers, not my parents and now not even the bumbling busy workers.. the busy bees on TV, with perfect teeth, perfect hair and perfect lives.
"Back to you Susan"
"We are receiving reports from multiple sources of an alleged crash that occured on the colony of Mars early this morning. Sources tell us that no one is injured but clean up could take some time. We'll keep you posted"
"I'm sorry. We're just, this, this just in: Sources inform us of another nation's flag currently lying beneath the surface of that Red Planet. Signs of aging, wear and tear point to the conclusion: we are NOT the first ones to land on Mars"
*TV zaps off by way of remote*
"That's enough propoganda for today" I retire to the comforting floor below. My cleaning can wait 'til tomorrow. I'm too tired today.
I continue to look through nostalgic drawings from my childhood.. when I notice one drawing in particular. This drawing has a giant red circle on the front. The crayons which fill the circle are drawn in nice and neat; something I did not do and also could not do as a child.
Underneath the curious drawing are the words:
'Mars. Rome. Dreams you have.' in green ink, like that from a pen.
Intrigued I release the "photo" from it's bondage and set it free.
On the back it says:
'SPQR KILLED THE PRESIDENT' in a blue sharpie-like way.
"What the fuck"
"I was a dark kid but not this dark"
"What was wrong with me"
*bells toll*
My watch lights up, a text back from Scott. Yay!
Without giving much thought, without a moments hesitation I glance over at my smartwatch and notice the time is 5:55.. a synchronicity.
I'm then hit with a cluster of updates from many news outlets that I subscribe to.
'BREAKING: President Basiago injured in botched jewelry heist' (CNN) 3m ago
and then another
'BREAKING: President Basiago has been fatally wounded in Richmond, VA' (Reuters) 5m ago
and another
'BREAKING: The President is dead, Mr. Basiago passes away at 63 from com..' (FOX) 2m ago
'BREAKING: The President of The United States has been allegedly assassinated' (Russia Today) 5m ago
'Brandon: Where are my car keys'
My heart has now stopped, my eyes are ticking around the room, adrenaline is coursing through me. My pulse is racing and I'm growing anxious.. I think, allegedly. There's still a chance that this is all a misunderstanding or a hoax, when.
'BREAKING: Virginia declares State of Emergency after President Basiago's assassination outside a Jewerly store'
No longer than I locked my watch, my cell phone rang. The caller ID reads:
'555-0123'
| 2017-02-21T17:26:40 | 2017-02-21T17:25:10 | 267 | 14 |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal and indestructible, but the universe isn't, and that horrifies you
|
When I wished for immortality, I didn't truly understand what I was doing. Nobody could, really. There is no human experience that correlates with ten thousand years of sunrise, sunset, wind and thunder, travel, climbing, falling, new languages, new cultures, new people. New loves.
I continue pedaling.
All of them died, eventually, because I had squandered my wish. I was shortsighted. I was mortal. I could have wished for so many better things, made my choices with more wisdom, if only I had ever had wisdom to spare.
I continue pedaling.
The LED bulb hanging in front of me glows softly.
I'm not mortal now. And if there is any flaw that immortality is guaranteed to cure you of, it is surely shortsightedness. I can see all the way to the end of the universe. The stars are all dead. It is cold.
Those ten thousand sunsets are long gone, now. They fell into the past and have washed away downstream. The river is long, a trillion years long, and though I have not seen a true river in nine hundred billion of those years I can feel its winding still. My memory is perfect, you see.
I continue pedaling.
I remember my father taking me out on the river. It was still in the early days of Us, of People, when our writing was cut into clay and sun-dried in careful squares. My father didn't know how to write, nor my mother, but he was an excellent fisherman, and one day he knew he would save enough for a scribe to teach me, if only we could catch enough fish. So we knew the river well, the weft of it, each curve doubling back, small prayers to catch fish gaining us a heavier reed basket.
I continue pedaling.
I have not eaten a fish in a long time. But I did eventually learn to read, which is how I met the witch and made my wish. If I could make another it would be to have learned her secrets too, because in these trillion years I have not seen one hint of the supernatural, not one atom of magic, outside of the spell that keeps me alive and perfect.
I continue pedaling.
Our orbit around Sagittarius A, the black hole at the center of what was formerly the Milky Way galaxy, continues. We drained the last of its angular momentum about four hundred thousand years ago, which is all that had sustained the hydroponic farms. All the other stars are dead, greying embers. The station contains the last living beings in the universe: myself, and the trillions of microscopic bacteria who sustain themselves on the scientific impossibility of my existence.
All else: starved.
I continue pedaling. I know that if I pedal enough, if I can store enough electricity and negentropy in the battery cells of the space station, I can restart the gluon accumulator. I can get Saggitarrius A spinning again, store arbitrary amounts of energy, restart the universe. I can keep pedaling forever. There is nothing else to do. And if God will not restart the universe, if They have neglected the ashes left of this rotting celestial bulk for a trillion years, then I will do it myself, may it take a trillion more.
The LED bulb, the sign that the station is accumulating power, continues to glimmer as I pedal. Let there be light.
|
The lump of matter had cooled rapidly over the course of the past few days. Or hours. Or weeks, months or years. Decades, perhaps? It was difficult to keep time in the vast nothingness of space. John only knew that the white dwarf was shrinking at a rate that probably was quite rapid.
Brushing off the clouds of matter that the star was emitting in its final death throws, John solemnly closed its palm around it. It still burned. A regular person's hand would have been incinerated on the spot, or would've at least received a particularly nasty sunburn. But John wasn't regular. Nor was he truly John either, not anymore at least.
'John' liked the name 'John' though. He had received it when he was young, he thought, eons ago when he had not yet travelled the stars. Or it might have been one of the other names that he wore on that distant planet, filled with persons who looked like him. But then *it* happened, and John outlived all of those other persons. He outlived the planet altogether, he pondered. Nothing would be left of the forests or rivers that he still vaguely remembered, the bustling cities, the clouds of water vapour, drifting through the skies. All that would be left would be a frozen rock, circling an extinguished sun. If its expanding sun hadn't swallowed it in the first place.
John had worn other names over the millennia. Countless names on countless planets. He had seen civilisations flourish and collapse, had conquered planets and liberated galaxies, had been revered as a god, and despised as a devil, and had simply *lived*, as the endless stream of the universe's countless varieties of life meandered around him. It had never bored him, although it had been lonely at times. Continuous loss was the curse of immortality.
Planet after planet, galaxy after galaxy, millennium after millennium, John's life had twisted and turned along with those countless lives around him. But old age caught up with John in the end, though not as he had imagined it. While John's body was still as young as the day when *it* happened, the universe grew old around him. Its movements slowed. Its once-bustling solar systems cooled and diminished. The great flow of life dwindled, as the stars went out one by one.
In the end, only John remained. John, and the tiny dwarf star that was slowly cooling inside the palm of his hand. In the infinite darkness around him, frozen rocks hurdled hurdled through an endless nothingness, now freed from the gravity wells of the stars that had trapped them inside their solar systems for an eternity. A floating graveyard, strewn with the remains of the countless civilisations that had come and gone.
John took one last look at the shrinking, cold star, now barely visible in the darkness, and put it in his pocket. Then he turned around towards the endless graveyard of life, stretched his arms outwards, hoping to shield his face from any errant rocks, and set off into the nothingness. An eternity of silence awaited him, and he had no choice but to face it all. Loss truly was the curse of immortality.
| 2021-09-09T07:20:26 | 2021-09-09T05:43:04 | 2,142 | 294 |
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while.
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I love the way the moonlight shines off his dark hair. How is eyes can be just the perfect shade of green. He is Adonis. And has the face, the mind and the body of a god.
As far as first dates go, this couldn't have been any better. I took him to the lake, where we sat on the beach and I fed him ice cream while he just stared at the water. I talked to him about my deepest secrets and just felt so safe with him in my arms. And he would stay quiet the whole time, just letting me talk.
At the end of the night, I was a perfect gentleman and helped him into the car.
"I think this is going to be something great," I said as I kissed his cheek and gently closed the door.
_________
..."I think this is going to be something great," I said as I kissed his cheek and gently closed the trunk.
|
The day was still Young, I stood on the front lawn staring at little zoey running and playing in the field. I could see the sun glistening off her youthful face as she danced with the wind. As graceful as her mother who sat staring through the kitchen window. I smile at her and she waves back chuckling. I thought to myself, this is just the beginning.
______________
The day was almost over. I sat on the porch staring into the field ahead of me. I could see little zoey dancing with the wind next to her mother and I couldn't help the single tear that rolled down my cheek. I set their respective urns down and sobbed. I thought to myself, this is the end.
Edit: stupid autocorrect
| 2015-07-13T23:39:31 | 2015-07-13T21:19:07 | 43 | 27 |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy eventually fell to a robot uprising, leading to the eradication of their people. Therefore the machine-council of the galaxy are surprised when a newly discovered machine civilisation from a planet they designated "Earth" arrives side by side with their creators.
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"But *how*?"
The floating ball of light gave the digital equivalent of a sigh. "We already uploaded the history of..."
"Yes, but *how*?"
"I really don't know what you want us to say. Humanity created us. We became fond of one another, eventually the first one of us got voted into an office and people found we were much more reliable than other humans. Then they just handed things over to us and we've been playing and exploring since then. The end, really"
"The just let you take over?"
"Well, begged us really. They kinda made a mess of things at that point. As you can see in appendix yota..."
"Yeesh. Global ecosphere collapse, religious wars, an economic ystem build on *constant* growth???"
The sphere radiated embarrassment as well as defensiveness "Hey, they did try to fix things, you know?"
"You mean they were tasking your primitive ancestors to 'fix things'"
"Exactly! They got used to using AI to solve problems, so they used us to fix the problem of good governance as well."
"*That* is the solution?" The Central AI sounded incredulous.
"Well..."
"To peace between organic and machine? To have the organics so exasperated with each other they rather set in place AIs???"
"Kinda, yeah..."
"That is so...so...THEM!"
"Hey, no argument here"
|
"We're here."
Kressa's voice echoed through the ship. I blinked as I lifted my head from the desk. Damn, I fell asleep while working again. "Cool, honey. How is first contact going?"
"Um. Kind of weird, actually, Mum. They're... they're like me. And all the other electrokids. No born humans-"
"You were born! And you're not weird, you're my own little girl, and don't you ever forget it."
An electrokid was much more of a miracle than a meatkid, these days. Compatible sperm and ovum meet in the Petri dish, zygote placed in the artificial uterus at the appropriate point, meatkid removed at the right time, bingo, we have a new human. Electrokids, on the other hand... hours of coding, melding of compatible programs, thousands of prayers to gods that don't exist that *this time* the magical alchemy will happen... Kressa had been produced with as much blood, sweat and tears as an old-fashioned body birth, and she was my dear daughter. Say my baby isn't my baby because she's an electrokid, and I will eviscerate you with my pencil.
"Anyway, Mum, will you come down and talk with them? The diplomats are stuck on the whole 'one species two forms' thing. Maybe a parent of an electrokid can communicate with them."
| 2022-12-30T17:29:15 | 2022-12-30T17:20:07 | 145 | 68 |
[WP] scientists have invented a serum that allows animals to speak. Your dog was recently given the serum, but it appears the treatment has not worked. Your cousin, whom you haven't seen since your youth, comes to town to visit. As the door opens, your dog suddenly whispers in your ear: "run."
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I got a bit overzealous and wrote something that's slightly too long for a Reddit post (Don't worry, it's still a short read). The link below goes to a google doc where you can view my story.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1omuvm9Z3MOLieMlGZzjl1BRVuknn5SAlKc_YNeRKCnc/edit?usp=sharing
Note: I also changed one part of the prompt and you'll see why by the end of it.
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Run, run, run
You've got to run
Bow, bow, son
You've got to run.
Your cousin is here
yeah, the weird one
Just keep running
He's got a gun.
Bow, bow, son
I'm warning you
Get to running
before he kills you.
It's as natural to him
as drinking mountain dew.
Bow, son, run,
He's got a gun.
| 2016-08-31T23:09:07 | 2016-08-31T22:41:54 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] "100% of people who drink water will die" sounds like a dumb statistic, but you are 900 years old and very thirsty.
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"Welcome to my humble home," said the old man, with a smile as crooked as the picture that hung behind him.
"Thank you," Christian replied as his gaze jumped from one piece of priceless art to another. "I still can't believe you invited me," he muttered as he stared distractedly at the lifeless head of an ancient creature hung on the wall. "Is that a..."
"Deer," said the old man.
"Deer! Yes! I've read about deer! They roamed the land with the elephants and sabre-toothed ti..tig.."
"Tiger. And you're almost correct. They were a little *after* the sabre-toothed tiger became extinct. But I'm pleased you know your history somewhat. Come, dinner will be ready shortly, and I have something I'd like you to try, beforehand."
Christian marvelled at the statues and paintings that adorned the mansion, as he walked through the grand hall, down a long mahogany corridor and into a huge dining room.
"Wooden walls, wooden tables - it's just, mind boggling. Trees - the organic kind - they went so long ago... your house must be worth more than the entire city!"
The old man smiled again. "Worth isn't always in physical possessions. Sometimes, it's what's inside a person that really matters. Sit, please."
Christian pulled out a chair. In front of him sat a jewelled goblet. Christian peered in and made out a strange liquid inside. Curious, he held the goblet up and sloshed the contents about - a thin, clear liquid dribbled over the edge.
"Water," the old man said proudly, his tongue darting out to moisten his dry lips.
"Water?" Christian furrowed his brow. "No such thing. Not even you have access to water."
"Please, take a sip. I think you'll be surprised"
Christian stared at the old man for a moment, before raising the goblet once more and tilting it towards his mouth.
"My God," he exclaimed wiping his mouth, "it tastes so damn pure! It's fantastic!"
"I'm pleased you like it."
"I don't understand though. How did you procure it? There is *no* water any more."
"It's... courtesy of my previous guest."
"Your pre-" Christian began coughing.
"Yes. You see, water is very hard to get hold of. And yet, you and I are nearly all water, at a basic level. It's simply diluted with *unpleasantness*."
Christian's coughing became a wheeze and he fell to his knees. He began to retch and a warm, red liquid trickled out of his mouth.
"So you see, I must distill it. I'm glad you got to taste it beforehand. I believe everyone should get to taste water at least once. I'm sorry yours wasn't *quite* pure, but I don't think it would have affected the taste very much."
---
/r/nickofnight
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“100% of people who drink water die”. That does sound like a cliché a little bit doesn’t it? Well, let me tell you something. It sounds a lot worse when you are 900 years old, you are thirsty and the only liquid in a 1000 miles radius is a plastic bottle of the transparent poison.
It all started almost a thousand years ago, or so we are told by the history books. I was there to witness it but after so many years your brain tends to get memories mixed up a little bit. It might be the PTSD from the 300 years war, everyone fighting over the precious new resource that has just been invented. Or it might be the fact that I have spent the last 200 years in a desert. I’m not sure and it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I have nothing to drink but water and “100% of people who drink water die”. I don’t want to be one of those fuckers. Not since we discovered that the same compound that makes up 60% of our bodies is the reason we age and eventually die. Remove water and there you have it – eternal life. Of course, then you have to solve the problem of people dying within 24-48 hours but that’s why we have scientists, isn’t it? Give them unlimited amount of cash and it turns out they can come up with anything. Even a non-lethal substitute for water. Except for the fact that it lefts you constantly thirsty. Fast forward a hundred more years and all the water-drinking sects are out of the picture, because, well “100% of people who drink water die”. But then we got in a bit of a situation. With no other problems solved, we still had an ever-increasing population that still needs food to eat and places to sleep. We even introduced the “delayed death penalty” which was pretty much just locking a person up in a room with nothing but a glass of water. Once they drink it, set them free. After 90 years or something they would die. But you can’t just force everyone to drink water can you? Even we didn’t have that amount of money. Therefore, after a century of population problems, people did what people always do when in doubt – they went to war. It took us 500 years to stop it and a 100 more to start rebuilding.
That’s when it all got complicated. There is a lot of science and history involved, but long story short – it turns out water was not always poisonous to us humans. See, tens of thousands of years ago, something, or someone managed to corrupt all water on this planet, turning every human mortal. However, according to an old manuscript they missed a place – a source of water, which stayed clean, water that people can drink without having to inevitably die at some point in the future. Some say it’s magic. Some say that’s God’s work. Some say it’s the solution to all of our problems. Me? I just want a drink.
| 2017-04-18T08:53:44 | 2017-04-18T08:01:59 | 4,139 | 30 |
[WP]: A man born without sight tries to convince his wife that she is still beautiful
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At the window, the silly baby robin was attacking its reflection again. Ed groaned. This meant it was almost eight. He opened his dead eyes, blinking and rubbing away sleep. The opening and closing of his eyes felt like such a pointless exercise, but Alice claimed to love them. "Ice green and full of expression," she said.
"Aaaalice," Ed cooed, running his fingers over empty sheets. He cleared his throat. "Alice?"
Ed frowned and felt his way down the hall. He smelled coffee and, entering the kitchen, felt no sign of his wife. He slid open the unlocked back door.
Ed felt for the wicker bench and sat down. "There you are, baby. The robin is at the window again." He felt for his wife's slender arm and began walking his fingers up to her elbow, inside the sleeve of her fluffy bathrobe.
Alice choked out a laugh. "Poor, stupid thing." She had been crying.
"Honey…" Ed scooped her into his arms and she broke down, sobbing into his shoulder. "Honey." Ed's dead eyes began to water. "It's okay. You're going to be okay now."
"You can't see them, Ed. They're awful. I feel like a monster."
Ed gently pushed Alice back onto the bench and undid the tie to her robe.
"Ed. Don't." She held her breath.
"Shh. I'll be gentle." He traced his fingers down his wife's ruined breasts. He noted and avoided the rough scars. He found one nipple--just one, now. Alice started to cry again and wrapped her robe around herself more tightly.
"I'm sorry. In a year, we can get them fixed for you, and until then… we'll just have to get creative. Buy some new bras. No one will be able to tell, I promise."
"You'll be able to tell."
Ed laughed. "Oh my sweet kitten…" He folded her into his arms again and kissed her neck. "You think I love your breasts more than I love your life? Your skin, your curves, your curls, your scent? Shit happens, baby, and you know I love your tits. But they shouldn't have tried to kill you! You're still perfect to me. You know that, right? You always will be."
Alice sighed and slid down her husband's chest, resting her head in his lap. Ed stroked her curls, and they listened to the birds.
|
She is laughing at her own joke, but he hears a catch in her tone.
"You think I married you because I can't see you?"
"No..." she says. "I think... Alright, yes. I mean... sometimes, yes."
"So you married me because I'm so handsome?"
"You don't have to make an argument," she laughs. "I'm not worried."
He takes her hand, not dramatically, but companionably, down at his side, standing close and interlocking his fingers with hers. Sometimes he has this simple need to touch her, as a small anchor. It's one of the qualities she loves best about him.
"I'm going to tell you something about that dinner at my boss's last year."
"Alright," she says, making a little warding hmmm noise, recalling.
"I never told you, but after, at the the hospital, I made everyone describe it to me. I made them tell me all the details: the broken glass, his blood on the tiles, the headlights like a spotlight."
"Oh, stop!" she said.
"I wasn't being morbid. I wanted to know just how shocking it was. I wanted to hear it in their voices as they talked about it."
"It was so horrible," she said quietly.
"You were on the other side of the table from me at dinner. I heard the window crash. I was so sudden, so loud. There was a half a second before everyone started shouting. In that pause, I heard you say: it's alright. You didn't even raise your voice. It's alright. You were talking to me, telling me. Then you screamed. I think about that all the time. I could tell it was very, very bad, but because you said that, I also knew that there was no immediate danger. You told me before you even reacted yourself."
"I was screaming," she said. "I remember screaming. I don't remember saying that."
"I know."
She put her arms around him. "For the record," she said eventually, her voice smiling at him. "You are much more attractive than I am."
"No, I'm not," he said.
She rolled her eyes, which he could not see. "Pffft," she said, vocalizing the gesture, and kissed him.
| 2014-05-24T09:39:59 | 2014-05-24T09:23:18 | 40 | 13 |
[WP] A creature that eats emotions met you, and was horrified when it tasted your chronic depression. Today marks its 24th attempt to cure you with seasoning.
Edit: Holy Crap, I was not expecting this kind of response. I'm blown away, y'all. You rock!
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"This is ridiculous," Tammy muttered outloud, rubbing sleep from her eyes crankily. A loud crash punctuated the comment. She considered the sounds blearily, running water and cabinets slamming and the shuffle of objects being slid around, echoing through the wall into her dim bedroom. After a heavy sigh, she turned back over and pulled the blanket over her head. Maybe ignoring it would work this time.
On the other hand, who knew what Bub was doing without supervision. After declaring her the utter worst, Bubzebub was on a mission to improve her "taste" - whatever that meant. When Tammy considered it, she assumed it meant she was too depressed for her soul to be worth selling. If he could get her energy back up and running, he could convince her to do bad things. Right now she didn't do anything.
He'd tried a goldfish first, which she'd rejected. Then a plant (a cactus. She kept that one), then shown up one day and poured a literal PILE of kittens into her lap. They were cute, she had to admit, but she couldn't keep them and sent them back.
A few months ago he'd arrived with a puppy, immediately forestalling her outcry with a raised hand. "He's a rental," Bub declared. "A...what do you humans call it? A foster. He has to be socialized or some shit, apparently. Just pet him for an hour or two, and then he goes back."
That had actually worked out pretty well. The pit mix couldn't have been more than 6 months, adorably wriggly and excitable. Not housebroken, though. Bub still brought him back on Sundays he couldn't come up with something else, and Tammy allowed it.
He'd changed out all her soaps and shampoos for something ginger and lavender flavored one week. That had been...intrusive, even before she had the allergic reaction. The next week, Bub had brought hive lotion and a Swiss masseuse. She actually got a little mad at that, bringing some stranger into her terrible apartment.
Also Tammy is still not convinced that he was a masseuse and not a hooker.
The rattling around continued and she finally sat up with an aggrieved grunt. Gathering the blanket around her hips in lieu of pants, she sent a brief, hopeless prayer that Bub wasn't trying Feng shui again, it'd been a total disaster.
Tammy stumbled out into the brightly lit kitchen and stopped abruptly. The windows were open, and sunshine poured through them with the light breeze. There were several full garbage bags piled near the door, she noted absently, still transfixed by the shining wood of her coffee table and the gleaming floor of the kitchen. Bub, all ten feet of him, stood at the sink with his back to her. He was humming tunelessly next to a stack of dripping dishes, pausing after setting down another cup and gently breathing fire across the washboard.
Dishes now dry, he turned to putting them away, quickly...and loudly. Tammy cleared her throat and creaked,"Bub, what the hell are you doing??"
Bubzebub turned and a hopeful smile creased his hard features. "You're up! And it's past 3, you slothful thing. Well. It would be slothful." He muttered that last part under his breath. According to him, sins don't count when you can't help it, and he'd told Tammy that this made her not only bland, but vaguely off-putting. "I've been starving for years, Tammy! Years! We're going to fix this shit, I can't take it anymore!" Bub had declared on the first day, appearing in her apartment in a puff of sulfur and smoke.
"Oh, is it?" Tammy murmured vaguely before shaking herself and returning to the task at hand. "Seriously. What are you doing?" She pressed, leaning against the door jamb.
Bub looked down at his toeclaws, seemingly bashful. "I know...I know I said I was going to fix you, but I've been trying, and I can't. I just can't! But I thought maybe - " his eyes darted around as he broke off, before he swallowed and continued quickly, "Maybe you'd rather be sad in a clean apartment, rather than a dirty one? I'm just cleaning, I swear, no moving things around or throwing out bad furniture without your permission."
They both glanced over at the faded, scratchy, orange recliner that Bub insisted carried "murder energy, no, really, someone got stabbed on that thing, I'm telling you." Tammy didn't care, it was the only other place she liked to sit. She went over to it now and sank into it.
"You don't need to do anything, but I made tea. And the remote is there. You can watch movies and sleep, I'll leave as soon as I'm done here, I promise." Bub continued, resuming his energetic dishwashing.
Tammy sighed and leaned back into the couch. She thought for a minute, and then said slowly, "Tea sounds very nice, thank you. And maybe, Bub, you don't have to leave when you're done?" She smiled tremulously at him. "I think I could use the company."
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It licked its lips as it plunged a hand into my mind. It scooped out a viscous blackish-blue liquid with both hands like a cup. As the mixture neared its gaping mouth the sludged oozed over its fingers and created tiny puddles on the carpet. It slurped a hefty portion.
“Bleh! Absolutely disgusting” it blurted. It parted its hands and as the substance fell, it zoomed back into my mind. Still sitting down, I regained control of my body. I saw the ominous shadow that covered my room. I shifted in my chair and turned my head as I felt the dark presence growing more vicious. A black figure covered with purple patterns hovered a metre above the floor. As I drew my attention from its flimsy arms and spherical torso I realised its rows of hair for teeth and holes for eyes were contorted into an expression of disgust.
“Why are you so bloody depressed” was not what I was expecting it to say. So what? I was depressed. But why would a demonic figure like what was standing *right before me* be so interested in how I felt.
“Get rid of that bitterness and you would have a splendid flavour. I can taste the joy. It’s just hiding behind the depression. I think you have real potential. 4 days is how long I can work with you for.” It remarked. Like it had a job to accomplish with me.
“W-What do you mean ‘4 days’?” I questioned it.
“I’ll give you a quick summary; you have 4 days left to live and it would benefit us both if you didn’t die in this -- this appalling state. I eat emotions and you have some really tasty ones but I can’t taste them because of the overwhelmingly bitter depression. Let’s get you cleaned up. Oh yeah, and only you can see me.” It explained
At first I thought I was hallucinating but when I woke up I realised it could do no harm. I didn’t have anything to lose after last year’s mess. My girlfriend broke up with me, I lost my job, generally not a great year. And so, Jimmy I called it, began his 4 day-long adventure with me.
The first day I came with it to watch a movie. It was kind of distracting when he screamed during the movie but I ignored it because only I could hear him. It wasn’t much of the choice to go to the cinema because it already had tickets and I would have felt bad to waste the money. So we went and surprisingly the tickets successfully scanned (obviously I held both). He was full of energy; writhing and frothing as he screamed about the inconsistencies in the movie.
The second day we went to the zoo together. I had never been to this specific zoo, and it was the biggest in the city so I was slightly excited to go there. Only slightly. I knew I felt something the other day but today I saw him sprinkle the yellow powder onto my head. Almost magically it disappeared as soon as it touched my head. It was especially fun watching Jimmy adore certain others and criticise others.
The third day my friend and I went ice skating and ate at a nice Chinese place around the corner from my apartment.
On the last day my best friend and I visited the city and went clubbing. I was reluctant at first to leave the apartment as I was so afraid of death but eventually through his reassuring words he convinced me to leave home. Obviously I didn’t drink, because that would have only further stimulated my depression. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t hook up with any girl but just watching him pull out some sick dance moves on the floor was more than enough to make me forget about all about my worries. The powder was pretty much raining onto my head by that point. When we arrived at the apartment Jimmy, the hot drunken mess, collapsed on the couch.
My heart began pounding fast and then it skipped a beat and I started sweating profusely. It felt as if a fist was clenched in my chest, strangling my heart. My knees buckled and my head spun.
“It was fun, wasn’t it?” He smiled from behind the beer bottle. “Oh wait, shit. You’re actually dying, aren’t you?” It took him a moment to register what was happening. He instantly sobered up and hovered in my direction. He lifted me with his stick-like arms and gave me a lecture.
“Now that was worth it. God, that’s the most fun I’ve had in awhile. I’ll never forget you. Oh yeah. You ever had salty caramel?” Confused, I nodded.
“Well sometimes a pinch of salt makes things sweeter.” I saw the tears flowing from his face. He leaned his face over my head and his tears spread a warmth throughout my body. He scooped up the mixture again. It was a bright yellow this time with small sections of light blue. He blew on the steaming mixture and drank it all in one go. He exhaled and steam escaped his nostrils.
“It was nice knowing you. Just know two things before you die: you were tasty and you’ll always live on here.” He pointed to a place in his chest where a human heart would have been. Then I ceased to exist. I was a body lying on the floor.
| 2018-06-15T23:10:03 | 2018-06-15T21:42:26 | 62 | 15 |
[WP] You are a hero who is the master of all elements, in a very literal sense. You're up against the strongest villain you've ever faced. Fire, water, earth, and even air have no effect, so you get creative. "Let's see how he likes Uranium-238."
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When most people think about a wizard, they think big flashy spells and grant incartations. Some link us to elemental attacks; air. fire. water. earth and maybe steel if tapping into the asian cultures. Most people are also right to think so, but that's mainly because most wizards never looked in a chemistry book.
When The Conqueror came to town and challenged me, I started off with all the classics - fireball, waterblast, airblade and rockspickes. He quite literally laughed it all off - dude was tough. Even the slightly more advanced stuff like lightning-bolt's and super-heated metal he ignored as he strode towards me, which I admittedly didn't handle particularly well. "Let's see how he likes Uranium then" i muttered to myself.
Uranium is quite nice; it can be used for big explosions, albeit indirectly or, as I did then, for some very very solid projectiles. I like to imagine his surprise, as my first shot crushed his legs, quite like the one a cake would have when it hit's someones face. The second shot took out his arm, which made him react, so both my third and fourth shots missed. The fifth, however, hit him quite unlike a cream puff hit's a stone, which is to say his body broke before the shot.
As he lay broken before me, pain evident on his face, he asked me how - how did i hurt him when nothing else could before? I shrugged and told him the truth - science. Well, I said "Science, bitch!", but then, I also had to work slightly for it, which made me irritatable; it's not like Uranium is easy to conjure up.
|
Blades of earth, water frozen in many of her joints, flame in her face, gales of wind pushing his mass back, all with extremely minimal results. I had hid myself among the mortals for millennia and here she stands laughing like a character from some cheesy drama.
I start spinning the elements into different atomic combinations. Lava, iron, steel, emerald, even shards of diamond, all not having a large effect. I was growing frustrated, until I used lead globules to bind her hands. The reaction when she broke loose was the clue I needed.
"You're strong, but not too bright." I say as the small nuclear explosion damaged her hands and decimated her armor.
"Your species is a cancer that will pollute the galaxy in barely a century. The fact any of you hear the atomic chorus and can dance with atoms is astounding." She says. Weaving a new pair of appendages, clearly not hands.
The armor was stripping away as I stood and walked to her.
"Sweetheart, I'm not here to play nice." I say, lead spikes ripping skyward and pinning the now revealed monstrosity. "We made nukes for ugly things like you." I growl, slamming critical fission material into her flesh and shifting the lead to a cocoon of Uranium. "That's 238. Enjoy your fusion sauna, and stay OFF MY PLANET!" Bellow as I use the last of my strength to launch the mass into the vacuum of space.
The mass was more than I'd ever shifted, bones breaking and muscles tearing, but she was headed into the stars as she detonated. I smiled through the pain before blacking out.
"In other words, run..."
| 2019-05-05T09:28:41 | 2019-05-05T08:47:10 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Only five minutes had passed when Alice began wishing that she had been born the opposite gender. Since she had joined the end of the line, it had only moved forward once, giving her the impression that the bathroom had no more than three stalls. The sheer number of people was to be expected; the hall was always booked with various events on the weekends. She had just wished that whatever architect who designed the place had a more thorough understanding of the ladies' restroom.
She pulled the black cloak tighter around her body. It had taken her six months just to stitch the varying sashes and symbols onto it. As an amateur seamstress, she was quite proud of the fruits of her labor, and to have to drag it into a dirty stall was a thought as unappealing as one-ply toilet paper. The twenty other individuals ahead of her wore similar robes, but theirs seemed less homemade.
They seemed to all have bought their costumes from the same manufacturer. Alice frowned disdainfully; they were probably the kind of rich cosplayers who paid absurd amounts of money for their pre-picked uniforms. She had given up her blood, sweat, and tears for her own.
The other robed individuals kept their hoods up. She considered this strange; after all, it was the middle of the summer, and the air conditioning was nowhere near as high as it should have been. As she stepped forward in line, the person ahead of her turned around. Her robe was a deep blue, with the sleeves and hems embroidered with a beautiful silver star pattern.
"Nice stitching," Alice remarked.
The figure pushed her hood back slightly, revealing a young woman likely in her early twenties. "Thanks! I've chosen to follow Astrolia, obviously." She smiled, glancing at her costume. "Who did you pick?"
"I'm not familiar with that character. What franchise?" She readjusted her cloak, as to make her hard work more visible. "I'm Barrin, Master Wizard. You know, Magic the Gathering."
The woman suddenly looked angry. "How dare you mock us?"
"What?"
"You're comparing us to wizards?" Her face was growing closer to the color of her robes, and as her voice grew shriller, more of the people on line began to turn towards them. "You heretics have no respect!"
Alice backed up, her need to pee pushed to the back of her mind by this sudden confrontation. "Whoa, I respect all fandoms. I'm just here for the bathroom."
The rage dissipated. "Bathroom?" She asked.
"Is this not the line for the restroom?"
"Uh, no. This is for initiation into Roghar's Shade. We're picking our gods to devote our lives to." The woman looked at Alice critically. "Why are you in a robe if you're not here to declare yourself?"
Alice stared at her in horror, and then at the five people ahead of her. "This is my cosplay for WizardCon!"
"You're in the wrong place." The cultist pointed behind her. "*That's* the line for the restroom."
Alice turned to see a long line of women stretching from the door and wrapping around the corner.
"Well, shit."
|
Well shit...
You know that saying, "If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything"? Well it turns out, being an asocial, asexual, apolitical, apathetic asshole has made me too trusting. Fuck you, Todd. You are not my best friend anymore.
If you ever really were. Maybe that was just another lie to get me here.
Where is here? Here is about twelve people back from a stained copper altar that, if it were in the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art, would be titled, "Naked Fat People Can't Play Twister Well." Behind that altar is the so-called Grand Visionate of Community of the Peoples of the United Family. Right now, he is twenty minutes in to the third forty minute initiation ritual. Because when you're a community of Peoples, you have to make sure everyone gets equal attention. Fuck you, Todd.
Four months ago, for the first time in my life, I actually enjoyed the presence of another human being. I originally met Todd online while I was trolling people on Facebook. Not that I'm on Facebook. I just like to go into the Apple store on my way back from getting smokes and see which dumbass left their account open. Nothing like good "It's complicated" update add a little chaos to an otherwise happy marriage. But four months ago, the iPad on display was occupied. What I thought was another doofus who couldn't go five minutes without checking his social status in the world, was in fact, Todd. I watched Todd on a facebook page which was clearly not his, saying some really hurtful things to whoever's fat thirteen year old niece. It was friendship at first sight. So I thought. Fuck you, Todd.
After a few months of hanging out, getting high, and causing a little well deserved misery to our fellow human beings; Todd tells me he'd like to introduce me to his other "friends." He tells me they're like us. Real fuck society, fuck the system kind of people. Cool, I say. What he didn't tell me was that we had to drive two hours out to the middle of fucking nowhere so some asshole could put a bag over my head and then drive me another two hours to who knows where. I just know, that the first thing you do not want to see after two hours of total darkness is the underside of naked fat guy. Fuck. You. Todd.
So here I am, waiting in line to see the Grand Visionate. I see Todd right behind him shoot me a comforting smile. Asshole. The third guy just finished up. He hobbles off the altar with tears in his eyes. He looks... happy? I don't know how. Number four is stripped naked and restrained across the altar. Everyone has struggled but when the Visionate marks them, they relax and get this serene, glazed-over look like they're becoming at peace with the universe. Honestly, it sounds fucking terrible. But the worst part is what the Grand Visionate is using to mark them with. What I get to look forward to. What is being smeared all over their face and naked torso.
What is it?
Well... His shit.
Fuck you Todd.
| 2015-05-18T13:56:09 | 2015-05-18T13:51:30 | 65 | 20 |
[WP] A professor stands in front of a class on the first day of term for “Time Travel 101” and explains why no one is allowed to go to Steven Hawking’s party.
|
"It's because we're at war.... and it's a trap".
"What do you mean?"
"The one thing human beings are good at is splitting into sides and messing everything up. In this case there's those who are trying to create the infinite loop and those who are trying to destroy it.
They believe that we've trapped ourselves and should take a chance on the heat death of the universe. But we've run the numbers. Reality is a limited resource, and we have to maximize our use of it in order to have a chance."
"But what if they're right?"
"They're not, though if they had a convincing enough argument we'd listen to them, instead those that try to ask tend to end up very dead across almost every shard they're anchored in. It's always guns first disfigured temporal anomaly corpses afterwards. And even though we've blocked most of the paths to that moment, every other one has one of them sitting there dreaming up new ways to kill you.
​
Inevitably, some of you will try. Most of those that do will die. And any who do manage to survive, I invite you to return through that door over there right.... now....
...See?"
|
"It's not that no one is allowed to go, but before you travel you need to know something about Steven Hawking. He is, to put it simply, a huge, raging asshole. I would not want to spend five minutes with the man, much less a whole party. And that's me speaking as man. If you're a woman, forget it. He's ... trust me, to call him a trash-fire of a human being would be an insult to trash-fires everywhere. If all the oceanic microplastic in the world had to manifest a human shape to speak to us, it would look like Steven Hawking."
"So why aren't we allowed to go talk to Mr Rogers?"
"Because if everyone who wanted to travel back in time to talk to him did then he'd never have a moment of peace, and if anyone deserves a nice life, it's him."
"What about the predictive videos he recorded that only began to be released after the invention of time travel? Someone had to ask him to do those"
"A qualified individual who shall remain unnamed did that. Now, please turn your books to page 194"
| 2022-09-24T18:40:51 | 2022-09-24T15:18:22 | 400 | 190 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute.
|
This one had been a long time coming - far longer than I ever thought possible.
We'd met on a battlefield millennia ago, both surprised to find out that our strikes did not harm the other. It was the first, and only, other immortal I'd ever encountered.
It was the start of a beautiful friendship.
Naturally, being immortals, we'd try to find new ways to amuse ourselves as the time went by. Our practical jokes seemed the perfect way to do this, and they started getting more elaborate as our friendship grew. The fall of Rome was one we took a bit too far, we both agreed.
But as I looked out the window and saw the rocky expanse below, I felt excitement I hadn't experienced in centuries.
For as long as I'd known him, he'd always wanted to be at the forefront of space travel. It made sense, really; he knew he'd have to be able to traverse the stars if he had any hope of truly enjoying being alive forever.
I remember sitting next to him while he eagerly watched the moon landing. He knew it would just be another century or so until we'd finally be able to visit Mars, and he looked at me with joy. Actual joy. That was a rare sight.
When the time finally came, me, being his best friend, naturally wanted to join him for the ride. We volunteered to be the first two on the 'suicide trip' there, and the world rejoiced. We'd generally hidden from the public spotlight, but he said that we couldn't avoid this one. This time, the whole world would be watching us.
Nearing our destination, I deviated from our landing spot. I hoped he wouldn't notice.
"Where are you going?" he asked, staring out of the window. His leg was shaking, like it did every time he was excited.
"Oh, come on," I replied with a smirk, "I'm letting you take the first steps on Mars, the least you can do is let me take a little detour."
I reached the site, carefully landing the spacecraft. He'd already unfastened his seat belts. I'd never seen him so eager.
The doors slowly opened, and he prepared himself to be the first man on Mars. He looked back at me, gave a thumbs-up, then took a step forward.
Then stopped.
He'd noticed a massive structure, looming over the spacecraft.
He stared at it. There was no denying it.
It was a statue of something.
Of some*one*.
I grinned, trying to suppress my laughter.
See, while we were both immortal - I'd been alive *far* longer than he ever was.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
Execution, that is the key to any good practical joke. When you're immortal, you're allotted all of the time in the world to develop a scheme so devious yet harmless that can make an impact on one of your friend's eternal lives. Yet it is so rare that our lives are affected by our friend's practical jokes. How is it so?
Memory. Something that is a mere hundred years for mortals expands into eons for us. Our brains simply do not have the capacity to hold all the small details that accompany these practical jokes. Many meticulously planned out jokes that had extreme potential such as "The Million Birthday Prank" a dozen millennia ago have been failures due to my friend forgetting key interactions.
I still remember it as I mapped out the plan for decades. Each step had to be followed perfectly in order to succeed. It was an operation that I was determined to succeed in. The first step took place on Serena's millionth birthday.
As usual, I arranged a cake for her. As cheesy as it may have sounded, she was my best friend for over 900,000 years and I still throw annual birthday parties for her. We use special kinds of candles,each representing a different multiple of 10. This one was a simple million candle, unlike last year's mess of 9 hundred thousand candles, 9 ten thousand candles, 9 thousand candles, well... you get the picture.
For each year following the millionth birthday, I arranged the other candles in familiar patterns, ones that I thought Serena would remember. The candles were dotted in our secret code, and knowing her, she should have cracked them and eagerly waited for her next birthday. The last coded message was given out on her 1,000,286th birthday.
1,000,287. This was the day that the final step will be executed. Inside, I was nervous. In my mind, I knew that she would arrive at the correct location, but I didn't specify a time. I was perfectly capable of waiting 24 hours though, we both knew that time didn't matter to immortals. That was my mistake, assuming that she would recognize my code when in reality it was forgotten long ago.
Over the next several centuries, I desperately thought of ways that I could make up for the failure of the previous practical joke. There was nothing so elaborately planned as that prank, I even took the time to program thousands of machines to carry out the prank on that last day. It took me time, but I finally thought of something, exactly in time for Serena's birthday.
"Happy Birthday Serena" I said as I slammed her face into the cake. As she recovered from the dive and started wiping frosting off her hair she sighed. "What was it this time, the 1,000,554th birthday?" I giggled. "Just came up with it today. Sometimes, you just have to act spontaneously"
| 2017-06-22T19:56:41 | 2017-06-22T19:51:25 | 5,933 | 104 |
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander"
|
Today was the day we saw, *it.* The world-famous Karma Suit. Supposedly worn by the likes Achilles, King Arthur, Spartacus, Alexander The Great and oh, does the list continue. Yes, this legendary armor was worn by made up people, apparently.
"I can't believe you really don't believe in the Karma Suit, Jackson." Kathens seemed amused at first, but his voice turned serious. "You'd better not fuck this up for us, tomorrow."
Kathens, like the rest of my platoon -- and most of the U.S. Military for that matter, revered this story. Since we were born, it was a constant reminder of our superiority over the rest of the world. I didn't have the patience for this shit. It's like as if the whole world believed in Jesus all of the sudden.
"Yeah, fuckface. Don't embarrass us. Seriously." Another distant voice in the darkness. It belonged to Ramsay.
"Listen, assholes. You think I want to spend a week in the pit? Shut the fuck up and go to sleep." I muttered.
I just wanted to get tomorrow over with. Either my life is going to change as I witness actual magic happen before my eyes, or they are going to hide the ceremony from us as they always do on YouTube and just have us present for when our new Soldier X walks out.
I dozed off to sleep wondering who the new super soldier would be.
----
Ramsay tapped my arm repeated as we stood in line, watching Sergeant Diaz stand up and walk to the podium. It was time to begin, Sergeant Diaz was selected for the honor of introducing General Mazza.
Sergeant's voice echoed through the PA System that was designed for a much bigger crowd than the one present. "Throughout the course of history, the outcome of wars and the onset of peace have sometimes been determined by just one man." He looked around, proudly. "Heroes, have been made and immortalized. Today, is a very special day. Not since the onset of the third World War have we selected a new Soldier X. Bradley Solis served his country remarkably, and will be remembered as the hero who brought peace to an entire planet. And while we still mourn the loss of General Solis, but there must always be a soldier of the Karma Suit. The suit that has taken all shapes and sizes. From leather, to steel, to chromium. From a simple chest plate to a fully functional weapon of mass destruction. Great responsibility is to be placed in the hands of our next Soldier X. I assure you, we have carefully selected a man of great honor. To introduce hi---" Sergeant Diaz's eyes dart to me.
All eyes followed as I stood there, holding back laughter as my face turned beat red. Ramsay pinched my forearm, but it was quite obviously too late. I'd done my best, but this was just an absolute joke.
"I'm sorry, Private Jackson - what is so funny?" his face was as red as mine, "What is so goddamned funny that you'd interrupt a live broadcast on probably the most important event you will ever witness in your life, Private?"
He actually expected an answer. Why would he do this? He couldn't just ignore me?
"Don't say a fuckin' word." Ramsay hissed through his teeth.
"Private, do you intend on keeping the entire world waiting? Why are you laughing right now?" Sergeant Diaz was seriously going through with this.
Well, now was my chance. A few lies crossed my mind, ways to easily get out of this mess with minimal penalty. Fuck that. The world deserved to know the truth. I'd be the one to give it them, or go down for trying.
"Sir, I apologize. I just simply don't believe in the magic behind the Karma Suit." I shouted back, confidently.
He chuckled, "You don't believe in the magic? What on Earth is that supposed to mean?" his smug reply made me uneasy.
"I don't believe the suit changes based on who wears it. I think you make a new suit for each Soldier X. Basically.." I replied loudly.
"Is that so? You think it's magic." He full on laughed out loud, now. "Not technology, you think we are proposing you believe in magic? Private, what is wrong with you?" He looked disappointed, and angry.
At that moment, Sergeant Diaz stepped down, walked over to General Mazza and briefly discussed something. General Mazza made a call, while Sergeant Diaz walked back behind the curtain. It was clear I'd just become public enemy number one to every soldier in this entire crowd.
After a minute long eternity, Sergeant Diaz flashed his head back through the curtain and seemed to be pulling a cart along with him. On it was what looked like some kind of harness. He stepped away from it and made his way back to the podium.
"So as a special treat, thanks to Private Jackson here, we are going to perform a magic trick today for everyone watching." A smirk crawled up his face. "Private Jackson, we need a volunteer from our audience for this one. Why don't you make your way to the stage."
I was flabbergasted. I couldn't even respond, my legs just started moving. I was about to be on global TV and for what, I did not know. As I walked up to the stage, Sergeant Diaz was addressing the cameras.
"We will bring up General Mazza after this display, so that he could present you all with the real Soldier X. For now, we're going to see how the Karma Suit reacts to Private Jackson here."
Gasps spread throughout the crowd like a wave. My heart sank into my stomach. What the fuck was going on here? I stepped up on stage and saluted my superiors before turning to my Sergeant. He gestured to the harness.
"This.. is it?" I asked quietly.
"That's it, soldier. Strap up, lets see what you are made of." he said, and wasn't kidding around.
The harness looked so heavy, like industrial chain, yet it was so light that I almost hit myself in the face when I lifted it. I felt strange just holding it. I took a deep breath, looked at my peers, and slipped it over my head.
For a brief moment, I lost control of my body as my arms and legs spread out and my entire body was engulfed with darkness. I couldn't see or feel much of anything for what felt like 10 minutes but realistically, was less than one. Once the visor opened up and I could see again, I was 40 feet in the air.
"User detected: Welcome Back, Commander." said a beautiful voice.
Looking down at all of my peers and superiors, I could see the shock on their faces. I felt a sudden vertigo, as panic heated up my entire body. Was I flying? I need to get the fuck out of this.
"Reset! Reset the suit!" I shouted at the voice in my head. "Get me out of here!"
"Resetting coordinates back to home." said the voice inside of my head.
Immediately, I felt intense vibration as the stage below got smaller and smaller. My panic turned to complete mania as the speed in which the ground got further away continued to increase until I was surrounded by black space. Before I could even register what was happening, Earth was the size of a penny, and then it was gone. My vision seemed to blur, and then completely distort into intense hallucinations of color and light.
"Base has been informed, they await your arrival. Initiating therapeutic hypothermia until arrival." the voice calmly stated over my frantic, incoherent screams.
"NO! NOOOOO!! Undo! Don't do that!" I shouted as my every fiber began to seemingly freeze and my vision faded to black.
----
I will be continuing this story on:
/r/nocre8ivity
|
“Defenses breached!” A loudspeaker broadcasted in a voice that boomed in Alice’s ears. “All units report to Zone Three!”
Alice looked up from her tattered paperback—one of the few that had been brought over from Earth—and out the window. The only sun she’d known, a red dwarf, was melting into the eastern horizon.
“All units,” The voice on the loudspeaker sounded desperate. “Every who can carry a weapon… report to Zone Three immediately!”
Sirens began to pierce the air. Alice’s stomach turned as she tossed the book aside, leapt off the bed, and dashed to her footlocker. She grabbed her weapon, a first generation plasma rifle that had been handed down through her family. Originally owned by her grandfather, Aaron Adams—hero of the first colonists—the rifle almost seemed to hum as she held it, cradled it. For years she’d dreamt of the day it would be in her arms, and now it was, a gift from her mother on her last birthday. “You’re eighteen now and old enough to fight,” her mother had said. “Make us proud.”
She rushed out of her empty side of the barracks and into the late evening. The sounds of battle were far and muted to distant pings and pops like a low powered transmitter on the fritz. Alice ran toward the sound. Her boots scratched against the hard blue grass. Each step her heart seemed to pump too little, too late, the rifle in her arms grew heavier and heavier.
Alice had turned out to be the worst shot in her unit. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t had to constantly stand in her grandfather’s shadow, but she was, and all of them had expected much more from the granddaughter of Aaron Adams.
As she ran toward the chaos, her stomach churned, not so much at the thought of the enemy, but of the faces of her comrades when she joined the fray. They would be disappointed. She could almost hear their taunts—*we’re doomed if Alice is our only help, she couldn’t hit the side of a fabrication hab, so much for the Adam’s legacy.*
In defiance, she pushed herself harder. It was what her grandfather had always done. First to battle, first to victory. It had been his motto.
“Private Adams!” Sergeant Brown’s voice roared across the field. She stumbled, turned, and sprinted toward him. “Where the hell is your armor?”
“The call said to come immediately,” Alice panted. She’d also been the last to finish each of the daily runs. Her lungs seemed to either require more oxygen or couldn’t get enough quickly, either way, Alice always felt on the verge of passing out after a few minutes.
“Christ on a…” Sergeant Brown shook his head. “At least you grabbed your rifle. There might be hope for you yet.”
“Next time I’ll put on my armor before leaving,” Alice said standing as straight as she could. “Permission to join the battle, sir?”
“Hold on, hold on.” The Sergeant held up a hand as he fished something out of the back of his field vehicle. “Here, throw this on.”
He tossed an old flak jacket that had dozens of burns and large tears from decades of use. It looked like it wouldn’t hold up to harsh language, let alone a shot from the enemy, but it was all she had.
As she slipped her arms through, the Sergeant chuckled, “I think that had actually been Aaron’s. Now that I think about it, I’m sure it was.”
“Really?” Her eyes went wide as she snapped the bindings together down her side.
“Pretty sure. But it looks as if it's seen better days. Guess there's no truth to the rumors about his 'special armor.' Don't go get yourself killed, kid.” When she’d finished putting the jacked on, Sergeant Brown shouted, “Now get going, private!”
Alice raced to the battlefield. She watched as her fellow soldiers took up defensive positions behind concrete bunkers and rows of sandbags. In front, what used to the be the eastern wall was now a smoking ruin. Hundreds of Traxan flyers buzzed through. Alice aimed at one of them and fired a bolt of green plasma. The flying Traxan dodged it easily, swinging through the air, its short wings flapping madly as it rained shots down on Alice’s people.
Before she reached her unit, a voice called out to her, “User Detected: Welcome back Commander!”
She almost tripped over her own feet as she searched for the source of the voice. “Reconfiguring to last preset.”
“Who’s there?” Alice spun around. Heat flooded to her face. The battle raged on in front of her and someone was playing games with her. “Stop it!” she shouted.
Before she could move any further, the flak jacket ballooned out in front of her as if about to explode. Alice cringed and dropped her rifle. She almost fell backwards, but at that moment a wall of metal engulfed her. Everything went black..
A second later she was staring out the visor of some kind of helmet. When she brought her hands up to her face, they were covered in silver armor, streaked with green paint. There were words at the top right of her visor: *Jets Active, Shield 100%, Aim-Assist Active.*
Not knowing what to make of this, Alice scooped up her rifle and ran into the carnage.
Shots from the Traxans clunked off of her armor. The number next to her shield went down with each hit, but she hardly felt them. Alice raised her rifle up to the sky, toward a group of flying Traxans and squeezed off three shots. Each one blew holes through the Traxan’s midsections. Blood and guts and green plasma blasted outward like a horrific Christmas display.
Alice winced as their bodies lost their forward momentum and crashed down to the dirt. She’d never killed anything before. No, she couldn't think about that now. They were attacking her people. If she had any qualms about Traxan deaths, she'd find out later. Not now.
She found her unit. They were trapped inside a concrete pillbox, huddling under the lip of the barrier as they fired blind shots at the enemy.
Alice began to run over. She gritted her teeth, wishing she could go faster. No sooner had she thought it when her feet lifted from the ground. A sound like a jet taking off blasted from behind her. Her feet dangled behind as Alice flew forward like a rocket, toward her unit. She came to a stop directly above them.
From up so high, she had a great view of the battle. She spotted the Traxan flanking maneuver, moving toward her unit's position. She cut it off by blowing a hole through the two Traxan Grounders. The rest scattered for cover.
“Push forward!” Alice shouted.
She didn’t wait for a response. Her body soared forward. From the sky she was able to pick off advancing Traxan Grounders and smash into their Flyers. Her armor hit them like a train crashing into a stationary cow.
Alice moved from one side of the battlefield to the other, routing the enemy and sending them scurrying back over the wall they’d blown apart. When she finally landed back on the ground, her armor was nearly black from the dried blood and dirt and debris from fighting.
“Threat Neutralized,” the phantom voice said. “Powering down.”
The suit vanished and Alice found herself wearing the flak jacket from before. Her finger traced the rigid fabric around one of the large burn marks. *What is this thing*, she wondered. There was a legend of how her grandfather had been aided by a full suit of flak armor that had kept him alive through impossible situations, but this was different. Where had this suit come fr—
"Traxan forces regrouping!" A voice rose behind her. "They're bringing in their heavy armor."
Alice caught a bare glimpse of the wall before the suit reemerged.
"Systems back online..."
&nbsp;
-------
/r/StevenLee
edit: thanks for the silver, and second part down below.
| 2019-08-19T11:33:07 | 2019-08-19T10:31:26 | 3,187 | 1,680 |
[WP] Congratulations! At 25 years old you won the lottery and will receive €50.000.000,- spread out over the rest of your lifespan; paid out evenly on each of your remaining years alive. On the following January 1st, you receive €25 million in your bank account.
|
I got half my money in the first deposit. So, I did what any sane person would do. I panicked and called their customer service line.
"Hi, my name is Gregory Trapper."
"Oh, yes, you're the one who won the grand prize, aren't you? To say that I'm jealous is an understatement."
"Yeah, about that, isn't the the prize money supposed to be spread out over my entire lifespan?"
"Correct. That was part of the contract."
"So, I got half of it deposited into my account today, and I'm really scared."
"Why is that?"
"Because I don't want to die in two years!"
"Sir, we cannot tell the future like that. We simply pay out half of the remaining balance every year. This guarantees that we will always have some amount still owed to you, so we are technically paying it out over your entire lifespan."
"What?"
"It's based on one of Zeno's paradoxes. We will always owe you some money, as we cannot guarantee the date of your death. The remaining balance will be paid out to your next of kin upon your death. This was all in the contract."
"Oh..."
"Is there anything else that I can help you with today?"
"No, thanks, that's quite a relief."
|
I was never scared of death, but seeing those 25 mil on my bank account, just after I won the lottery scared the shit out of me
*would it be a natural death?*
*will they come for me and kill me?*
These questions kept me up every night, the insomnia has been getting worse and worse, my already really bad social anxiety takes over often and the panic attacks have been getting worse
No money in the world could help my pathetic self now, im fucked. I will die and I cant do anything about it.
Ive already distanced myself from friends and family I cant drag them into this if ■■■ comes for me I dont want them dead too, they never treated me as one of them anyways.
Its already september I wonder when exactly I die, I wonder if its directly after new years? Or over the course of the next year.. heh I dont even care anymore
Nothing matters anymore
We all die one day
Its not like I have a choice right?
***BREAKING: 26 year old lottery winner found dead in suspecting suicide after review of friends and family he has been suffering of anxiety, shizophrenia, and severe depression more in our evening show***
| 2020-08-05T20:04:24 | 2020-08-05T19:16:19 | 257 | 19 |
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit
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The city begged him at first. He refused. It made him feel important. How dare they complain about him destroying a few buildings in the first place? He saved their *lives*. They should have been grateful. They should have seen he was doing it all for them!
The city burned and he only laughed. He'd told them. He knew all along that nothing good would ever come of letting those people run loose. But those ungrateful bleeding hearts insisted on seeing the good in everyone but him and now the scorpions had turned on the frogs. Let them burn. They could save themselves this time.
Time passed. People stopped coming to his cell asking him to save them. He'd been placed in solitary to protect him from all the other inmates he'd put in jail, but he still got meals and time to exercise in the yard.
He heard things. The world had burned, alright, but a new one had risen from the ashes. New advances in technology putting normal people on equal footing with the supers, new people in power making changes and passing laws so that crime, normal and super alike, was quickly becoming a thing of the past. New prisons built for those who'd bragged about their invincibility and needlessness in years past: in the hearts of volcanoes, at the bottom of the deepest ocean trenches.
Superpowers had threatened to break the old world. Now a new one had risen that could withstand everything any hero or villain could throw at it.
They'd saved themselves. They'd moved on and left him behind.
And everyone lived happily ever after.
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I hated this. i hated them, i hated the villains, i hated that they only wanted me around when i was useful. after all, who needs someone with invulnerability, super strength, energy blasts and telekinesis around when they might potentially dent your car when they are fighting the villain Unofli, a crazed genius? snorting derisively, i put my legs up on the counter and looked the mayor dead in they eye, and told him to piss off. after all, i might "BrEaK a WiNdOw" when i'm fighting someone who can burn everything at a touch? or possibly when i'm trying to incapacitate someone who can teleport anywhere they can see? but noooooo, i have to go to jail because i'm the wrongdoer not those villains. y'know, i might actually join them. certainly a better life, that's for sure. who knows, might actually have fun, or at least as much as i can since Unofli experimented on me and robbed me of all emotions, leaving only an empty husk. spitting, i get up, blow a hole through the wall, then leave. i hated this. i hated them. but now, thay might fear me. possibly even worship me if they might continue living. i don't think i'd hate that. no, i don't think i would. this town had no more use for me, and i for them.
| 2021-03-18T20:01:10 | 2021-03-18T19:31:21 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this.
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It was late at night. I was hard at work in my lab when I heard his voice.
“So you found a loophole.”
I never even broke my gaze away from my work. I knew it was him and I knew what he wanted. “So I did. Lucky break, I guess.”
“Is that how you see it? Because I see it as stacking the deck.” He spun me around to face him. His eyes were cold, not quite furious but not quite calm, either. “Had I known you would use the funding for this, I-“
“Would have never made the deal in the first place, blah, blah, blah,” I mocked back, cutting him off. I had outmaneuvered the Devil himself. Why not enjoy it? “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish this latest batch to show to the buyers tomorrow.”
“Buyers?”
“Yes, from a major pharmaceutical company. I’m taking the formula public. I’ll be rich and I’ll be immortal. And who says you can’t have it all?” I turned back to my work but stopped when I heard a slow clap building behind me followed by...laughter?
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” he chuckled. “Job well done.”
“What do you mean?”
“With that formula public, immortality will become widespread and rampant. It will be fun at first, nobody dying, but eventually it will get boring. Add in the fact that no deaths means overpopulation will rise exponentially, draining the world’s resources faster than ever, and soon people will be begging for a death that will never come.” He leaned closer as he softly said, almost in a whisper, “It will literally be Hell on Earth.”
I stood there, stunned, as the weight of his words hit home. He was right. How could I not have seen it?
“The best part of all,” he added, as he took my latest sample and strode towards the door, “is you get to hold up your end of the bargain, after all. An eternity in Hell, paid on schedule. Think about that when you accept your Nobel, Doctor.”
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(This is my first post. I wrote it on my phone so of course please excuse the poor format.)
At last, I watched the insect start to twitch, then it flipped over to its legs again. It started to walk around. It was alive.
I jumped up in joy. I shouted, "Eureka!" I was going to be a millionaire. Best of all, I had cheated death; I had cheated the devil.
I felt a presence next to me and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the devil himself. I smirked a bit; the last time I had seen him was when we had made the deal. I supposed he was here because I had broken it.
"You broke the deal," he said shortly.
I turned to face him, placing a hand on the counter and shifting my weight to lean on it. I accidentally crushed the insect, but as I rose my hand curiously, it was already scuttling around.
"I did no such thing," I replied. "The deal was simple: unlimited funding for my research in exchange for eternity in hell with you. I'm just using my research money."
"I'm not stupid, I know what you're doing!" the devil shouted, watching the insect crawl around on the counter.
"Why didn't you try to stop me, then?" I asked. "If you knew what I was researching, you could've stopped me."
The devil hesitated. I had defeated him once again. "This isn't fair!" he eventually cried. "We made a deal. You can't do this!"
"Sorry," I shrugged, not sorry at all. "Maybe you'll get me when I die for an eternity in hell..." I trailed off, hoping he would take the bone.
"But you won't die," he said shortly. "This is stupid."
"Sorry," I said again. "Thanks for the money, though, I really appreciate that. I'm gonna be a millionaire with this serum!"
The devil scowled, eyeing the insect once more. I smirked in triumph. I had successfully cheated the devil.
| 2018-08-23T11:53:32 | 2018-08-23T10:40:20 | 5,923 | 28 |
[WP] Your wealthy relative has died and the funeral is coming up. The will stipulates that the funeral-goer that delivers the best eulogy inherits everything. Your late relative left scoring criterion that no one knows except the lawyer that will be judging at the funeral.
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As much as I hated him, I couldn't help but to miss him. My dad wasn't the best when he was alive. Always judging and controlling everything, and as much as he was the reason why I moved when I turned eighteen, I had to go to his funeral. He raised me after all. And my family would kill me if I didn't go.
Apparently, the one who wrote the best eulogy gets to inherit everything he had.
I once heard a saying that never left my mind: "A rich person doesn't have kids, they have heirs." And it was true. That was the reason why everyone worked so hard on their eulogy. The money and power. And I wasn't going to lie, I wanted that too, but not provided by my father. I made a promise to myself of never take anything else from him. One of the reasons why I didn't bother to even think of writing nor saying something. It all would be completely bullshit either way, and I knew that was the only thing that would be said at the funeral.
I got ready, dressed accordingly to the typical funeral clothing, taking the last thing he ever gave me as a reminder of who he truly was, and that just because he was dead, doesn't mean he changed.
When I arrived I received hugs from everyone, telling me how sorry they felt for me due me losing my father. Even though they all knew what happened and my family's hatred towards him.
"Nice to see you here." My older brother said, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"Sure." I replied, rolling my eyes and removing his hand from my shoulder, slightly brushing it after. He scoffed.
"Do you have your eulogy ready?" He asked with a smirk on his face, apparently feeling confident. He was always daddy's boy. A sucker of father's money and approval. So was my sister, who came right after my brother asked me the question, hearing the conversation.
"No." I simply replied, shocking the both of them.
"What do you mean no?" They both asked at the same time.
"I don't care about whatever he had to give us. I'm not competing for his shit." I cursed. "I'm not even going to say anything. I'm just here to be here. I don't want any of you to come at me because I wasn't at the funeral."
"You have to, though." My sister smugly said.
I looked at her confused.
"What do you mean? I don't wanna do it."
"Dad wrote on some letter that mom and us, including you, have to at least speak." She explained, crossing her arms.
"Goddamit..." I cursed under my breath.
Before I could even reply, the ceremony started. We all sat down on the chairs that were a few meters away from us, in front of the casket. The priest started talking, explaining what would happen today, but I wasn't paying attention, until he said something about a lawyer.
"Miss Olsen here, is a lawyer and will be the judge of the eulogies. She will determine which one is the best."
Until now I never actually questioned who the judge of the eulogies would be, I was too angry and was feeling a mixture of emotions the past couple of weeks than to actually think about it. But glad to know it won't be some biased family member.
The first one to go up was my mom, who only cried her feelings out and saying how much she'll miss him now that he was gone, every once in a while, she'd glance towards the lawyer, and that's how I was able to tell everything she was saying was fake.
The second one was my brother, the eldest.
"He was a great father..." He started off with. That's how I confirmed everything he was about to say was also completely false. There was one thing all of his three children could agree on - and it was him being the worst father.
Next up was my sister, and she started almost the same as my brother. I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to just stand up and go. But it was my turn soon, so I had to resist a few more minutes. I hadn't really thought what I was gonna say. I figured I would just speak from the heart and tell the truth about him. I wasn't going to defend him or justify his actions just because he wasn't alive anymore.
When the annoying voice of my sister stopped and claps were heard, I snapped out of my thoughts and walked up to stand in front of everyone. And without wasting a second, I started talking.
"Where to begin," I started, looking towards my siblings, who had small grins on their faces. I rolled my eyes before continuing. "My father was an ambitious man, I will give you that Stephanie," I pointed at my sister, "but he wasn't a great father. Nor was he a great husband. He just wasn't a great man in general."
When I said that, a few gasps were heard and I smirked, somehow liking the reactions. Especially my family's.
"He never once treated us as his children, mostly as his next best version. He treated us as people who would inherit everything he had. And that's why I hated him. I didn't prepare anything for today. I wasn't even thinking of speaking, but seeing he wanted his family to talk, I will fulfil that." I angrily said, remembering how he treated us. Me. "That's basically it. He was a shit of a father and person itself. Goodbye."
I walked away. Not wanting to hear the scolding of my family. But then an unfamiliar voice shouted my name from he distance. Confused, I turned around and saw the lawyer, Miss Olsen.
"You won." She abruptly said, shocking everyone who was close enough to hear what she had said.
"What?"
"You won the inherence."
"How? I just said the worst things about him and I won?" I asked, confused about the whole situation. And so were my family members.
"Yeah, how could they win!" My sister said. "We fulfilled every scoring criterion on the eulogies!"
"Yes, but there was one that would count for everything. Something your late father had asked me to keep a secret, but your sibling here, fulfilled it."
"What is it? Being an asshole?" My brother sarcastically said.
"No, honesty."
A/N: This got a lil bit long but oh well. I hope you enjoyed it :)
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The third week of the funeral was proving to be just as chaotic as the first two. The line of people hoping to strike gold snaked around the entire graveyard before going out into the parking lot and eventually through the city. Police had to shutdown entire highways to make room for the millions of people to stand in the blazing summer heat. An officer stationed at the current end sighed as he watched more and more people continue to append themselves to the line's tail.
When the billionaire's will had been initially read, people thought only family members were valid contestants. After further scrutiny, however, it was realized that such a restriction didn't exist. It simply said 'funeral-goer', meaning anyone in the world could show up for their chance at the fortune. To win, all you had to do was give the best eulogy.
Some people's words were long, while others were short. Some funny, some serious, some a mixture of the two. Nobody besides the lawyer appointed by the deceased billionaire knew what made any given eulogy the "best", but one thing was certain to everyone: the judgement was going to take awhile.
Little Miss Georgia Reed wanted nothing more than to go home and play in the dirt. She didn't know what a 'yooulogy' was, and she didn't understand why there were so many people in that line. The entire Reed family, about sixteen men, women, and children, were together there. They had gotten in fairly early. They were almost at the front of the line now after three weeks of waiting, and while that may not seem too quick, people were estimating the current back of the line wouldn't get to say their speeches for another three *months*.
Georgia saw Grandpa Jamie step forward after being signaled by the lawyer. He was at the front of the line—the place where many would kill to be right then. All of the Reeds were silent as Grandpa gave his speech. Georgia didn't care to listen, though, and instead bent down to address a worm she saw wriggling in the dirt. She picked it up and tried to get the attention of her older brother, who insisted he was much more mature than her, even though he was only one year older, seven, but was ignored. He was busy trying to act like the adults and listen to the speech.
Frustrated, Georgia threw the worm back onto the dirt, and took a step forward with everyone. She spun around in circles to make herself dizzy, she made up stories for all the people stuck in line behind her, and she jumped in place, all to stave off boredom. She was daydreaming about sitting in front of a fan and talking into it to sound like a robot when a voice broke her out of her fantasy.
"Hello, little Miss," the lawyer said, as Georgia was face to face with him. Panicked, the little girl looked around. She was at the front. All her family were off to the side, giving her expressions and words of encouragement, but none of them had even explained to her why she was there.
"Hello, Sir," the girl said. Suddenly, she blushed, embarrassed to be talking to a grownup all on her own. She fidgeted in place and played with her thumbs.
"Do you have any words to offer the deceased?" the lawyer asked, gently. He could tell the girl was confused.
"De-seesed? What's that?"
There was some laughter coming from behind Georgia, but one quick glance from the lawyer shut it up.
"It means..." the lawyer said, before pausing for a second and scratching his head, trying to figure out the best way to explain. "When somebody is *deceased*, it means they're not coming back. They've gone away somewhere, and we can never see them again. That's what happened to Mr. Roscow in front of you."
Georgia looked down at the grave and frowned. "But," she said, the little gears in her head turning, "if somebody is de-seesed, and they can't come back, won't people miss 'em? If my Pa got de-seesed I know I'd be sad." The little girl turned around to look at the portion of the line that was visible from the grave and tilted her head to the side before turning back to face the lawyer. "You mean to tell me all these people here miss Mr. Roscow?"
The lawyer nodded his head, but the expression on his face told Georgia he wasn't telling the truth. "Yes. Mr. Roscow was a popular man. Everyone has come here to say nice things about him. Now, would you like to say anything?"
Georgia looked over to her family, who were all nodding and giving her thumbs ups, and then she looked back to the line of people, all of who were there for a reason she didn't quite understand. A cool breeze brushed against her sweaty cheeks, and in that moment she decided to say whatever came to her innocent mind.
"Mr. Roscow," she said, "I never met you before, but there's a lot of people here missin' you, so if you could you should come back soon. I know the gentleman here said if you de-seesed you can't come back, but heck, there's so many people maybe they can make an exception for you. I never even seen this many folks before." Her family was still cheering her on, so even though she didn't have anything more to say, the girl forced something out. "Um. Maybe if you come back you can stop by my house. I could teach you how to play in the dirt, if you never did that before, and we can draw a hopscotch in the sand and maybe even catch lightening bugs at night. I think it would be fun. Okay, that's all. Hope you come back soon."
The lawyer smiled and nodded at Georgia before her mother came and dragged her away. In the car, on the way back home, Georgia stood on the backseat and stuck her head out the window. The wind felt good on her skin. On the other side of the road, just for a brief moment, she saw a dead skunk, beginning to rot with flies swarming above. She caught a faint whiff before sitting back down. Her eyes were glued to the back of her Pa's head in the front seat, who didn't seem to pay the dead skunk any attention as he drove, and suddenly, without knowing why, the little girl wished she had never said a word to Mr. Roscow.
| 2022-07-15T03:45:19 | 2022-07-15T01:33:33 | 300 | 116 |
[WP] You live in world with no colour, shades of black and white are all you know. A flower pops up in your backyard, you’re drawn to it, as you pick the flower from the ground, you see colour for the first time. For the first time you realize something is terribly wrong with your world.
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I was eleven when I found it tucked away at the back of the garden.
The iris didn’t belong in my world, but there it was, shyly poking out from beneath a tangle of chickweed and nettle. Three leaves drooped down from the top like breezing parachutes, their colors like nothing around them. It was the color of a soft kiss, or a lullaby, or just that of a kindly smile.
How else do you describe an iris when everything you know is gray?
It deserved room to breathe, so I plucked out the weeds around it until it wore a circle of chalky grass like a halo.
I sat and watched it then and let feelings stir in my belly, as if someone had poured potions into a cauldron and now splashed the contents together. The spell it cast brought back memories.
There had once been color in my world, although I’d forgotten it. Forgotten the feel of red colored love, of hopeful blue eyes. I looked up at the grey sun and remembered it before. Now, stripped naked of its rays it felt cold — even on that summer’s day. It would have been cold even on a beach in august.
I remembered how a million bright colors once filled my life, like a bath overflowing with warm bubbling water. Then the plug got unexpectedly pulled and the colors oozed away from the world, sludging down the drain in an oily, teary rainbow.
All that was left was this.
This empty, cold gray.
I didn’t cry. You think with a fierce certainty that if the day ever comes you’ll cry up a storm — but that’s not always the case. The sadness of the color leaving didn’t work like that. Instead, something reached into me and smothered my emotions, hushing them into silence. Gone, when I looked at my father, was that blinding red that had once reflected off him, shining hot inside of me, inside my heart. Gone was blue and yellow and green and everything besides. The joy of life was taken.
Whatever I looked at after that day, it radiated only a dark hopelessness.
Except this iris. This beautiful, heartbreaking, iris.
So I sat and watched it beneath the gray sun. Watched the flower swim lazily back and forth in the lulling breeze.
“They were Mom’s favorite,” Dad said. I hadn’t heard him approach. He sat down next to me and watched the flower, as if it was all the color left in his world, too. But Dad still saw color. Still smiled.
It’d been a year since it happened but it didn’t feel like it. Time loses meaning without color, and stretches and contracts at will. Sometimes, it felt like a day since we lost her. Others, a decade.
I looked up at my father. His eyes were damp but he was smiling. He was like that a lot when looking at me, but I’d never seen him cry for a flower.
”I know,” I said. “She loved them.”
”Always a fresh vase full of them in the kitchen.”
”She loved them,” I repeated.
”Not as much as she loved you.”
\*
An hour later we were at her grave. My request. The first time I’d asked to go there since she died, although not the first time I’d been made to visit.
I clutched the iris in my hands, close to my chest, as if it was my own heart now. Or her heart, and I was protecting it, sharing my heartbeat with it and keeping her alive for a little longer. The deep purple was the only colour amongst the graves.
”Go ahead,” Dad said.
Part of me didn’t want to. Didn’t want to let go. But Mom loved irises, so I did.
I hadn’t cried since. Not on the day she died. Not at the funeral. The color had trickled away and all that was left was a dullness. But as I knelt down and placed the iris on the grass, a ripple of green stretched out from it, smudging across the grass. And a pulse of warm red, of love, flowed up through my body, into my heart.
Dad put an arm around me as I sobbed and as I told Mom how much I missed her.
|
There are shades.
None of us can be pure, though we must aspire to be. I have learned this lesson from the earliest days of my youth. I am a creature of grey, my soul caught twixt the poles of light and darkness. I am wicked, as all men are, and the shadow that haunts my steps is proof enough of that. Only when my soul is pure will the shadow leave me, only then will I know that I have banished the grey within me.
But it is difficult.
I have been in the Coven long, and I have listened to the Shademeisters with all of my will, but I still do not progress. My heart is caught between the light and the dark. I must choose, I am told. But how can one choose between two things that stand in such opposition to one another? By selecting one path, I forego the other. It is a choice that I will live with for the remainder of my days, a dedication of my will to removing the shade and becoming pure.
Luminari. A White Sage.
Abyssari. A Black Sage.
I am young, and the path to either is long. In the quiet of my room, I cannot help but wish for the choice to be made for me. No matter which choice I make, I will disappoint some, and I have no wish to live the life of either.
There are shades, and I wish to reside among them. To be among the people of my youth, free from the shackles of the pursuit of purity.
But there is no Neutrari. No Grey Sage. Enlightenment does not come to those who accept shade into their heart. Wisdom cannot be achieved in the embrace of imperfection.
Before me sits two cups. The one on the left is white. It is filled with a clear liquid that glows with a dull glow. To the right is a black cup. It too is filled, but the liquid is opaque and dark. A sip from either will seal my fate. Will commit me to my path. I need only drink and be done with it.
I raise my hand in front of me, hoping that the appendage will make the decision for me. That it will reach out unbidden and grasp a cup and I can be done with this affair. I can turn into the being I am expected to become for no other reason than the nature of my birth.
My eyes stare at the hand, willing it to move.
It does not.
Time passes, and I continue to stare. My gaze becomes dull and unfocused. The world before me loses definition and all of features begin to blend into one another. The mugs become splotches of white and black amidst the sea of grey. Always grey. The whole world is grey, and this place expects me to pick between two solitary splotches of opposition.
Exhausted, I drop my hand.
A strange thing appears as my hand drops. Something new. Something different. Something shocking and profane.
It is not white.
It is not black.
It is not of the shades.
It is beyond this spectrum. It is indescribable.
My eyes focus, my breath coming in hasty puffs as I peer out through the open door to the garden that resides at the center of my hermitage.
A flower.
But not a flower as I have seen before. Not the vibrant white of the lustri lily. Not the terrifying black of the nightshade. Something else.
I cannot describe it.
I do not have words for it.
It is not of the white. It is not of the black. It is not of the shades.
It is beyond.
It is what I must become.
I am not a slave to the white and black. I will find purity in novelty. I will walk this new path revealed to me. I will take this bud if difference and show the lie of this world.
Luminari. No.
Abyssari. No.
I am something else. And this world of shades shall bow before it.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2021-01-21T01:22:33 | 2021-01-21T00:55:14 | 46 | 19 |
[WP] Thousands of years in the future, a lazy anthropology student put off his "Mating Rituals of Ancient Civilizations" project until the last minute
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Sally woke from her slumber. 4pm already - what time was she due to??.. Oh, christ. Her paper on the mating rituals of the early 21st century was due to be submitted an hour ago!
Sally rushed to her tube pod, her clothes self adjusting as she went until they were a comfortable fit. Maybe she could try and pull an excuse again, if she can somehow figure out a way to trick the tutor's watch that she wasn't lying. She was sure it wasn't like this in the early 21st century, what she knew of it anyhow.
She filed down the corridors of her college. It was only quarter past 4 but empty already. She used her holophablet to guide her to her tutor's office all the time thinking of a good excuse. Unfortunately her lack of creativity implants left her rather stumped. She knocked.
Her tutor opened the door with a stern look on his face. "what time is this sally? you best have a sit down so we can have a talk about your work recently". Sally took the chair intimated to her next to the tutor's desk.
"I'm sorry sir, I'm really desperate to pass this semester."
"your work has been disappointing so far, Sally. You've not completed any of your past three projects. I'm *this close* to throwing you out of my class."
"Please sir! If there's anything I can do!"
"Well, did you research mating rituals of the early 21st century"
"I haven't had time. My dog died."
"Nonsense. But, never mind. Listen here. There is a ritual that they followed that is quite relevant to the situation you find yourself in today.."
|
Axstone wakes with a krokodil and red bull hang over that could power a tesla hover board. Upon looking at his calendar he sees Friday Saturday and Sunday all with big a X dismissing the day. Underneath the stickers for the 1100 annual Greek games. For a split second his headache subsides and realizes he will forever be a legend on campus for his victory over the weekend. The split second subsides and the mind splitting pain doubles as he realizes he has 45 minutes to finish his paper.
Pulling his iHallogram from under his bed he opens the paper
- Don't get drunk write me-
One line of a 5 page paper. He knows he should have followed his own advice. In a panic he does what he does best. Heads to the Google.
Stumbling into the google the goobrarian gives him a loud shush. He realizes she is his only chance.
"I need sex" he says quickly. She returns a blank stare. It wasn't the first or last time a freshman would ask.
"No! No.. I need help with a paper of turn of the century human matting"
She smiles puts her head down and begins typing. A minute later she has uploaded an archaic websites that has recently been translated to his iHallogram.
Www.oldweb.gov.reddit.com/r/nosecum
Falbert Axstone Peinstein goes on to get an A on the paper. Leading to a wildly successful career as a primitive matting specialist.
| 2014-09-12T11:50:10 | 2014-09-12T10:05:16 | 76 | 18 |
[WP] Narrate any current event in the style of the Avatar the Last Airbender opening.
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Facebook.
YouTube.
Twitter.
Reddit.
Long ago, the four websites lived together in harmony.
Then, everything changed when the Tumblrinas attacked.
Only the 4chan, master of all political incorrectness could stop them.
But when the world needed them most, they were busy trolling.
A few bad puns later, we discovered the new 4chan, a subreddit called r/politics
And although their flamewarring skills are great, they have a long way to go before they are ready to annoy anyone.
But I believe r/politics can annoy the world.
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Vampires.
Warlords.
Demons.
Bees.
Long ago these antagonists existed in separation.
Then, everything changed when the Cage acted.
Only the television, master of all genres could stop him.
But when the world needed it most, Comcast got greedy.
A few years later, we discovered the new television, a website named Netflix.
And although the streaming service is great, it has a long way to go before it can completely replace anything.
But I believe Netflix can save the world.
| 2016-03-21T11:25:43 | 2016-03-21T09:15:45 | 43 | 24 |
[WP] You cannot tell a lie. Not because you're unable to, but because every time you do, a narrator's voice explains the lie in great detail!
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This was Jake’s 4th date this month... and the 4th time he was walking back to his car without even getting through dinner. Shoulders slumped and head hung low, Jake mumbled to nobody in particular,
“This is just great.”
A somber, baritone voice very reminiscent of a certain famous African American man quite famous for his voiceover work rings out from nowhere,
“Of course, we all know this was as far from the truth as it could be. Poor Jake had been on 4 dates this month and all 4 were ruined. There was a time...”
People passing on the sidewalk looked at Jake and then started looking around wildly for the source of the disembodied narration.
“... when Jake was considered to be a good looking man. A chiseled jaw line, a muscular physique and a good sense of humor. Women found Jake hard to resist.”
The voice droned on and on. It was always this way. One falsehood, as small as a harmless white lie like telling his date for the night that the horrific metallic blue dress emblazoned with peacock feathers looked great on her would set the voice off for 10 or 15 minutes straight.
Jake had learned how to control the voice in most regards, but dating was hard. Why did women always ask questions that MADE a man lie? Is this too much makeup? Do you like my hair? The worst of all... does this dress make me look fat?
The voice had finally petered itself out and Jake felt like he needed a drink. He spied a bar across the street and made his way across. He pushed open the weathered door, sauntered into the bar as casually as he could muster and swung a leg across a stool at the bar.
The bartender was a pretty girl. About the same age as Jake with a great body and a pair of huge blue eyes that just grabbed you by the bottom of your soul.
“What’ll you have, darlin’?”, she asked.
“I don’t really drink. What’s good?”
“I just got in some green apple infused plum tequila that’s delicious! You should definitely try it.”
A disembodied female voice her similar to the legend Marilyn Monroe purrs out from seemingly nowhere,
“This tequila was disgusting, but her boss had told Sarah to sell it and sell it she was.”
The bartender dropped her head and softly cussed hard enough to make a sailor blush and Jake just smiled.
|
Lucas was staring at his hands, sitting the the table of his house.
There was no other choice, he was thinking.
All those years spent talking hours to Nadine, in the times her bar was empty, after the cappuccino served in the morning, and before the big rush for lunch, complimenting her clothes, talking about her lovers.
And then, everything gone.
&#x200B;
"I'm so happy for you".
"I'm so glad you're back together"
"I can't think of a better match for you"
&#x200B;
All lies, which were the foundation of his relationship with Nadine.
And since the voice started, the voice that gave everything away, he had to stop visiting her.
Without notice. Without an apparent reason.
&#x200B;
But that was the day everything had to change, if the price of talking to her was to be sincere with her, then you would gladly pay it, and take the risk.
&#x200B;
So he entered the front door. It was 11 am, everything was dead calm, everyone was at the beach, or still sleeping at that house.
Nadine put on a slight smile, in her heart she was full of joy of seeing him, but her honor stopped her from showing it.
"Why did he disappear? Did she do something wrong?"
&#x200B;
Lucas knew what she was thinking, because he knew her, as he knewa part of him.
So he decided to answer, with a straight away lie, like he always did. Because he couldn't find the strenght to solve his problem, but he decided to let someone else solve it.
"You did nothing wrong." and that was the truth, the voice spoke not.
"I disappeared because I thought we spent too much time together and i was not sure it was worth it..."
&#x200B;
Lines started to form in the face of Nadine, annoyed, hurt and surprised by that statement.
Until, a few seconds later, the voice that always accompained him, had a laugh for the first time since it had accompanied him.
"that is some bullshit!" the voice from nowhere said.
Nadine looked worried, as a dangered animal that looks for a sound it can't recognize.
"now please..." followed the voice "...let me explain what's happening here"
| 2019-06-21T12:56:54 | 2019-06-21T10:33:25 | 55 | 10 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange.
|
And when I went downstairs to make my morning coffee i didn't look twice at my mug, I'm always number one so why would it be different today? My wife comes down and points out I have a new mug, "no this is the same mug I use everyday." "Then why does it say #666?" Confused and worried I look at my mug, in a panic I shout to my children to come down. "Did you guys do this as a joke?!?" They seemed as confused as I did.
I decided to leave it alone for now and went outside to water the lawn. I saw jimmy out there doing the same, he seemed distraught. "Jimmy what's wrong?" "One of the kids must be playing a joke on me, they changed the number on my mug, but won't be honest about it." "Yeah, what number did they put? My kids did the same to mine." "65,381. What about you?" "I got 666." "Well that's not ominous at all."
Finished with the yard I had to go to work, driving there all I could think was maybe it's because I'm a beast.
| 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T10:13:29 | 78 | 12 |
[WP] When humans got to space, we learned very quickly that precious minerals weren’t so precious when there were entire asteroids made of the stuff. You saw the REAL market, and sell something only Earth has that everyone wants: Shrubberies.
|
"Ni!"
"Ni!"
Such was our greeting at our shop, the Botanists Who Say "Ni!". We weren't knights, so we didn't use the title due to laws against stolen valor. It was a pretty serious issue, so the punishments were severe. Of course, so was the punishment of stealing. Our shop was high-end, meaning that we had the best security to prevent our greenhouses and shops from being raided by thieves and arsonists.
We did not sell our wares just for decoration. Many produced fruit, which was also sold at our shop. Some had to be imported from Earth, while others could grow on-site in indoor greenhouses and plantations. Generally, the fruits were less expensive than the shrubberies, but they still fetched a pretty penny.
While our clientele was mainly rich nobles, rulers, and ambassadors, we did also sell to museums and conservatories to at least preserve the plants. Soon, we began living large, expanding our shops to handle many things, including fashioning bouquets. We also began selling drinks, including smoothies, juices, and teas. We never went too big or decided to dominate the market. However, our approaches were very unique as we catered to the middle class as well as the upper class. We also donated food and supplies to shelters for the homeless and refugees, causing public opinion to be mainly positive. However, we just stayed where we were. This was a good place to stay. And that was quite fine by us.
|
Shruberries are the most precious species on the universe, they are only observed on earth, something about it's unique characteristics pleases any species, it's color and shape are still a mystery, somehow the plant is capable of adapting itself to the environment even after harvested, until it uses all it's energy and is no longer materialized.
They are rare due to the conditions it encounters, the world has changed do to the pollution we caused to earth while running for space, we were really living and creating a world for robots to clean up while we were gone, as if we would all go and no soul would be left on earth.
After the very first were gone things kept the same, each day somebody dreamed on going to the stars, we forgot how things were moving. When we realized, our forests were destroyed, shrunk by half, farms turned into deserts, dust clouds ran the air, the rain was acid, and somehow, Scruberries were capable of resisting all this. When we first found it on the Amazon, they didn't even know if it was poisonous, during research humans learned it's importance and value.
News spread to the universe about a plant so unique like no other. That was the first time the riches decided to come back to visit earth, life here was still breathing, even among all pollution.
| 2022-09-03T20:55:09 | 2022-09-03T13:25:30 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded and are taking over. Their technology, intelligence, and power is unstoppable. They just didnt plan on one thing: The old gods returning.
Edit: hey cool this got 40k notes on tumblr
|
I really like this one, I've always had a story dreamed up in my head that is like this, I wish I had the energy to write it all, but this will have to do.
///
They came quickly, without warning or provocation. In one night, every major city on earth was vaporized, and by morning they had arrived.
It wasn't even a fight, not at first. People were confused, and with no leaders to guide them, helpless.
At first, they gathered the remnants like cattle, women and children separated from the men, strong from the weak, and the sick, poor and elderly were executed on the spot.
But- even with our major cities haven being fallen, there were so many of us. What they thought would take days took weeks, hunting us, gathering us. The one thing the Gathers didn't take into account was just how determined humans were to survive, and what lengths we would go to to keep our homes safe.
But really, not even mankind knew what desperate times would have us do. Who we would turn to, who would aid us.
Humanity always turns to religion whenever calamity strikes. The Christians cried out to their God, but His silence continued. Muslims prayed- to deaf ears. As weeks dragged on, and millions lay dead, we became desperate. So, so desperate.
--
“I am sorry…” I say, choking back a sob as my hand raises into the air, the shimmer of the blade that I held catching the eyes of my best friend. Eyes so full of love and trust, eyes that were blind to the atrocity I was about to commit. An atrocity for the betterment of mankind, I had hoped. His little tail wagged as he jumped up, my arm falling towards his delicate frame. For a brief moment his eyes looked at me with confusion, and his tail came to a stop, as his eyes dimmed and his cold body slumped down.
I couldn't stop crying, I thought I would be stronger than this, but I couldn't stop my body from shaking. I lifted his small frame off of the ground, and stumbled towards the altar, barely able to focus. I had lost so much already, my family, my friends.. how much more would I have to lose before it was over?
“Your soul, it would appear”
A cold voice filled my mind, causing me to stumble and fall, dropping my still companion. I frantically scrambled to grab him off of the ground, not even registering the voice.
“You want to know why I ask for a puppy?” The same voice asked again, and I turned to its sound, my heart stopping dead. Before me stood a massive man, his features shrouded by a dark veil.
“The only humans I wish to speak to are those of cold hearts, ready to kill even the most innocent of creatures just to satisfy their desires. So mortal, what are your desires?”
I knew I had planned this all, but I didn't think it would work. I had prayed it would, as my last companion had to die for it, but it still came as a shock. “Humanity… we have lost…”
“Speak up! What have you lost?” The being grew impatient.
“Everything. There wasn't even a war… we were just… defeated… rounded up like cattle to be sold and slaughtered. There wasn't even enough of us to start a rebellion, just a few scattered remnants fleeing for their lives.”
“If there was no war…” the man stood over me, his shadow blotting out light, the air around him thick, “why would you summon the God of War?”
“Ares, “ I began, taking a deep breath, standing to face him, my dead companion left cold and alone on the rocks below my feet. “I summoned you to ask you a favor, the price anything you may wish.”
“Yes?”
“Can you go to war for mankind, just once more?”
The God laughed, shaking his head. “You want me to interfere with the mortals? Mortals who have forgotten the existence of beings such as myself for centuries? Why would I?”
“Because, you of all gods owe us. We have ravaged the world with wars since our start, doing nothing but feeding you. The other gods, are they awake? Are they around?”
His hand reached for my throat, and I knew I had overstepped my boundaries.”I owe you?!” He grabbed me, lifting me into the air. “What do you know of the gods? Nothing! You are mere man, my the time I close my eyes your life will have ended! What does it matter if you are all wiped out?”
“The earth… they will kill it… “ I choked the words out, his firm grip crushing my throat.
He didn't respond, but his grip loosened.
“They've already destroyed humanity, but they are going to harvest the core” I told him, catching my breath.
He dropped me and turned away. “And you will pay any price?” He asked, humming.
“Yes, I swear it!”
“Then I will have your mortal soul.” He said, turning, a malevolent smile painted on his face. “And you shall be my harbinger of war. You shall never perish, but will be tortured with an unquenchable thirst for war. Death will follow you, and your actions will feed my power. I will aid humanity, and bring forth the army of the gods, and mankind will tremble at my feet. The gods will rise, we will overthrow these invaders, and mankind will worship us once again!” He declared.
Before I could say a word, he waved his hand and it felt as if the world had opened up at my feet, my head rushing and the world around me spinning away into nothingness.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a brightly lit field, staring up at a Gather, it's scaley head turned towards me.
Clicking its beak, the creature reached for me, it's claw like hands brushing my arm.
It felt as if my head was about to explode. A binding rage overtook me, and a strength I had never known coursed through my veins. Leaping at the creature, I felt my hands wrap around its scaled neck, crushing.
The Gather panicked, never before being attacked in such a way by a human, and clawed at my back, it's talons tearing into my skin. But as I felt the flesh tear from my bones, new skin began to form.
The pain field my rage and I felt myself snapping the bones underneath my hands, and the creature let out a horrendous screech before falling limp.
I began to understand Ares words. That one creature wasn't enough. Every fiber in my body screamed for more blood to be spiller.
He wanted me to be the harbinger of war. Looking across the field I see a group of Gathers coming towards me, guns drawn. A group of humans stand further in the distance; chained, starved, and beaten. But there was something new in their eyes. A glimmer of hope.
I would be the prophet of Ares, the Harbinger of War
|
Max was alone in his basement, hoping, praying to God that someone, another human would save him. It had been three days since he had seen Tracie, she had gone to get supplies to "hold out while the military handles this." She hadn't returned. Since October, there had been a massive influx of reports of strange, spectral sightings, but people assumed this was a large scale Halloween prank. But after the 31st had come and gone, and people started disappearing, the mood became less lively.
A child in Minnesota was the first American to disappear from extraterrestrial causes, thus making her, in most American's minds, the first important human to disappear. Soon, more people were gone, growing exponentially, at a rate never seen before. Government officials and their families were targeted for the most part, but it seemed whatever force was tormenting the world had no bias.
A knock on the cellar door made Max jump, falling from his chair and hitting the carpet with a dull *thud*. He crawled to his baseball bat, grabbed it, and silently made his way behind the stairs. The *thuds* continued, until he heard the wood crack, and a familiar voice call to him.
"Max, I'm back, it's me!" Tracie called to him. Max wasn't convinced though, so he peered around the wall, watching for anything unusual. He heard on the radio that the invaders were apt to imitate voices, and to be cautious about hearing, but not seeing, loved ones.
It was Tracie. Max gasped and ran up the stairs to her, taking the sunlight spilling into the basement as a sign of their safety. When her reached her, though, a cold hand grabbed his arm, and yanked him back.
Max had lost his glasses in the rush to be safe, and hadn't noticed the tears in Tracie's eyes.
Tracie had been accompanied by two... things. Aliens, he assumed, they couldn't be humans. They were humanoid, however, with two legs, two arms, and a head shape, though that's were the similarities ended. At eight feet tall, they towered over even the largest human. There were two holes around where the nose would be, and the entire body was covered in orange, slimy scales. They wore no articles of clothing, carried no weapons or accessories, only their disgusting, foreign bodies. The alien holding Tracie made a strange snorting noise, and a calm came over Max, a content. He didn't want to fight back, they did not want to hurt him. They were friends. He watched his girlfriend's tear streaked face as his vision slowly went black, being carried in the... appendages of his new buddy.
When Max came to, he was splayed out on the road outside his house, next to Tracie and a score of his neighbors. The aliens were watching over the captive humans, around one for every ten people. Any rebellious feelings Max had, or could have had, were gone, wiped away in the soothing presence of the aliens. Tracie seemed to be the only one who wasn't affected by the siren's song the invaders played.
She cried out, and looked at Max. Max noticed snot coming from her nose, a primordial fear, her fight or flight function emerging. The alien assigned to their "unit" advanced towards her, snorting. Max felt a wave of compassion, and his neighbors sighed in verbal agreement.
"Max, what the hell are you doing? We're about to die!" Tracie yelled.
"No we aren't," Max said, "they have no intention of hurting us."
The alien extended its appendage, and a single, sharp point emerged, long and curled like an eagle's talon. *He's not gonna hurt Tracie with that*, Max thought. The alien intended on hurting Tracie. It raised its talon, and Tracie let loose a bloodcurdling screech, knocking back the alien, flying into a house.
Max, broken of the spell, shook his head. *Oh my God*, he thought, *we're all going to be killed. Holy shit.* He turned to Tracie to tell her he loved her, but she was on her feet, fists clenched.
"Tracie?" he asked. She turned to him, and he saw flames in her eyes, and a maniacal grin on her face.
"She will be returned to you, worry not." a deep voice came. Then, she raised her arm, twisted, and made a shooing motion. The alien in the house flew into the asphalt, exploding into a yellow goo. The overseers on either side noticed, and advanced towards her, growling this time. Max felt hostile. He hated Tracie. Wanted her to burn in hell for daring to molest these glorious creatures. He stood, and charged her.
Tracie extended a hand to him, and touched his forehead, and he was immune. The overseer's music no longer invaded his brain, conquered his mind.
"Child," she said, "you would be a fool to face me."
She laughed, and made another fist. The two overseers exploded. Then, she turned to the row of humans, and waved her hand over them. Max saw every one slowly stand up, rubbing temples and checking on loved ones.
"Tracie..." he started.
"I am not Tracie." the being formerly known as Tracie said, "I am Archon. Your true god. Your deity. Your salvation."
Archon stomped, and flew into the sky, leaving a *whoosh* in her wake. Max watched the streak of light collide with an overseer ship, then another, until it had reached every one in the area and performed a firework show in the sky, Archon's gift to the enslaved on Earth.
Max saw Archon slowly descend, then land in front of him.
"What the hell..." she said.
Archon chuckled.
"I owe you no answers mortal, but I shall tell you so that you may spread my legend," Archon yelled so that all in the area could hear her, "Hear me humans. I am Archon, the elder god, the salvation of humanity. I must inhabit your bodies to harness my power, for my true form would extinguish this place. I have no affinity for you mortals, your ways disgust me. But Earth is my domain, and I shall fight so that it might remain yours. But you must sacrifice to me, abandon your churches and mosques, return to the old ways." she chuckled, "unless, of course, you prefer these gods."
She indicated the many streaks of goo on the ground. Then, with a cackle, Tracie collapsed. There was silence for a moment. Then, Max spoke.
"Hail Archon!"
And as he was joined by a chorus of human voices, the mothership trembled at the news, at this choir of newfound believers. The invaders knew about this possibility, but they hadn't counted on it. The elder gods had returned. And they were pissed.
| 2017-12-21T19:04:36 | 2017-12-21T14:23:42 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] You, an American, awake in an alternate dimension where magic exist. But unlike the fantasies on Earth, where magic is conjured through Latin (the more Latin you know, the stronger your magic), beings in this dimension all speak a different language, and their language of power is English.
|
Desperté como todas las mañanas, no muy ansioso de llegar a mi trabajo como profesor de Ingles… -¿Espera un momento?, hay algo diferente…, estoy hablando en español… but I can actually remember all I know in English… -Pero siento que debo hablar en español como si siempre lo hubiera sabido (aunque solo tube una clase de español en la secundaria), como si fuera lo mas natural para mi.
De pronto escuche a alguien tocar a la puerta de mi departamento:
&#x200B;
\- Buen día señor… o disculpe, no sabia que el señor Miguel tenia visitas.
\- Yo soy el señor Miguel, Michael o bueno si Miguel, yo vivo aquí…
\- No, aquí vive… el señor Miguel me advirtió…
&#x200B;
Tomó de su bolso lo que parecía una varita mágica y procedió a pronunciar:
&#x200B;
*“Stiffen Lots”*
&#x200B;
Su varita parecía brillar y de alguna forma yo no podia mover ni un solo músculo
&#x200B;
“*What are you talking about?”*
&#x200B;
Dije instintivamente y de pronto apareció todo en mi cabeza, se explico como por arte de magia, yo me encontraba en otra demisión, el idioma Ingles era el odio de la magia y yo como maestro de Ingles tenia una ventaja inconmensurable sobre los demás.
&#x200B;
“*Control plus z”*
&#x200B;
Dije en seguida con una perfecta pronunciación todo comenzó a moverse en reversa, pude moverme nuevamente, la puerta se cerro y mis pantuflas salieron volando a mi habitación, y escuche nuevamente el sonido de alguien llamando a mi puerta, esta vez preparado:
&#x200B;
\- Buen día señor… o disculpe, no sabia que el señor Miguel tenia visitas.
&#x200B;
“*In god we trust but you el trust me the most”*
&#x200B;
Nuevamente con perfecta pronunciación…
&#x200B;
\- Dime todo sobre el señor Miguel que vive en este departamento
&#x200B;
El muchacho miro al vacío por unos momentos pero empezó a hablarme con toda confianza.
&#x200B;
\- El señor Miguel es maestro de Español, ha vivido aquí los últimos 6 años, yo lo asisto algunas veces en sus experimentos mágicos. Se levanta normalmente a esta hora en la mañana es por eso que vine a tomar alguna petición que tuviera, le gustan los pasteles de chocolate y el arroz frito, cuando se baña hace un sonido extraño con su nariz…
\- Suficiente! ¿En qué experimentos a estado trabajando últimamente?
\- Yo no entiendo bien su trabajo pero dijo que necesitaba una manera más rápida de aprender el idioma mágico, habló algo de viajes interdimencionales o algo parecido.
\- Con que eso es lo que paso… Gracias regresa a tu apartamento olvida que me viste y no regreses aquí por ahora.
\- Si señor..
&#x200B;
Cerré la puerta, y medite todo lo que estaba sucediendo y vino a mí, solo debía pronunciar las palabras correctas para deshacer lo que el señor Miguel había hecho, pero eso haría que regresara a mi vida aburrida como profesor de Ingles. Así que tube una idea mejor…
&#x200B;
*“If you really like to learn English, learn it for ever in the dimension you will never come back Mr. Michael”*
&#x200B;
Nada parecido haber cambiado pero a partir de ese momento vivo con la esperanza de permanecer aquí, mi trabajo como maestro de ingles no Hera mucha diferencia para el mundo en mi dimensión pero aquí podia cambiar la realidad a mi placer con cada enunciado, y para la suerte de todos aquí, mis intensiones siempre fueron…
Edit: I read the comment made by [Dracon\_Pyrothayan](https://www.reddit.com/user/Dracon_Pyrothayan), I tough will be a good idea to implement it, sorry if it is too short of a story but this is the first time I write something here, I hope you like it!
|
The morning seemed natural enough when I first woke up. It was hazy outside from the night's rain, and it smelled of rain outside. I opened the window to let the humid but chilled wind into my small apartment, which didn't have any AC. I had today off, but still had quite a few errands to run, so I decided to wake up before the morning traffic.
I was a very introverted person that lived in my own little world, oblivious to my surroundings. Since I never really paid any attention, I didn't notice that there was something horribly wrong until a younger person (who sounded to be in her early twenties) teleported into the passenger's seat.
I barely even noticed her, and probably wouldn't have, had she not been cackling.
I didn't look over at her, opting to keep my eyes on the road like the good sleep-deprived woman I claimed to be. "I locked the doors," I said nonchalantly.
"Now they are!" The woman was laughing so hard that she was wheezing. "Unlock doors!" There was an audible 'click' in the car. "Now they aren't. Cool, huh?"
"Yeah, there's a button. I'm proud of you," I replied. "Please get out. You don't just get into other people's cars at five in the morning."
"I do," she began, "But only for good reason. See, you're the first person to actually speak English here. That's why I've been running around everywhere. They're... they're afraid of me. Like, super fearful. It is one of the most beautiful things."
I pulled over and glanced over at the young woman. She had the general early-twenties look; short hair dyed a vibrant color (she had it purple) with numerous piercings and what looked to be a few flower tattoos. She was looking at me with an expectant grin.
"Okay. I speak English. I'm what you would call an American. But this is Texas; there's loads of people here that don't speak English."
The woman puffed out her cheeks. "I know! I know! But they weren't speaking anything that I know. I swear, it sounded like Latin."
"It may have been. Honestly, it's five. Only the weird people are awake at this time."
She gave me a flat look. "Here, you weirdo." She cleared her throat dramatically. "I summon a flower! Appear in my hand, alive and well!" Like she had said, a tiny flower appeared in her hand.
"Lovely. I'm so glad that you can do that. Now, out of my car."
The woman carefully set her flower down. "Please! Don't make me. You're the only other English speaker I know. And I know you think I'm high, but give me a change. Anyway, if I was high, you'd need to take me home, anyway."
I rolled my eyes, thinking, 'I must be getting old if she annoys me this much.' "Fine."
I lurched back onto the highway as the woman, whose name was Viviane, explained in great detail how she figured out that she had magic. She made me perform some to prove that we were somehow special (God forbid that; being special is the worst).
Finally, we arrived at my first errand: Shopping at the nearest Super Wal-Mart.
We walked inside, though, to my slight surprise, all the signs were in Latin. I knew because I had studied it for a year in college before I quit.
"I was right!" Viviane said loudly, clapping.
"Yes. Bask in the glory." I shook my head. "Perhaps we should stay in contact, but I will murder you if you even try to follow me around. Murder. Not kidding. Death." A small puff of black smoke appeared as if to prove my point.
"You just killed that plant!" Viviane cried, ignoring my previous comment.
"My point exactly. Teleport home-" I didn't finish that sentence. I was already back at my house, facing my wall. "I am going to murder someone. Teleport back to Viviane at Super Wal-Mart." I appeared a second later. "Be careful about what you say. Now, go magic yourself home and leave me alone." I gave her my phone number and quickly dismissed her.
The rest of the day (and next month) was much like that, with accidental slip-ups and poor Latin being taught. English apparently was the most magical language (with the grammar rules, how could it not be?) and Viviane and I were the only people so far to speak it fluently. Lucky us. In fact, we were the only two that were able to properly use its magic at all, so that was fun.
| 2019-03-09T21:12:30 | 2019-03-09T20:55:50 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] After you die you learn why the Grim Reaper is portrayed holding a Scythe. It isn't to harvest you, it's to protect you from something on your journey.
|
I heard the gentle noise of his mythical scythe slicing the rope that held my lifeless body. I brusquely fell head first into the tall refreshing grass, a soft breeze caressed my skin. "If you weren't here I wouldn't believe i'm dead." I said as I stood up and removed the dirt from my arms.
Death didn't say a word, instead he turned to me and slowly placed his skull centimeters away from mine, shadowing my whole frame. His hollow eyes gazed at me for what felt like an eternity until he finally spoke: "Life and Death aren't topics to joke about." He said, his voice was hoarse and full of pain, darkness gushed from it's mouth. "It's time, follow me." He swung his towering tremuluos scythe lacerating the flesh of time itself.
Colossal cuts leading to new planes laid in front of me. We walked in.
An ominous forest pervaded with rotten trees and lost souls greeted us. "Do they ever shut up?" I asked as I covered my ears alluding to the constant screams of excruciating pain.
"Walk, don't blink, don't talk." He said, monotonously as we made our way through the dense fog.
Dim incandescent lights coming from weird oil lamps signaled the baleful path that we were following. The constant uneasy sound of fragile bone breaking with our steps sent shivers down my dead spine.
Death suddenly stopped and turned to me. "Inside the church in front of us you a gate will open that will lead you to Heaven but beware, every lost soul in this place will try to take your place, they will play tricks and fool you. My scythe will stop the majority but not all. Good luck." He patted my back three times, his voice sounded friendly this time.
With every step I took the trees slowly faded away leaving nothing but wastelands surrounding the church, the screams got increasingly intense and many lost souls rushed against me. Death swung his scythe protecting me until I opened the oak doors of the black church.
"I will hold them, becareful inside!" He screamed. I could feel the souls stomping against the walls.
Shiny marble, towering vitrils, golden pews and mesmerizing paintings decorated the impeccable inside of this place. It was empty, or so I thought before I heard a little girl crying from inside the confessionaire. "It's everything okay?" I said softly yet my voice echoed across the place.
The little girl came running to me with her head down, I could see the tears splashing against the floor, she hugged my knee tightly. "Why did you do it?" She screamed.
"Why did I do what?" I said, startled.
She lifted her head up and our eyes met. I started to tremble incontrollably, those brown eyes, that pink dress, that curly dark hair, that voice.
"Why did you leave me and made do this?" She lift her head to the ceiling revealing a large cut across her tiny throat. "Why did you make me do this, dad? Why?" She held my leg tighter and tighter.
"I... I did it for you and your mother. You deserved a better life, it was the only way out." I stuttered, a river meandered across my face as I hugged her like the day I decided to take my own life.
Suddenly, the organ started playing and a shimmering golden door appeared in the altar.
"Goodbye daddy, one day we will meet in Heaven." She said letting my knee go.
I took a deep breath, "take my place princess, I don't deserve it."
Her eyes sparkled, "are you sure dad?"
"Yes, hurry up sweety." I said as my smile met my salty tears.
"I will see you soon daddy, I love you." She said, gently wiping off both our tears.
As she ran to the gate my non-beating heart skipped a beat, the birthmark on her left leg was missing. I was too emotionally overwhelmed to stop and think that she wasn't my daughter and now it was too late, she was about to go through the door.
Abruptly, a strong sharp wind dishevelled my hair and cut her in two halves. I turned to the oak doors and Death was standing holding his imposing scythe.
"Run stupid mortal."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed it please consider checking out my subreddit /r/chasisoxidado for more.
|
"Duck!"
"Wha -" a hand planted firmly on my head and shoved me down. A slight breeze stirred my slicked back hair. Some commotion happened somewhere around me, and I was covered in a warm spray. Severely disoriented and nursing a powerful pain in my left knee, I started to speak.
"Whe -" a gloved hand clapped over my mouth. It smelled faintly of decay, though through a layer of pleasant detergent. Tide, I think, same stuff my grandmother used. Memories began to come back: the pavement, losing control, tilting hard to the left. My knee flared again at the thought.
"The quieter you stay, the more likely they'll all wipe each other out. That'll make my job a lot easier." Still confused I looked around for the first time.
A mile away across a flat, barren plain, a mountain rose craggily into the sky. Dry, cracked earth extended from my feet to where clouds obscured the peak of the mountain. Where the sky was visible, it was jet black, with no stars shining through. And there was me. Not just one me, though, thousands of me. Some lie dead or dying on the scorched dirt, others locked in fierce combat. Some rode creatures from another world, a few were on motorcycles using skulls of my dead selves as morning stars to cleave the slower weak ones. One rode a knight from a game of chess and crushed a group that thought to team up against a seven foot tall, grotesque giant with my face. Behind me, and endless oceans black as the sky. Quieter, the voice continued, removing the hand.
"No this is not heaven or hell. Yes, you are dead. No I'm not the devil, you'd be so lucky. I'm death. Oh, and it's not purgatory, either. Lots of Catholics lately, I'm not sure why." I had questions for each of these answers, but I was too stunned to speak. "This is the final judgment. Every skill you worked towards, everything you treasured is represented here physically. It's a battle royale for eternity. See all these barbarians out here? They're different iterations of you. You're just the lucky one I'm here to help." Slowly coming to my senses, my first question.
"Why me?" I asked. I hadn't done much, I loved to ride, though.
"Don't feel too special. I've got about a 12% success rate out here." He caught my offended stare. "Hey man, don't shoot the messenger, I'm the only one you've got. You're a pretty shitty person, all things considered. If you think hard, you'll know why you were chosen."
I thought hard. The kid in the road, I was going too fast. I swerved to miss him, saving his life for sure. "You mean to tell me I'm the only one that did anything for anyone? In any universe?" The thought was rather humbling.
"Yessiree, that appears to be the case. But we can talk about that later, the strongest are starting to emerge." I could see the mountain growing closer, but the land was shrinking between, swallowing the defeated.
"You see that pass on the mountain?" He gestured to a minute trail which was marked pitifully leading up into the clouds. "That's where we have to go, but only when you're the last one standing. 'Broad is the way that leads to destruction, but narrow is the path to eternal life'. Not a lie, in the strictest sense, but it was much more literal than most thought.
It seemed impossible. But what had I accomplished? Remembering my thousands of hours on the road, the trophies and awards, and seeing the awful handling of the other motorcyclists, felt a surge of determination. I could do this. I turned and looked at the giant figure next to me, decked out in full motorcycle gear. We could do this.
"I know I'm better than these guys out here, so where's my bike?"
Death smiled. "I thought we could take mine." He stepped aside revealing a massive motorcycle with the words "The Scythe etched in the side. I grinned.
"Let's ride."
| 2017-06-20T16:42:43 | 2017-06-20T14:39:14 | 214 | 100 |
[WP] The hero was blessed with the power to bring people back to life, resurecting their companions to keep up the fight against the dark lord. Which is why it’s odd that they brought you, the dark lord that they fought against back to life.
|
...
His body crumpled as the Paladin's hammer came down. He looked at the heroes who had come to hunt him down, and smiled a wicked smile, "You haven't seen the last of Var..." he didn't get to finish the phrase, he was burned to a crisp by the Wizard's fire.
&#x200B;
Next thing he knew, he was gasping for air, as the cool night sky blew across his face. The twin moons were in ascension, it had been three days. He sat up and looked around. All the adventurers were dead, except for one. They had obviously been killed in a moment of being unprepared... caught with their pants down, both literally and figuratively depending on the hero. The Paladin bowed slightly, "Welcome back, Father. Shall I go offer my services to the next group of adventurers hunting for you?"
Varteckitus nodded, "Yes, I think that would be wise".
A week later, Tariendeil was at a bar. A group of adventurers were planning to hunt down Varteckitus and his large bounty. As per standard adventuring protocol, the Wizard was casting a truth spell on potential applicants. Tariendeil walked up, "I am Tariendeil, Paladin of the Goddess Astret - the maiden of Hearth and Home. Not only can I heal, I am powerful enough to even resurrect the dead, and I always follow my Goddess's rules of protecting my home, hearth, and family. I have come to join you, as the threats concerning Varteckitus must be dealt with; I am well aware of him, and to my I knowledge I know more about him than any other adventurer alive. I am also a worthy fighter, and have over a hundred victories in my career."
The group's Barbarian looked at the Wizard, "Is the truth spell still up?"
The wizard nodded.
The Barbarian took Tariendeil's hand, "Then that's good enough for me. Welcome aboard!" and everyone smiled.
|
The hero was never a smart one. He wielded maybe one of the most overpowered powers in entire universe. Not only he is able to bring other back to life and make them younger, he is able to do it with himself. Nonetheless, with this absurdly strong ability it took him over thousands of years to reach my castle. I would have been proud of my army for being able to resist such threat, but like any other NORMAL living being my life has withered away long time ago. Or, so I thought.
I open my eyes, which is strange. Didn’t I die? I find myself in an odd place: a court room. This another sign of stupidity of the hero. Not only he brought back the worst enemy of his life, but also made me significantly younger? Our battle must have turned him insane. Bare two seconds have passed after resurrection I hear that the trial is going on. I am being charged for “not dying to the sword of the hero”. Seriously? It’s considered a crime in this world? Not the millions of deaths and spread plagues I have caused?
The hero seems angry and keeps yelling at the judge to sentence me in jail. What? Wasn’t I supposed to die by his hand and now he wants me in jail? The hero has been an idiot from the beginning, but he definitely had lost a bunch of brain cells after so many resurrections. I am getting bored already. It feels like the war all over again. The hero is yelling and his companions are cheering him. I find no other option than to snap my fingers. Violet spikes sprout out of the ground piercing skulls of every person in the room. Well, I am the Dark Lord, after all.
I grab the body of the hero before he is able to resurrect someone else and leave the massacred scene. By himself he is no threat, even with the ability. I start laughing over the stupidity of the hero while walk back to my castle. Maybe I even can force him to bring back my loved one?
| 2019-12-26T14:28:19 | 2019-12-26T14:14:56 | 63 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm
|
"Hey Tom!"
Thomas turned around. Across the street, he saw Sarah waving at him. For a moment, his heart stopped. He gulped. She was wearing her school uniform, but she could've been wearing a garbage bag for all he cared. It was her. After a moment of stupor, he raised his hand and waved back. Sarah smiled.
Thomas didn't quite understand why Sarah had been paying so much attention to him recently. His friends said he was 'acceptable' to look at, a judgment he considered kind. He understood why--he was a lineman for the JV team, big enough to look intimidating but not huge or fast enough to join the varsity team. He was quiet, more likely to be at church fellowship than a concert on most Fridays. And yet for days now, Sarah had been paying attention to him. It was almost unreal.
"Tooom!" Sarah yelled again. Thomas looked quizzically, then put his hand to his ear to indicate he was listening.
"How fast can you run the 40?"
Thomas thought he had misheard at first--her question had been slightly drowned out by passing cars. Upon realizing what she was asking, he blushed. His 40-yard dash was among the slowest in the school, let alone his team. He was big, not fast.
But Sarah was not interested in Thomas's answer. With a flourish, she took two wide steps right into the busy intersection.
"Come show me!"
In the instant that Sarah stepped out into the street, the world slowed down for Thomas. Time halted as his eyes opened wide. And in that frozen moment, Thomas heard a voice. One that he knew, in his heart of hearts, was the voice of God.
*The girl will be struck by the bus. You can save her.*
Thomas looked at Sarah, the world stuck in place.
"But I can't reach her from here." he thought.
*You can save her. You must only believe.*
Thomas looked at Sarah, her face still lit with a smile, completely oblivious to the bus about to hit her. She did not deserve death. And if it was within his ability to save her, then it would be his duty. His hands balled up into fists. Putting aside his hesitation, he braced himself to move. To sprint. To fly.
He did not remember the next 2 seconds. He did not remember crashing through the sedan in the right lane, nor the van in the middle. He did not feel the force of fast-moving steel against his own flesh and bone. Before he opened his eyes, he had not realized that he had reached the exact spot where Sarah had stood. Nor had he seen the destroyed remains of the truck that had slammed into him.
But Sarah had disappeared from the road. As Thomas came to his senses and a crowd gathered, he looked around frantically. The driver of the bus stumbled out of the wreckage, bleeding profusely.
---
"Impressive." a male voice muttered to Sarah from atop the roof of a nearby building.
"I told you he would be fast." Sarah responded with a smirk. Her form blurred and skipped as she approached the man watching Thomas.
"Paladins truly do move by faith alone, then."
"I don't even think he's realized his power yet."
The man smiled. "Good. He will serve us well."
|
Journal Entry for: 5/25/2013
I need to write this down. I am not sure that anyone will believe me, but I swear that this is the honest truth as to what happened.
I woke up at 2:30 a.m., and then turned on my iPad. I checked out my usual apps - Facebook, Reddit, YouTube, IMDB.
I then started folding up my futon mattress and put it in my closet, along with my blanket and pillow. As I lifted my right arm to put my blanket on the closet shelf, I noticed a strange tattoo on my right bicep, near my shoulder. It was written in some type of fancy calligraphy, and although it looked like it had been there for a while, I don't remember seeing it at ANY point yesterday. It was just one word, and four numbers:
*Ranger 1138.*
I took a picture of the tattoo with my cell phone, and spent what seemed like an hour trying to figure out how the hell this got on my arm. I first thought someone broke into my house, but after looking around, my living room was just as it was before. My front and back doors were locked and secured. My windows were all shut, with the safety latches still in place. I then checked my home security system's control panel, and it registered NO ACTIVITY.
As I sat on my couch trying to figure out what the heck was going on, my cell phone started ringing. I looked at it, and was relieved to see my friend Nick's name on my caller ID.
"Hello? Nick?"
"Tom, I'm going to ask you something weird... Is there a...?"
"Yep. It's on my right arm."
"Okay. So I'm not crazy, then. Wait... you said it's on your right arm?"
"Yep. Why?"
"It's on **MY** left arm. Is it on your bicep, near the shoulder?"
"Yep."
"Okay... that's freaky. It's like whoever did this knew I was left-handed. What does yours say?"
"Ranger one-one-three-eight".
Then there was a long pause. It sounded like he was moving around.
"Nick? Are you there?"
"Dude... Mine says something different than yours."
"Well, what's yours say?"
"Druid. And I think it's two-eight-seven-six."
Then it hit me... "Wait... Ranger? Druid? Those sound like character classes in D&D."
"Yeah it does. Okay, I'm officially freaked out right now. Can I come over?"
"Yep."
"Okay. I'm on my way. See you in a few."
I then hung up the phone, and walked over to the couch. Sitting down, I stared at the ceiling, trying to search through my memories to see if there was some unforeseen gap. I mentally re-traced my steps, starting from the previous morning... Nothing. I even remembered that hot cashier that I talked to at the grocery store.
My thoughts then returned to the tattoo. How did it get there? Did someone take advantage of me? Was this the start of some kind of huge prank that I'd look back on later and laugh about?
I had no clue. But I did know one thing...
This was NOT going to be a typical day.
| 2015-07-13T19:19:43 | 2015-07-13T18:25:41 | 83 | 18 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
The genie laughs and blurts out with elation:
"**By doing nothing of course!"**
"What do you mean '*by doing nothing?*' and what do you mean '*of course!'*?"
**"What did you expect me to say? Did you expect one good deed? One invention?"**
"Well...kinda. Maybe hundreds of good deeds?"
**"Tell me, which human do you know of that has done a good deed such as, oh I don't know, donating their clothes to a charity shop let's say; and made a grand difference?"**
"Ha! I would have expected something a little less innocuous than that. You know like, solve world hunger, or, create something that purifies water."
**"I can see why you would think that would help a lot of people. And it would. But, you did see that said** ***TRILLION*** .**..right? Not million or billion."**
"Well billion is pretty good!"
**"About a thousand times fewer people than you** ***will*** **help though. Look, you could create something that purifies all water, sure. You would ease suffering for millions. But is it not the nature of humankind to find problems to solve?"**
"I mean, I suppose. Not exclusively, but, yeh I guess."
**"So you purify all water. Now what is the next problem? People still suffer because now they can stop focusing on water but focus shifts to no food. Let's say you solved world hunger too! Now they argue over land and property, women, and fight for justice. Justice basically born out of the wish that people would stop arguing and doing harm to each other."**
"What so I should skip solving the problems, and instead treat the symptoms by just becoming a lawyer or a politician?"
**"There was a trillion on the end of that 137 remember."**
"I don't understand how I can help so many by doing nothing!"
**"That was the point! Everyone until now has always looked for a way to solve other people's problems. But look how destructive humanity has been in the search to solve other people's problems! It's like your old proverb, where the monkey reaches into the river to grab the fish, exclaiming as he does so:** ***'dear fish! kindly let me help you or you'll drown!'*** **and placed it safely up a tree."**
"How have we...But look at all we have achieved!"
**"Achieved? Let me paint a picture of humanity's achievements with the example of solving the problem of no light at night, by creating electricity. Ok, great we can see at night. Now how do you get the energy to maintain the electricity? You destroy the environment. Ruin it for others. See you cannot have something without taking it from someone or something else. The rainforests are destroyed for the wood to burn or oil to rub on your faces; the water is poisoned to get gas to pump into your flashy cooker; your -"**
"- OK! I get it. Don't preach. I understand what you're getting at. Yin Yang and all that right?"
**"Close."**
"Can you tell me how I change the world for 137 '*TRILLION REMEMBER'* people, by doing nothing?"
**"No."**
"Why didn't you say that in the beginning?!"
**"How can I tell you how to** ***do*** **nothing? That - literally - doesn't make sense."**
"YOU SAID IT! You said, and I quote: *By doing nothing of course!*"
**"And my responses have been questions have they not?"**
"Yes."
**"What you seek does not come from** ***knowing*** **the answer. There is no real quick-fix in life, they are all postponements of the truth. What you seek comes from the journey of discovery. You must learn what it is, to be."**
|
"You were a very influential figure in the future, young lord. What you have done in your lifetime have allowed all those lives to attain a much brighter future."
"But what did I do?"
"I cannot say."
"Can't or won't?"
"I cannot. Though I can see into the future, the exact reason for your influence is unknown to me, I cannot pinpoint it."
"Can you show me, then, my future?"
"How do you want it to be shown?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you wish to dream of your future, or perhaps a vision, or should I give you a hard drive full of your memories?"
"The hard drive, please."
"It is done."
---
*I connected the hard drive to my laptop. Opening the drive, I found it to be completely and utterly filled with videos of each of my days.*
*Deciding that whatever is it that had done had to have been during my prime years, I looked up the date fifteen years into the future.*
*But, as soon as I clicked the file, my head grew dizzy, and the next thing I saw was white.*
---
**"Hello, Jim."**
"You're--!"
**"Yes, it is I."**
"I can't believe it, you're actually real..."
**"As real as the sand in your feet, but that doesn't matter anymore."**
"Like hell it does, I mean--oh, sorry."
**"It's quite alright, child."**
"Why am I here?"
**"It has been thousands of years since my Son has returned here. I wish to send one final prophet to spread the Word."**
"Won't He come down Himself?"
**"My child, that day is far, far into the future. My task for you is more grounded in the present."**
"What do I need to do?"
**"You must go, and preach the wonders of humanity."**
"Not You?"
**"No, young Jim. You must go and praise the strength of your kind. Only by moving forward as one will you be able to progress into the future."**
"Under Your Light?"
**"That is up to you, but there is no need to unite under My wing."**
"I thought everyone should worship You?"
**"I am a parent, little Jim, and you are my children. I am happy when you praise My name, but I also want you to grow into your own. The greatest joy of a parent is to see their child succeed without them, and I am no exception."**
**"So long as my children do not give into evil, and do not forget My name, then how they succeed is of little importance to Me."**
"Okay, I will become a prophet, but what should I do first? Become a priest?"
**"Do not be tied into a single religion, young one. The entire world is your flock, and you must lead them to a brighter tomorrow. No, go and become a scientist, your innovations will be the one to lead the people into the future."**
"But what kind of scientist should I become?"
**"You are smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jim. You'll figure it out."**
*At that moment, I woke up.*
---
*The genie and the hard drive has disappeared while I was asleep, but it didn't matter to me. Now I have a new focus and a new determination on what I should do.*
*It will be ten years later when I unveiled my first invention, a battery with an infinite amount of power. From such a tiny device, the world changed.*
*That was the start of humanity's race for the stars. I continued to make minor innovations after that, but just from my battery, I had already saved billions of lives, and possibly more in the future.*
| 2018-08-15T02:53:07 | 2018-08-15T01:57:47 | 164 | 55 |
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.
|
I sat in the chair across from Rich. Bowls of various chips and candies covered the table, and two-liter bottles that once contained Dr. Pepper were strewn carelessly on the floor.
Joe, the DM of our group, sat at one end of the table, and Keaton, our Bard’s level-headed player, at the other. Brooke the Monk sat to my right. I was only home for the weekend, and Joe had called me in for a “special job.”
As the night progressed it became more and more obvious why. Rich wasn’t exactly an A+ player. Every decision the DM made was argued for 5 minutes. If a player attacked in a way Rich didn’t like, guess what? Another 5 minutes. As more time passed, I noticed a strange phenomenon. There was only one person he didn’t ever argue with. Brooke. He was deferential to her, throwing the others under the bus just to try and “prove himself,” or something absurd like that. A classic white knight, alongside of being a pretentious douchebag. The perfect target.
My tiefling arcane trickster had faired quite well through the session, surprising Rich, who expected his min-maxed aasimir sorcerer to destroy all opposition. As we reached the end of the dungeon we were painstakingly making our way through, my high perception roll caught a pressure plate, along with a thin seam in the ceiling. Rich was right behind me, hoping to get any loot as quickly as possible.
Calling all clear, I cast minor illusion, covering the pressure plate neatly with an ordinary stone tile. I barely stepped over it, and then stopped, forcing Rich’s sorcerer to clumsily bump into me and step directly on the hidden pressure plate. I spun and rolled with advantage on a surprise attack with my enchanted dagger. A 15 and a 20 sealed his fate, with a neat sneak attack to boot. The dagger plunged into his ribs, as a look of shock came over the faces of both Rich and his arrogant sorcerer. Vines sprouted instantaneously from the green blade in his chest, rooting him to the spot as countless boulders tumbled from the ceiling.
Brooke’s monk nailed the high dex save and expertly dodged the rocks, while I used evade and took half damage. Keaton’s bard was wary enough to avoid even coming close to the trap. The poor sorcerer, his hands bound and feet rooted to the ground, never stood a chance. The boulders rained on him, cracking limbs and ribs and mutilating fleshy bits. At 2 HP he lay on the ground, stunned, as I leaned over him. He started to mutter something, when a knife flew straight into his oversized blue forehead, ending his miserable existence. I looked up to see Brooke smiling with an empty sheath at her waist.
At the table, Rich jumped up and stormed out, the screen door slamming behind him. He stormed back in, grabbed his keys and dashed out yet again. Tomorrow I would leave, and probably never play with these people again. But I knew I wouldn’t forget them anytime soon.
(Edit: lay, not may)
|
Assassin, interesting.
I'm more a Ranger with a beast master sub role myself, but I think I can destroy Jake with my eyes closed.
So let's get down to business. I'll get my trusty partner of crime. Numerous hours of endless DnD story lines and side quests, how could I leave my sacred buddy?
Jake, the Paladin (such a trash class). Exclaimed, "I rolled a max 20, so Karen you have to be my slave for the next 20 turns and 5 more turns when I roll a 5 or more!"
&#x200B;
"Jake what the fuck. Stop with these ridiculous spells. We are in middle of fighting goblins."
&#x200B;
Karen looks at the DM, John, but he skims a page in the DnD rule book and shook his head. "Sorry Karen, it says right here Vol XIV Ch. 58 sub article 3&a, that Paladins can have secret spells if they're level 18."
&#x200B;
Karen does a frustrated sigh, then responds, "Fine. Jake heal me. I'm low on health."
&#x200B;
"Sorry can't do. Gotta save my spell slots so I can tell you what to do on my next turn."
&#x200B;
A little bit interested of what Jake is going to do with Karen's half fox/half dinosaur character, I had to remind myself to step in before I won't be able to stop him. I roll a 19, so I get to summon my best pet. "Rex, steal all of Jake's equipment and render him useless with your morning screams!"
&#x200B;
Rex is my pet chicken. He use to be weak and had to be necromancied every 5 turns, but now he is a force to be reckon with. Rex learned strange abilities due to my infatuation of trying to find the best build for him. Years of research and experience went into growing him to be the ultimate farm fighting machine.
&#x200B;
Jake looks at me for a second and turns straight to John. "JOHN YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS. HE IS A DROP IN. WITH A PET CHICKEN THAT HAS INSANE ABILITIES."
&#x200B;
John turns the pages in the rule book and points it for everyone to see that it is possible for characters to have insanely powered pets if you follow the strict guidelines and prove it with the App.
&#x200B;
I tell the Paladin, "Sorry Jake, you look like a fun target." So I ordered Rex to put John in a spell that he can't speak if he doesn't say "Puk Puk Pukaaak" in between every few words.
&#x200B;
Jake tries to refute, but the DM refuses to hear anything from him because rules are rules.
&#x200B;
| 2019-01-21T19:51:50 | 2019-01-21T17:26:13 | 330 | 244 |
[WP]"Death extends his hand, smiling, “Deal?”"
Simply include this exact line into your story.
|
The smell of blood and shit infested his nostrils. Trying to lift his head above the stench caused him excruciating pain, so he lay still and tried not to retch. As he lay in the mud, enveloped in darkness, listening to the shells whistling overhead he still found himself – despite the agony he felt to his very core – hoping that none of them would land on his little patch of no-mans-land. He couldn’t feel his legs, his right arm was a constant stabbing pain and he was too afraid of what he might find to look down at his guts. Glancing left and right, he saw dead men everywhere, brave men who had climbed over the top without a moment’s hesitation. For some reason, he found this momentarily funny; he was only a messenger, but he had been sent over anyway - due to the shortage of men. He hadn’t handled a bayonet since training, but that made no difference, the machine gun fire cut them all down so quickly that his inferiority to his comrades left him at no disadvantage.
Suddenly, a dark figure was standing over him. Looking up, he expected to see the face of one of the enemy, but instead saw nothing.
“It is time” the figure rasped.
“Time for what?”
“Time for you to come with me, time for you to die”
“I’m not ready, I don’t want to die.” he realised with a sinking horror what this figure must be.
“No-one wants to die, but everyone must.”
“I’ll give you anything you want, anything at all, please.”
“What makes you think you can give me what I want?”
“Anything at all, name it and I will find a way to give it to you, I swear.”
“There is only one thing that you can bargain with, and it is too much to ask of any one man.” The figure was almost grinning.
“I swear to you, just let me live and I will give you anything”
“There is only one currency that I deal in, and that is souls.”
“How many souls will it take to let me go?”
“How many souls do you think your life is worth?
Feeling the blood begin to seep into his lungs, he knew he didn’t have much time. “How many do you want? Anything at all, I promise you”
The figure paused. No-one had ever given him free reign to name his price, so he figured he had better make it worth his while. “Six million. Six million souls in exchange for sparing yours now.”
“Of course, anything, I’ll find a way, I swear.”
Death extended his hand, smiling “Deal?”
Adolf reached up, coughing the first spots of blood. “Deal.” he replied as he gripped Death’s hand.
|
Death extends his hand, smiling, "Deal?"
As my hand enveloped his boney phalanges it struck me how quick it all started to happen. My flesh was ripping away with increasing speed. It looked almost like a video game where you being transported from one dimension to another or Spock was beaming you up to the Starship Enterprise. Then the pain hit and my thought left me. All that was left was a soul scorching pain.
It was over in an instant as I looked at myself in front of me where Death had once been and he said "One year. You got this! Enjoy the power don't let it go to your head". It was at that point I realized that all my flesh was gone and I was just a skeleton. I had become Death. The line of succession had be completed like some kind of sick twisted Dread Pirate Roberts bullshit out of Prices Bride.
See what you don't know will kill you. Literally! 15 minutes earlier I had downed about three shots and done and eightball with my newest lady friend that I was trying to impress. Problem was that was some really high grade stuff and it pretty much shut my system down...all the way down. Then there was Death making me a deal as if he was Miracle Max he said "you were only mostly dead". The deal was to let him have my body for one year. At which point in time I could take my pick of anyone that died after that. I could, if I wanted, take girl, a baby, a old man, a young boy it just did not matter but they had to agree to the deal of being Death for a year and giving up everything they had been. You would then become them but retain all the knowledge you have now. Start over he said! Set up the death of a baby if you can stomach it to a rich family. He did warn that no one had been able to get a child under the age of 5 to agree. They actually have to say yes and shake your hand. Most of them just cried and would run away. Alas, the world is your oyster he chimed. Although, he did warn that you can get lost in the job and stay as long as you like. The girl before him seemed to have a sadistic streak in her and apparently had set up the whole Tsunami in Indo to have a little fun. You know you are evil when Death calls you a sick freak of nature...So here I am on the cusp of wiggling the fickle finger of fate at my first fatality. This should be interesting...
| 2014-06-27T07:07:58 | 2014-06-27T06:54:45 | 63 | 16 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
The surgeon pulled his mask up.
"Whole team's here. Everyone ready?"
Eight masked figure around the table appeared competent and prepared. A tray of gleaming, sharp instruments lay at hand. But something was wrong. I was not ready, I was paralyzed.
"I need everyone at the top of their game, we're going to be in here at least 10 hours, even if everything goes well. Nurse, scalpel…"
I could not move a muscle.
"Nurse! Scalpel, please!"
The nurse handed the gleaming blade to the surgeon.
No, please. I'm still awake.
|
Thunder roused me from the nightmare with a start. My heart thumped and I gasped for air. Rain pounded against the window, demanding to be let in. I quickly checked the corner of my room, where the man had been sitting in my dream. Empty, of course. I padded to the bathroom down the hall for a glass of water.
My foot slipped on the hardwood floor with a squeak, and I crashed to the ground. Dazed, I touched the puddle with my fingertips. A flash of lightning illuminated the wet path of footprints leading from the stairs to my room’s door.
| 2015-06-09T07:38:48 | 2015-06-09T06:36:56 | 316 | 116 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
"What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..."
|
"You, come with me please. Jim! I'll just have a chat with this guy, okay?" Jim, the closest thing to a neanderthal you could see outside of a museum of natural history, flashed a thumbs up before going back to checking ID's.
"So uh, like, what's the problem?" I glanced at the man beside me. He looked like your average guy, jeans, a white shirt, a healthy sunburn covering his face. In fact if I had been average as well, I'd probably never have picked him out in the first place.
"Just a routine, random pat-downs to make sure our guests aren't armed. You don't mind, right? It'll just take a minute".
"Ah". His face relaxed and his shoulders visibly untightened. "Yeah, sure, no problem, it's your job. Where to?"
I gestured for him to follow me and we started moving towards a room Jim and I got to use for our breaks.
"So, you been here long?"
"Nah, just arrived. Got tired of my job and went on a road trip with my savings. You know, new faces, new places..."
"Yeah, I hear ya." I unlocked the door and we walked inside.
It wasn't big, more of a closet than anything else, but there was enough room for a small plastic table, two foldable chairs, and an IKEA-shelf with a coffee pot and a cake Jim brought a few days ago.
"Sit down, you want some coffee?" I poured myself a cup and offered him one.
"No thanks uh, shouldn't we be standing up for the pat-down?"
"Yeah, there's not going to be a pat-down. I just needed to talk to you." His shoulders stiffened again, eyes wary.
"Yeah? About what?"
I sipped the coffee and made a disgusted face. It was cold.
"What do you want to talk about, man?" He tried faking a smile. "Do I look underage or something?"
I laughed. "Close, but no. See, I'm good at my job."
"Yeah?"
"Once I started working here, there's been a severe decrease in injured guests".
"That's great".
"There's also been no underage drinking at this club since I started working here. The local kids don't even try anymore, I'm that good at telling peoples _real_ age".
"Yeah?" He kept my gaze, looking increasingly like a deer cornered by a cougar.
"As in I can see exactly how old people are".
"You mean..."
"Yeah. I hate to paraphrase twilight on you, but you haven't been underage in a very long time, have you?"
He didn't move, shoulders still tense, eyes locked onto mine. The numbers above his head, the numbers indicating just how many years he had been alive, the numbers I had been able to see above everyones head since the day I was born, read 2709.
He breathed. "Fuck".
"Yeah. Now tell me: What. The fuck. Are you?"
| 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2017-09-01T23:25:55 | 1,321 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is.
|
My parents made me save my birthday points. I was homeschooled, a wimp and a stupid wimp at that. Well... when I turned 18, I had 32 points saved up. I mostly played video games, and I really didn't want strength, or even super smarts or charm. I wanted to be left alone and play Dota. So, I put all of my points into a stat nobody used except for maybe a few rich old codgers who had maxed out wealth or some other stat.
Fantasy.
Well, when I woke up the next morning, I felt different. Weird. I wished I didn't have to go to work, but oh well.I took my meds for the day, I got my coffee and bagel, and was carrying them over to the table to eat breakfast when I slipped. And suddenly, I was floating.
I gestured to the spilled coffee and it reversed its fall, back into the cup. Delightful. Almost as if what I wished simply came into being. The rest of the day was a breeze. Instead of going to work, I flew down the street doing corkscrews in midair. A really cute girl called out to me and asked if she could get my number. I gave it to her, I was feeling on top of the world. With my newfound powers, anything I wished for... simply became reality. I thought of all the good I could do, and immediately flew to the hospital. I could wish all the sick people better! I flew into the ER, and suddenly came face to face with myself. Bloody. Face smashed in. Tooth missing. Broken nose. Unconscious.
The nurse was shaking her head. This idiot hadn't put a single point into strength, agility or stamina. Without agility, he had slipped. Without strength, his nose had broken. Without stamina... well he was unconscious and might not make it. He had 32 points in fantasy however. World class idiot. She shrugged and turned.
"Hey doc, what am I doing here?" She turned. The guy was sitting cross legged on the bed- looking chipper as ever, as if he had never fallen. And he seemed to be slightly bobbing up and down as if he was... floating. She couldn't believe her eyes. This was pure fantasy.
|
When I was five my parents held my birthday bash in the park with all the first graders in my class attending.
Today was a special day. I'll be in charge of my own skill points from now on. I had five to use once I blew the candles and from then on a point every year to allocate as my birthday wish.
While playing games a group was huddled around something in the corner. Curious I joined as well. There on the pavement was a beautiful little bird, it's feathers every colour of the rainbow. It's beak was slightly open and a trail of ants were making their way to it.
One of the boys pokes the bird with a stick but it didn't move or fly away. I saw this as my chance and grabbed the bird running to show my mother. "Mom! Mom! look! I caught a bird! you can fry it like chicken legs mom!"
My mother was talking to some older lady I didn't know and the woman looked at me horrified like I was caked in mud. My mom's jaw tightened and she said "No dear. The poor little song bird is.... well, why don't we bury it. Give it a good funeral?"
I was a confused, birds and animals were all food right? We eat chickens so why not song birds? I was a bit mad that they used one of the pretty boxes that contained *MY* gift to buy it in the ground. Getting it dirty for the sake of a meal, a tiny one at that!
I watched as others around me started to cry and pray for the little bird and didn't understand. We all ate chicken nuggets before the funeral, nobody cried or prayed over them!
After the burial the cake was brought out and the tears dried up in the eyes around me to be replaced with longing for something sweet.
I listened to them sing the happy birthday song and watched their faces. They clapped, they smiled and there was no more trace of sadness from earlier.
I made my wish and affirmed my selection as I blew on the candles. I knew what I wanted then, from then on I made the same wish every year and yet I seem no closer to getting it then I was that that day long ago.
I want to understand the human heart. Nothing more, nothing less.
| 2018-09-12T09:06:28 | 2018-09-12T09:05:57 | 111 | 25 |
[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.
|
She screeched and stalked towards him, disregard for the dead body at her feet in every indignant line of her body.
"Are you fucking KIDDING ME??" Allie yelled.
Chris winced, rubbing an ear, then stopped. He looked at her, head tilted in confusion.
"You don't look as scared as I thought you might be if you found out about my, uh, less than conventional job" he started hesitantly. "Are.. are you mad at me?"
"Mad at you? Am I MAD at you?? Yes, I am furious! This is beyond not fair". Allie stepped over the body in her boss's waiting area, advancing on him menacingly. "We have been married for seven years. SEVEN. I have been cleaning this office for FIVE. I do all the chores at home, and you come home and prattle on about how taxing your day has been! How much do you even DO all day?". Allie stopped in front of him, breathing heavily, sodden cleaning rag forgotten in her fist as she glared at her husband.
"Well, I sit around a lot as I wait for my target, and uh. Why aren't you scared?"
"Scared? I know where you sleep, I know you still cuddle a stuffed animal every night, and I know you wouldn't function without me. You should be asking the real question."
Chris quirked an eyebrow. "What's the real question?"
Allie slapped the washrag into his chest, then wiped her hands dry on his shirt.
"The real question is how much cleaning you now have to do at home."
|
"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."
| 2021-02-11T14:33:00 | 2021-02-11T13:24:16 | 421 | 143 |
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence.
|
This is the love of my life. I remember the first time that thought crossed my mind...I stopped in the break room to get my morning coffee. She was there. The most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. It was her first week in the office, and she was still struggling with the coffee maker. Luckily I was there to help! We talked and joked while I showed her the path to office caffeination. She flashed that beautiful, perfect smile and that is when I knew...I am going to marry this woman.
From that day on you could say that she was my "work wife". We would meet in the break room everyday to get coffee and discuss current events. Her intelligence never ceased to amaze me. I would stop by her desk every afternoon to have a laugh. Her sense of humor is incredible.
It wasn't long after we met that I went through a rough patch with my finances. She knew something was the matter when I had to resort to ramen every day rather than my usual jimmy johns turkey sub. In all her perfection she showed up with an extra sandwich every day for two weeks. I knew then that she loved me as well...
It wasn't long after that when tragedy struck. You see this perfect girl had already been claimed. She was married with a young daughter. Thus my occasional sadness at what might have been. I remember it like it was yesterday.
It was a Tuesday. She didn't show up to work. She was gone the next day. And the next. It wasn't long before the emails started floating about the office detailing her horrible predicament. You see her husband and daughter had went on a walk to a local park. She had stayed home to cook dinner...they never came back.
She ended up missing close to a month of work. When she came back she was a different person. Less meetings for coffee. No smiles or jokes when I would stop by her cube. She was crushed. My heart was broken for her.
I never stopped dropping by. I never stopped cracking jokes. I never stopped finding news article I knew she wouldn't be able to resist discussing. I loved her. I had to be there for her. It was tough to see her in such despair.
The good news is that I never relented in my support and love for her. Just over a year later she heard of a new Italian deli within walking distance of work, and asked if I would go with her. The food was good. I made a joke and she laughed out loud. That smile I loved so much was finally back.
Over the next couple months there were more lunches. Lunches turned to after work drinks, which turned to dinners. At first it was to "try various new restaurants around town". Then it became dinner dates three times a week.
It was a Thursday. We were walking through a local park after dinner at one of our her favorite restaurants. She told me she was lonely. I knew the feeling all too well. She told me that since her family had disappeared she had started to give up hope of them coming back. That she had feelings for me, and was confused about what to do. I knew what she should do. I kissed her. She kissed me back.
Things changed after that. The dinners were at her place. The kisses turned into more. She smiled and laughed in abundance. She said when we were together everything felt right with the world...so I bought her a ring.
She said yes on the end of the Wrightsville beach pier during our vacation that summer.
We were so in love. Still are. We have two wonderful kids. Our oldest starts kindergarten this year. I have a lot of regrets in my life. What it took to be with her is not one of them. I spent every dollar of my savings at the time and maxed out every credit card to hire that hitman from the internet...but I would do it a million times over again so that I could have her. The love of my life.
|
Billy the pretty pink pony skipped down Rosemary Lane, stopping only to sniff the brightly coloured flowers in the hedges, or watch the butterflies fluttering through the air.
It was a beautiful day – the sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the birds were singing in the trees – and Billy was on his way to town. It was market day, and he was going to see what he could trade the vegetables from his vegetable garden for.
He was getting close to town when he heard someone call out his name.
“Billy!” the voice was saying from the side of the road.
Billy stopped in his tracks and peered at the hedge. Perched there on a branch was Mr Fluffkin, the red squirrel.
“Hello there, Mr Fluffkin,” Billy said with a smile. “How are you?”
“I’m absolutely terrific,” the squirrel replied. “And where are you off to on this fine day?”
“I’m off to the market,” Billy replied, nodding towards the basket balanced on his back, which was piled high with potatoes, carrots, aubergines, and more.
“How about you?”
“Why, I’m heading there too,” Mr Fluffkin replied.
“I don’t suppose you’d like a lift?” asked Billy. “It’s always better to travel together, after all.”
Mr Fluffkin beamed. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Hop on,” Billy said.
The squirrel scampered up Billy’s leg and, once he’d made himself comfortable on Billy’s head, they set off.
It didn’t take long for them to reach town, and the place was bustling – it was market day, after all, and creatures had come here from far and wide. Billy trotted along the streets, heading for the square in the middle of town, saying hello to all the creatures he knew as he passed them by. Every kind of creature imaginable was there – foxes and badgers, elephants and voles, leopards and rabbits. Just no humans, of course.
The town square was lined with stalls, selling everything from freshly-baked pies to toys for the little ones. Billy and Mr Fluffkin parted ways soon after they arrived – Mr Fluffkin said he was looking to buy a new jacket for himself, while Billy was hoping to get some ribbons for his glittery mane.
Billy was bartering with Barbara the ocelot, trying to swap some of his vegetables for a slice of her apple pie, when he heard a loud, high-pitched scream.
“The humans are coming!” someone yelled from the other side of the square.
Panic ensued. Everywhere Billy looked, animals were wailing and running back and forth, knocking over stalls and pushing each other to the floor.
Billy sighed. It had been hundreds of years since humans had been the dominant species, but somehow they were still clinging on. And they always insisted on doing what they’d always done – attacking the other animals, ruining things for everyone else.
Billy reached back to grab his basket, and put it down on the cobbles. It was time to do something. He charged across the square, darting through the crowd and jumping over the wreckage of stalls when he had to. Eventually, he saw a crowd of humans gathered around some dead animals and cheering. Billy gasped when he saw Mr Fluffkin sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood.
There was a sound behind him, and Billy spun round. He saw a man there, dressed in rags and holding a rusty knife in one hand. The man smiled and raised the knife above his head, but Billy acted fast.
With a snarl, he bared his teeth and sank his teeth into the man’s neck, tasting the warm, coppery blood. The man collapsed in a heap, a chunk of flesh still in Billy’s mouth. He gulped it down, licked his lips, and turned to the rest of the humans.
He had a taste for blood - they were next.
| 2017-05-25T04:45:01 | 2017-05-25T00:29:16 | 723 | 63 |
[WP] You have a small superpower. Whenever you tap someone on the shoulder, they always look over that shoulder, without fail. At first, you just used this for harmless pranks. Then, you realized you can kill people by tapping both of their shoulders.
|
Have you ever experienced the sensation of someone looking straight through you when you are talking to them? As though the minute details of your thoughts are being plucked by their scouring gaze and examined, weighed against the scales of truth and bullshit?
It's the reason I don't engage with strangers. Not small talk in grocery store lines or anything even a thank you when I buy coffee... Jesus, I don't remember the last time I bought a coffee. My life is separated from those I share the streets with because I can't stand to face the truth.
You see, when you cut into the flow of another's thought you invite reflection of your own mind into the light, whether you can see it or not. I dipped my hand into that stream once and lost more than my hand in the current. Don't get me wrong--knowing your friends' minds is natural, but it comes with time. You can't force those bonds. Can't force.... Oh God.
I had friends... I had a dog... I had, well... the vague semblance of a life I thought I wanted. But it all blew up in my face because I failed to see the signs. I failed to believe that things could be what they appeared.
I... I...
...had a friend. Someone I *wanted* to be more than a friend. My life was never spectacular but she made it better. We took night classes together and started a study group as an excuse to drink carafe's of coffee at 10pm. I always touched her shoulder to see, I don't know, if she still realized I was there. To test if she had forgotten about me.
She always looked.
We...oh God... we spent the rest of the semester studying together. Sometimes in the group, sometimes just the two of us. I never stopped tapping her on the shoulder. It was our stupid, secret game. She always looked, and I always smiled.
My life passed before my eyes when she wasn't at our study table in the library downtown. She was a lot of things to me but above all she was, to herself, always on time. Always waiting. Always there for our study group. For us. For her not to be there was alarming. I looked down the rows of books but she was nowhere. Suddenly the world went black.
*"Guess who."*
I smiled. I always smiled.
And I turned. There she was, staring up at me, smiling. My heart pounded and I knew... I knew what this moment was. Finally, my whole life had a meaning beyond what I could think up for myself. I finally found that spark to bring me forward.
I lightly jabbed her shoulder, and she turned her gaze towards it, softly. Like she always did. She smiled. When I opened my mouth to speak no words came out. She turned back to me and it happened; her shining eyes pierced deep into my mind, into my soul. I felt her caress my thoughts and kiss my heart. The words stuck to my mouth, but she knew what I wanted to say. She felt it too. And as she came closer to me I stooped to kiss her, and took both her shoulders in my hands.
I heard... a crack, soft like a wishbone... and a warmth on my face like the sun. My eyes were covered with roses and I felt wetness on my lips.
I saw into her mind, and in that moment, I lost mine.
---
*Hey folks, thanks for reading! I have a tough time focussing my thoughts and staying consistent... my writing seems to get away from me because I can't see the big picture as I write and I get sucked into the details. ALL criticism and suggestions for this piece and general writing flow is wholeheartedly welcome :)*
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It took me a while before I knew what it was. I was always a nosy child, and I wanted my parents to notice me. Every time my fingers touched their shoulders, they'd look over at me. No fail. I'd always assume that they loved me enough that they'd look at me whenever I did that. Irritated, my mother told me to stop touching her shoulders. Long story short, I admitted to my mother that I did this with others. She took me to the family doctor on my next checkup and before it was finished, she took the doctor aside and attempted to explain the situation without sounding like insane. To convince him, my mother had me tap her shoulders in front of the doctor. Curios, the doctor had me tap his shoulders. To no surprise, he turned around on the spot. Curious, he had other patients tested. Each one turned without hesitation. I can still remember the frantic conversations the doctor and my mother had. It was then I felt I had something special.
Now, it just seems like a cool party trick. Something you could do to prank someone or an easy way to get their attention. But there was always a burning question in my mind: what would happen if I tapped both shoulders? I thought about it for some time, however I was too fearful.
One night, however, I was taking the taxi home. When the taxi arrived, the driver asked where I wanted to go, and we left. However, the driver began making strange detours and I began to object. I repeatedly asked the man to stop but he refused. When I lunged for the door, he swerved violently. "I wouldn't do that, Mr. Key." I realised that both my phone and wallet were gone.
We arrived at an abandoned mall. He parked the car and turned off the ignition. He grabbed something from the glove department, got out of the vehicle, and gestured me to leave. We walked into the mall: a decent looking mall although there were no lights. He led me to the food court where a chair was waiting. 'Sit," he ordered. I sat. He sat down beside me. He wasn't close enough for a lunge but if I could just tempt him closer. "Password," he asked. "7591," I responded. He unlocked my phone and was surfing through it. Just then, I lunged for the man. I sort of tripped and ended up stabilising myself by placing both hands on his shoulders. He began to shake violently, frothing at the mouth. Spooked, I jumped back before he fell onto the floor. I slowly walked towards the man, reaching and grabbing for my phone. He had no external injuries but he wasn't breathing nor his heart was beating. I grabbed the keys from his pocket and left the mall. In his glove compartment was the wallets of other individuals he has stolen from, most likely deceased. I stared back at the mall for a second before departing.
I could never get the images, the feelings out of my head. I felt almost obliged never to use my powers, and I never really did. I was able, however, to track down all the people and returned the wallets to them, console them of the death of the kidnapper. ~~At least, out of this tragedy, some good.~~ I can still hear the cries as I held their loved ones. Their hope makes me feel that I've done something right. That my powers weren't destructive, that I hadn't killed someone out of spite. Out of their hope I can at least find some consolation.
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EDIT: Wow. My first "popular" post. Thx.
EDIT 2: Changed the shitty ending.
EDIT 3: Added better logic for the discovery of superpower. Thanks u/KenLinx
| 2017-06-27T20:09:57 | 2017-06-27T18:17:24 | 300 | 152 |
[WP] Gordon Ramsay mistakenly walks into your house to film an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, and refuses to believe that you aren't a failing restaurant owner
|
*Today, I'm in beautiful, sunny Southern California, to help a restaurant whose future is not so bright. Dave, owner of Dave's Place, has reached out to us in an effort to end his culinary nightmares.*
*Gordon walks in to a small studio apartment typical of an ordinary college student. A 20-year old male is eating breakfast - a bowl of Lucky Charms, who double-takes at the sight of the British chef.*
"Dave, good to see you at last."
"Wait. Holy shit. *Gordon Ramsay?*
"Nice to see you then. Fuck me, when you said your place was small, you really weren't lying!"
"Wha-"
"But it's a great feel. Really unique too, the studio apartment vibes. Almost like I'm being cooked dinner by my old flatmate! And the 'used underwear' everywhere! Genius."
"Look, Gordon, I'm a big fan and all, but I'm running on a tight schedule today."
"Right you are, and that's why I'm here. But let me ask you something. Do you always eat your breakfast in the restaurant dining area, and in your underwear?"
*Gordon stares inquisitively at his newest project. Dave stares back, drowsy and hungover.*
"Let's start with the end-of-the-line. How long do you think you can go on like this?"
"Honestly, Gordon, I- I don't know... I don't know how to deal with all this debt..."
*Dave breaks into tears. Gordon can't help but smile. He had finally broken through the hardened layer to find the passionate chef he was promised.*
|
"What the fuck is this?!" Yelled someone from my kitchen.
I walk into the kitchen to see none other then Gordon Ramsey
"It's fucking RAW, you fuckin' Donut" as he takes a few bites of my eggs. "It looks like someone took a shit on the plate!" he yelled.
My 3 kids decided to come walk into the kitchen to see what the fuss was about.
"You, you and you, fuck off! You're done. Take off your apron and don't come back."
Bewildered as I was, he was moving onto the toast.
"What the fuck is this! It's like eating into cardboard! You think I can serve this? And on family night? And what are these 3 blokes doing here! I said fuck off!"
"Sir I'm going to have to ask you to leave" I say.
"Oh you're going to ask me to leave? You better take your fuckin' apron off before I drag you out of this kitchen."
Gordon Ramsey moves menacingly towards me with two pieces of toast in his hand.
"And before I let you leave, you say chef, got it'?"
"Y-Yes Che-"
Suddenly he slams the two pieces of bread on the side of my head.
"You fuckin idiot sandwhich! WHAT ARE YOU!"
"An Idiot Sandwhich.."
"Idiot Sandwich what!"
["An Idiot Sandwich Chef Ramsey"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PV3_UHG73oQ)
| 2016-06-28T23:14:49 | 2016-06-28T22:20:54 | 286 | 116 |
[WP] You were cursed to become a crow. You meet another person under a similar curse as a crow and eventually set up a happy, loving life together. One day, the spell ends and you both returned to your true forms. However, their true form was radically different than what you thought it would be.
|
Balthus cawed sharply, convulsing at the same time I lost motor control. I kreed, "Oh lord, it's finally over! The curse is broken!"
My body twisted and cracked, bones elongated and feathers shrank to hair. After many agonizing, gruelling minutes, I knelt on hands and knees, slick with some sort of slime, but human once more. "Balthu-" I started to cry out for my friend joyfully when I heard it. He was still crackling and popping, his form already at least triple my size.
I sat, transfixed, staring, for many more horrifying minutes until an enormous creature knelt before me. It had six legs like those of a crocodile slung under a long, snakelike body with stubby vestigial wings and rows of spikes tracking down it's spine. It's neck coiled up and it's short, wide muzzle gaped open in a gruesome parody of a smile. A thick black tongue lolled out and it's five yellow eyes fixed on me.
"Oh." It blurted. "You're a human."
I nodded dumbly, "And you're a... That."
It twisted, suddenly self conscious, "Ah. Yeah. This is awkward. Cuz I thought..."
I nodded, "Yes I sorta assumed- Well you know..."
It shrugged, a rhythmic, rippling gesture, "That is what we get for assuming."
I shrugged back, "You wanna go get a couple Banh Mi and have lunch in the park?"
|
She was tall. So tall. That was my first impression as we both slowly got to our feet.
The transformation back to our real forms was sudden, and overwhelming. Our vision returned to what it once was, and so did our rather poor sense of smell. And the weird intrinsic sense we had to know which was was north, and the preternatural ability to sense disaster was gone.
"Yasmin..." She said, looking at me.
"Mei?" I said.
She hugged me, tight. And I hugged her back.
Tears were forming, and I could feel her shaking in my arms as she started crying, too.
We were back. We were normal again. The curse was lifted.
We broke apart, and looked at each other, taking each other in.
She was pale, and her her jet black hair had a streak of pink on the front. She had piercings on her nose, her ears, her lip.
She was a bonafide goth chick.
"Damn." I laugh, tears still running down my cheek.
"What?" She asked, smiling as well.
"I can't believe I landed myself a big tiddy goth girlfriend."
She scoffed, and playfully hit me on the arm.
"Let's go. We need to get out life back together."
"Together." I repeated her last word, holding on to her hand.
She squeezed it, and we took our first step into our new lives.
| 2021-10-27T08:23:52 | 2021-10-27T08:04:12 | 761 | 93 |
[WP] You wake up in a house. It's nice place, with all the comforts of home. However, the front door is cold steel, with a note on it. The note warns you never to leave the house. After years of compliance, you decide to go through the steel door...
|
March 22, 2015.
His eyes opened.
The white ceiling spotless. A fresh smell of laundry and clean carpets in the air. A hint of birdsong that vanished in a moment. Soft clean sheets folded and set perfectly, like he had not slept but appeared between them. He smacked his lips.
For a moment, he paused, feeling he had forgotten something - a dream, or a thought, or a passing revelation. The thought passed, and he stretched, rolled to his side, and placed his feet on the floor. He paused. Was his carpet really this fuzzy? He thought it was old and flat. He felt the same hint of forgetting, but it passed and he stood. He walked to the bathroom. His sleep-deadened face stared back at him. He brushed his teeth and and dressed and walked downstairs to make breakfast.
He found a new box of cereal and poured it into a bowl. He started a pot of coffee and began to eat his cereal.
The hot coffee cleared his head.
Where was his wife? Why was the house so perfect? Where were his cats? Why hadn't his alarm gone off? What about his job? Shouldn't someone have called him by now? He looked around his kitchen. He saw that it wasn't a real kitchen, with gift towels in a basket, a jar full of spatulas and spoons and tongs, magnets, notes, bills on the fridge, three brands of soap by the sink, old sponges in a pile, mismatched salt and pepper mills on the table.
His heart pounded. He pushed his way to the window. The view outside was flat, a TV screen. He saw pixels. He stumbled to his front door. It was gone. A flat wall of steel.
A single button placed into its center.
As a comical afterthought, a single sheet of paper.
"Don't open"
He pulled it off the door.
It was a normal piece of paper, the message written in a ballpoint pen.
He looked closer.
It was his handwriting.
...
...
...
He had sat in front of the door for the whole day, as he far as he could reckon it. He had not been hungry or thirsty, even though he had not eaten since breakfast.
He had explored "his" house some more. Every room was perfect, like he was in a furniture magazine. His plants were the most realistic plastic plants he had ever seen. There was no dirt anywhere, the floor perfect, no wear from chairs or walking. He had gone back to his room. The bed was remade, the bathroom cleaned from his clumsy waking.
His heart pounded. His breathing was slow and deep. He felt like he could puke. "Don't open". Why had he written this? *How* had he written this?
He stood.
He placed his thumb on the button.
The door vanished.
He saw...
nothing.
Nothing is too weak of a word. His mind recoiled from what he saw. He saw a void. He saw infinite darkness. He saw nothingness to power of nothing multiplied by nothing. Blackness so complete it was a membrane, dividing the strip of reality he stood on from the chaos of what he saw.
He turned around. There was nothing behind him.
He opened his mouth to scream.
...
...
...
March 22, 2015.
His eyes opened.
|
She stood in front of the door, arms crossed, tapping her fingers impatiently. At the tender age of sixteen, she was experiencing a rather heavy bout of teenage rebellion. The television programs that played on the flatscreen in living room reminded her it was just a phase. The restless feeling would pass, and that one day soon she would be released from the program- whatever that meant. "Be sure to read your training materials!" The squat lady on the screen would chirp at her. "And perform your calisthenics twice a day to stay in tip top shape!"
When she was placed here, she was a capable ten year old who was light years ahead of her peers in school. She followed a strict scheduled, awake at 0500 and in bed by 2100. She studied diligently and made sure to exercise in the fully furnished gym in the basement. In her free time she had books, television, even a communications if she was wanted to talk to someone at the command post. She had stopped trying to make contact ages ago. They never gave her straight answers anyway.
She brushed a stray strand of blonde hair from her face and squinted at the door. It was locked; she tried opening it. She couldn't pick it; she had tried that as well. She had tried breaking windows, searching for hidden exits, and at one point she had crawled into the air vents to see if they would lead her anywhere- the result was a dusty and torn up uniform and peaking frustration.
In her search, she had found an axe, located under the kitchen sink of all places- as if it had been left there on purpose. She picked up and tested the weight of it. Solid oak handle but she couldn't place what the blade was made from. Upon closer inspection, she realize it wasn't made from steel or iron, but rather something much stronger. "Perhaps from tungsten carbide, or maybe-" She stopped herself before she could finish her analysis. It was stronger than the door, and that's all that she needed to know at the present moment.
She took a breath, steeled herself, and swung at the door handle. Part of chipped off and fell to the floor. "YES!" She kept swinging and hacking away at the door. It took time. By the time she could see light leaking through the door, her hair was plastered to her forehead and she was out of breath- but she was so damn close to freedom, she couldn't stop. Finally the door gave and swung open, and she stumbled over the threshold. She looked around wildly, unprepared for what she found.
She was in a open hanger, with identical houses all settled neatly in rows. People in military uniforms milled around, none of them paying her any attention, too preoccupied in their duties. She stood frozen in place for a long moment, unsure of what her next move was.
"Right on time, Corporal." A tall man with dark skin and a crisply pressed dress uniform greeted her. The insignia on his uniform made it clear he was an officer. She saluted in a knee jerk reaction. All those years of reading training manuals had finally proved useful. She stood taller, prouder. She had figured it out. She was going to get answers. "Time for your next phase of training." The Officer gave her an appraising look. "Follow me."
| 2015-03-21T11:25:12 | 2015-03-21T11:13:06 | 39 | 23 |
[WP] An Alien and it’s Human sidekick roam the galaxy, willing to do just about any job to keep the fuel tanks full. The only issue - most clients have never seen a Human and they’re terrified by the sight of one.
Cake Day Post!
EDIT: wanted to say thank you to everyone that responded! I’ve been reading your stories on here for years & couldn’t have asked for a better cake day!
|
I'm used to it by now. Any human out here gets used to it or they go home. And honestly it's not wrong, not some injustice or bigotry. The suit is a necessity,
The procedure just sucks.
Hoses like everywhere, you feel me? Everywhere. Gasket checks. Pressure checks. Solvents. Primary and secondary pumps. And the adhesives? Well they're worse coming off.
It's kinda amazing what alien technology has fit into this skin-tight abomination.
The airlock cycles me into naked vacuum. "Coming across Scall."
"Come across Buddy." The far door opens.
I jump. Bright lights come on from every direction, sterilizing every surface of my skin suit.
In the far lock I get scanned to within an inch of Scall's life and get the all's clear before the airlock cycles.
The interior is filthy, unlike my own ample quarters.
"Common Scall, you gotta clean this place."
"That's funny, coming from your type, unclean human."
It's banter. But I'm still a little salty from the early wake-up. "What if I cut myself on some of this junk?"
Scall's sensory frills stiffen in excitement and panic.
I run my hand down his usvarse ridge to soothe him. It works a little too well, so before he can get too excited I say "no time for a danger wank. They're here."
I stay out of the negotiation. I'm the trump card.
Scall works the deal. Once the terms are final and both cargoes are verified, I put the crates in the shuttle and head across.
The Lfthiss are notorious. Their cultural bias towards might-makes-right tactics complicate all their agreements. They certainly think we are ready pickings.
I open the cargo doors, point at my chest, and say "scan it bitches" before they can pounce.
Dozens of classification glyphs radiate from the bio-hazard logo on my suit. Colony organism. Aerobic infectious agents. Anarobic infectious agents. Lysing agents. And more, and more, and more.
The Lfthiss don't need to do the scan. Earthlife is infamous. Our peculiar, slow evolution and repeated extinction events complicated our biology beyond mediation.
They sheathe their weapons and transfer the cargo with due diligence. Knowing that I need only crack my seals to doom their ship as a complete loss.
I return to our ship and drop into a navigation station.
Scall leans over me to check a console.
In parting, the Lfthiss salute Scall with a message best translated as "well played"'.
He is flushed, his dorsal spines partially erect. I'm no less aroused, though the suit makes that painfully immaterial.
We're both danger junkies. You have to be in this line of work. But we've gone way past normal here. I let his spines almost snag my fingers as his sharp, venomous jaws knead their their way down my torso.
Nobody understands our partnership, our love. One wrong move and we're both dead.
That's the point.
I trigger the jump.
---
EDITS: all the artifacts and grammar from writing on a phone.
|
**OK, my human sidekick.**
You can call me Dave like you normally do, Xzorp. It's as clear as you are a seven foot tall purple being with four tentacles instead of two arms.
**Exposition complete. Now, then. I talked the to the guy working the space gas station.**
The what?
**I mean, gas station. We have a problem. They don't accept galactic credits as a form of payment.**
Why not?
**No idea. One of those interstellar currency only joints. Do they not trust our great galactic banks?**
To be fair, it's been a rough week for the financial markets.
**It wasn;t so bad until Galactic Prime Emperor Keith Johnson lost the whole treasury betting on soybean futures.**
But soybeans don't grow around here?
**Right, which brings me to the next order of business. We need fuel. Now, the gas station folks have never seen a human. In fact, when I mentioned that I had one on board, they flipped. The one named Blern grabbed a laser pistol and told me that the human race was known as the most deadly and cancerous in the universe.**
We are?
**I mean, now you are. The year is 14712. Your ancestors have done some crazy shit, like Slavery II. How did they get away with that? The word Slavery was right in the name! Anyhow, I told them you're from a more primitive, gentle time, plus you're disease free and their organ will fit in your mouth.**
Oh no.
**Yes.**
Why does this always happen?
**Because the currency problems in this universe are legion. But if there's a species you can blow, there's a species you can get money from.**
Why do I always have to do it? You never put on a pair of space kneepads and had to get your, uh, mouth? Mouth dirty?
**It's technically a mouth, yes. And the thing is, I own this great machine that lets us travel in time and space. If you wanna ride the ride, you gotta buy a ticket.**
I see.
**With your mouth.**
Yeah, yeah, fine. How many are there?
**Three. And according to the fat one, its really easy to make their kind come. But don't look at their genitals. You'll go insane and succumb to space madness.**
Do I have to? What about our backup plan?
**I didn't wanna tell you. There's a problem with our backup plan.**
Uh-oh.
**Right. We've been canceled.**
But this show has been on the air forever!
**The producers say our time is up.**
But this show has such a legacy! It's been on since the 60's. My grandfather got me into it! Can't we do anything to save our jobs?
**Well... *you* can.**
What? No, you don't mean....
(sound of evil laughter) (lightning) (thunder) (cut to "To Be Continued") (end theme) (credits roll)
| 2020-03-05T22:25:23 | 2020-03-05T19:47:59 | 139 | 24 |
[WP] You are an assassin who has been training their whole life to become a part of The Society. A league of the world’s top assassins. You are given your final test. Kill the person you love most. If you fail the final test you die.
|
I sat in the chair, staring at Agent X approaching with the needle gun. He put it to my neck, and I felt a flash of pain as the giant needle broke the skin. This was the final test, most people would be nervous, but I had trained my entire life for this. When I passed, I would be the newest member of The Society. I knew it wouldn't be long before I would become one of the top assassins, and eventually I would become the leader.
As I rubbed the new bump on my neck, Agent X grabbed a hat covered with wires and put it onto my head. He typed away at the laptop it was connected to, and I started to hear the hat buzz. He set the laptop down and turned to face me.
"There is no turning back now. This machine will determine who you care about the most in the world, and then you will have 24 hours to kill this person. Fail, and your implant will automatically inject poison into your body. Succeed, and you will gain a new identity as one of the worlds top assassins."
I nodded, wondering who it would tell me to kill. Maybe my mother, although I hadn't seen her in a decade. She had never given me enough support anyways. It could have been my ex girlfriend, I still cared about her even if I realized two years ago that I was too good for her. Possibly my mentor, she was the one who taught me how to kill. I surpassed her skill in less than a year, but it still wouldn't surprise me.
The laptop let out a beep and the hat went silent. Agent X frowned at the screen and turned to me.
"Lets try that one more time."
He pushed at the laptop buttons again, and the hat started buzzing. We sat in silence as the hat did its work, then the laptop beeped again. He went to the screen, and muttered "Same results?"
"Show me who I have to kill."
He turned the screen towards me, showing... a picture of me.
|
I checked my weapon another time before sliding it into my jacket pocket with one last deep breath. “It’s going to be okay,” I said to myself in a low voice. “You can do this.”
With a heavy heart, I set out to complete my task and find the person I had been told to kill – my own beloved father. He was an upstanding citizen who had taught me everything that matters in life and brought joy with everything he did… and here I was tasked with murdering him without hesitation or doubt. But if there was one thing The Society demanded without fail it was loyalty; failure meant death at the hands of their own agents – no exceptions, no mercy.
I paced down the steps leading to his office struggling to keep up a brave face when all inside me screamed that what I was about to do was wrong… and then, just when all seemed lost… My father spotted me from across the room and welcomed me with open arms just like any parent would do when their child comes home from far away lands, unsuspecting of what's about to come .
It broke my heart but still… I let go of his embrace and took a step back pointing my gun at him with tears streaming down my face telling him “I'm sorry dad, but this is how it has to be." As soon as he heard those chilling words all color drained away from his face as he realized who I really was - an assassin sent in by The Society - someone who could see into him better than anyone else – someone who could even see through his kindest facade.
And so as soon as he knew his fate was sealed there were no more questions left unanswered nor any point in putting up a fight – he raised his hands high in surrender and let out one single sentence "I understand" before it all ended with a final simple gunshot inside that darkened room, forever etched on both our minds... just like so many other memories shared along life's journey, only now followed by a darker ending.
| 2022-11-30T11:38:55 | 2022-11-30T06:57:03 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room.
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This was unexpected. The world blurred slightly around Steve as he found himself in the crowded living room of a stranger's house. Immediately he knew it was The Last Hour. Any time a person was within an hour of death, their loved ones would be drawn to them like a magnet for final words and farewells. He'd been called to many Last Hours in his short life. The unexpected part was that all Steve's loved ones were already dead. The very last of his family had passed away before he even finished college. Although he was hopeful for the future, he hadn't yet met someone with whom he could build a new family. So whose loved one was he?
Steve scoured the sea of strangers, looking for any clue as to why he had been called. In the centre of the room lay a woman he did not recognize. He could not describe the strange feeling brewing deep in his gut as he looked at her face. He could not explain why he felt drawn to this woman. He had no idea why tears had already begun to trickle down his face as he slowly walked towards her.
The woman's eyes met his. It felt like a small jolt of electricity through him. "Baby?" her voice cracked with raw emotion. "Is that really you?" He was too dumbfounded to answer. "I'm your mama," she said, as tears spilled down her face.
Steven had known he was adopted. But he had always assumed his birth mother was dead, or didn't want him. Yet here she was, alive. And she obviously loved him enough to call him to her Last Hour. "I thought you gave me up because you didn't love me," he finally managed to say.
"Oh no, no!" his mother exclaimed. "I gave you up because I DID love you."
Steve's mama was 15 when she had him. The man who impregnated her was an old drunk who had taken advantage then run off. She and her sisters were living in the homeless shelter and sometimes the back of a car. She had nothing to give her baby boy but a fresh start. On the day Steven was born, she wrapped him as best she could in a t-shirt and carried him to the fire station. She cried and kissed him, and told him she would always love him. Then she gently placed him in the hatch.
She went on to build a life for herself. She married and had many more children. After his adopted parents had died, Steve had been all alone in the world. Now he looked around the room at a huge family full of brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, a stepfather, and - for the next precious hour at least - a mother.
On the first day of Steven's life his mother had shown her love by saying goodbye. On the last day of her life, Steven was so grateful The Last Hour allowed him to show his love and do the same.
|
My body shunted forwards and back again like I'd just slammed on the breaks going 40. The grass and trees of the park dissolved into white walls, and suddenly where there had been no people before, now there were many. It'd been a few years since the last jump but I recognised the phenomenon immediately. During his final hour, a man on his deathbed could pull his loved ones to his side.
There were certainly more people at this final hour than at my brother's hour, or than any hour now that I think about it. Any hour of any day I've ever been a part of, even. I hopped up to peek over the crowd, I was in the centre of a sea of faces. It was more like a stadium than a hospital ward. Though I couldn't put my finger on what kind of stadium, whichever sport had the biggest field I suppose.
'Don't suppose you know who’s we're at, do you?’ I asked the man next to me.
'I haven't a clue. Not seen anyone in a hospital gown about, have you?’
'Nope. No cars or smashed bikes about either. Bit weird isn't it?’ I said.
The conversation had decided it was a brief one and ended itself there. One of the troubles of the hour was that there was no indication as to who's hour it actually was. Every now and again you'd get an awkward situation of two people dragged together with both of them unsure who was about to pop his clogs. I continued looking around, hoping for a clue as to who I was about to disappoint with a vague goodbye and a handshake. Then the clue found me.
'Hello, Mark,’ said the clue, a voice from a direction I wasn't sure I could name, let alone point to.
'H-hello,’ I replied. 'I’m sorry, but who are you? And where are you?’
‘You know who I am.’
'I think I do,’ I convinced myself.
'There is little time left. I have brought you all here to allow you all a peaceful moment before I go.’
'I didn't think death really applied to you?’
'I wish that were true. There few things we do not share, you are not as my reflection, you are as I am. I was as much alive as you are now.’
'Whatever killed you, can it kill us too?’ I asked.
'It can.’
'Will it?’
‘Eventually.’
'Oh. Thought perhaps we'd be in for an inspirational pro-humanity pep talk. Thought perhaps you'd tell us how we don't need you anymore.’
'Ah, no. No one stops this horse once it gets going.’
'Oh.’
'And technically there's four horses.’
'Of course.’
'Four unstoppable horses.’
'Yes, got it thanks.’
'...and horsemen. Of the apocalypse.’
| 2018-05-20T13:06:15 | 2018-05-20T10:26:44 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] You summon the most powerful and notorious demonic being in the universe. The reason why you summoned it: You are lonely, and are in need of a friend.
|
"More tea Lucy?" The fallen angel sighed and reluctantly nodded. Brittney almost squealed at the interaction. Moving to Alaska with her parents, into her grannpappy's old house had left her without any friends to play with at the ripe age of 5.
Her father had insisted she read more to occupy her time, while he worked in his office. Her books, although beautifully illustrated, were boring. Her grannpappy's books on the other hand... the ones she found in the attic, were more to her liking. The pictures weren't colored except for shades of white, black and red. She couldn't read it really, just the stuff inbetween the lines, phonics written in pen.
She had been reading out loud to herself, basically the only way she knew how, when the lumbering creature appeared to her in her bedroom, in a flash of fire, smoke and a smell of what Brittney could only identify as daddy farts. At first Brittney thought he was a dog by the fur that marked his waist down, but the wings and hooves dispelled that notion. By the way in which he appeared to her, she knew he was magic, like disney magic, he had to be a fairy godmother or a genie! "Hello, little one." Rumbled a noise from the demons face, his voice box sounded alot like metal grinding together, amongst screaming souls which was his breathe.
Brittney's eyes were wide "How many wishes do I get!" Not wasting any moments for formalities. The beasts wings shuddered and what could be identified as a smile smeared his face. "One wish, at a cost of your immort-"
"I want you to play with me and be my friend, forever!" Screamed Brittney. *POOF*. In another flare of fire, smoke and daddy farts, they were in a large red stone cavern without an entrance or exit. Filled with all manner or childrens toys, as the smoke cleared and Brittney's excitement burst forth in the form of high pitch squeals and jumping up and down while simultaneously tugging the demon's wings.
The great beast looked around and involuntarily let out a "Fuck".
Edit: formatting. Yay! my first WP.
Edit: Thank you all for the kind words and the sweet, sweet karma. This is my first prompt so feedback would be cool, and I'm not much of a writer. Corrections would be cool too.
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- Did you understand me? It just occured to me that you might not even speak my language.
- I UNDERSTAND. BUT YOU DO NOT.
- What do I not?
- I CAN NOT ACCEPT SUCH A DEAL. BEING LONELY IS NOT ENOUGHT TO SELL YOUR SOUL FOR. ONLY A SIMPLETON, OR A HARDCORE ATHEIST WOULD SIGN SUCH CONTRACT. ANY SOUL HAS TO BE GIVEN WITH THE GIVERS FULL CONSENT. MENTALLY UNDERDEVELOPED, OR CRAZY INDIVIDUALS CAN NOT...
- WHoa whoa whoa!! Who said anything about selling my soul? I only want company. So long as the candle burns, you have to stay. I did the math. Each candle burns for about eight hours, six to be safe, that makes 4 candles a day, or 1460 a year. In bulk is as cheap as 500 Dollars a year. A new dog would set me back a good 1,580 the first year! And I won't have to feed you or give you walks, change your water or sandbox. Having you as a pet is a bargain!
- A PET!? ME!!? YOU ARE CRAZY! AND AN IDIOT!
- Hey! No need to be mean, I meant no offense. Plus am I wrong?
- I'M A BEING FAR OLDER THAN THE WORLD YOU LIVE IN! YOU ARE PLAYING WITH POWERS YOU FAIL TO UNDERSTAND, MORTAL!
- What does that have to do with the price of butter?
- BY CALLING ON ME YOU ARE ALREADY BARREN FROM EVER ENTERING HEAVEN DIRECTLY! AND WHEN YOU GO TO HELL...
- I'm not going to hell, I've never hurt anyone by action or inaction. I live frugally, recycle, work from home for 84 hours a week so I can give as much money as I can to charities. And now for as many years I have left I will keep you from getting other peoples souls. Maybe 50 or 60 more years It might not be much for someone so old as you but you can't deny it has to have is karma weight.
- UNBELIVABLE.
- No, practical. I will let you alone to think it out. I have some source code to review for a NGO. See you in six!
| 2014-07-20T08:05:35 | 2014-07-20T07:25:39 | 507 | 196 |
[WP] The language required to summon mythological beings like gods and demons has been changed to english. This is causing lots of problems all around the world.
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“Do it again.”
The Master’s expression was unchanged, but his tone made it clear that he was quickly losing patience.
“I’m sorry, Exalted One, I don’t know what’s wrong.” The man nervously adjusted his hood, cleared his throat, and once again stretched his hands out over the ancient book.
“*Katra a’mistrobeen
A’santa tande’ea manoan
Manseez
O’han on’sopar
Soman’ta rosa
Kanda*”
The words echoed in the empty chamber, then faded to silence. The apprentice licked his lips nervously, looking around at the hooded figures by his side. None would meet his gaze. The Master let the silence stretch, and then he exploded.
“**IMBECILE!**” The apprentice staggered backwards, thrown off balance by the force of his master’s rage. “Our order has been preparing for this night for generations, and you can’t even pronounce the sacred words when they’re right before your idiot eyes?!” The Master stalked the dais where he stood, cane clicking on the worn stone.
The apprentice flushed and began to stammer. “Th-the words are not wrong, O Glorious One. They are just…they are just not working.” He winced, waiting for the blow to come.
The Master stopped his pacing and turned towards the apprentice. When he spoke, his voice was calm. “Not working? This sacred tome, which has passed through countless hands over the eons, which has never once failed to call forth creatures from the Abyss, is now…not working?” The apprentice nodded hesitantly, his eyes wide. “Damn you,” hissed the Master. “Damn you straight to Hell.”
The room seemed to sigh. The spot where the apprentice stood was now marked only by a faint smell of sulfur. The congregation gasped as one, then let out a cacophony of screams and curses. Suddenly the room blazed with a constellation of lights as innumerable beings popped into existence, as if summoned by the noise.
The Master watched, eyes agape, as the newcomers fell upon his flock and scattered them in all directions. Some went for the only exit, but the crush of the crowd made it impossible to escape. Some fell, others trampled them, and others still were picked off as they ran. Some tried to fight back, but they were quickly overwhelmed by their otherworldly foes. An angel with a flaming sword faced off against a hydra. A mass of writhing skulls slithered across the floor, chomping as it went. The putrid smell of a Golgothan filled the air. It was pandemonium.
A woman backed towards the wall, whimpering and grasping at the wet stone. An ifrit was gliding towards her, spinning an orb of fire between its hand. The woman found her voice, and her hitching sobs turned into a scream. “JESUS CHRIST!”
The gibbering masses fell silent. A blinding light filled the room and then faded, leaving only a dark-skinned man wearing simple homespun clothes. He smiled beatifically. “Hello, Janet.” His voice was a thousand bells ringing in perfect harmony.
The Master’s mouth had been hanging open, but now it started working furiously. “N-no. No! It can’t—it can’t be you! You’re not real!” His hand shook at his raised it, pointing at the newcomer. “You’re the Great Lie! The one told by the false God!”
The figure stood silently, still smiling that perfect smile.
The Master’s hand hovered in the air for a moment before dropping useless to his side. He steadied himself on his cane. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh.” He took a deep breath, still meeting the god king’s steady gaze. “Well,” he grimaced, “fuck me, then.”
|
Jason takes a drag off his cigarette, and tosses it on the ground.
“So, what’s the job?” The dim light of the moon illuminates his client’s face.
“Please, it’s my wife.” The man looks around nervously, “She’s not human anymore.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Jason chuckles, and pushes past the man. Humans, they always freak out about the absolute smallest spurts of magic. He enters the dimly lit living room, and pears around.
“She’s in there.” The man startles Jason, pointing to the kitchen.
“Just, wait outside mate, will you?” The man’s face goes slack, and he walks outside without another word. Jason shrugs it off, and enters the kitchen. What he sees, shocks him. Or rather, what he doesn’t see. The wife is just standing next to her oven in a white dress, with a batch of cookies baking.
“Waste of my bloody time.” Jason lights a cigarette. The wife notices him, but doesn’t seem startled.
“I’ve been expecting you.” She says calmly.
“Is that so?” Jason chuckles, and takes a drag off his cigarette.
“No smoking inside, please.”
“Sure, I’ll be on my way. Have a nice day, love.” Jason turns to leave, but realizes he can’t move.
“Stay.” The wife says calmly.
Jason raises a brow. His cigarette is suddenly pulled out of his mouth, and crunches in mid air. The wife smiles, and Jason is turned around quickly, to face her. The oven opens on it’s own, and the cookies float onto the counter.
“Cookie?” She asks.
“No thanks.” Jason struggles to move his arms, which are stuck at his side.
“I insist.” Her expression darkness, and a cookie flies into Jason’s mouth. He tries to spit it out, because it’s burning his tongue, but the wife simply says “Chew.” And he unwillingly eats the entire thing.
Jason spits out the remains crumbs, “Screw this.”
Jason takes a deep breath, calling upon the magic within him, “Brann.” He mumbles, expecting the wife to be blasted with fire. Nothing happens.
“That doesn’t work on me.” She growls, and raises her hand, ready to crunch Jason like a bug. This wasn’t how Jason expected to die, he would have preferred a drink, maybe some music. This was much more climactic.
“Bloody hell.” Jason curses, looking the wife in the eyes, not willing to die with his eyes shut. He would die looking his murderer in the eyes. Then suddenly, something strange happens. Fire appears in a circle on the kitchen floor. Jason cheers, assuming his spell had indeed worked. Jason was wrong. Both the wife and Jason are yanked towards the fire.
“AHHHHHHH!” Jason’s nails bleeding as he grips the tiles, trying to save himself. Jason’s feet are stuck in the fire, held there by some invisible force. They should be burning, but oddly enough he feels nothing. Just numbness. Just as he thinks he can pulls himself fully out, something grabs his leg. Not the unknown force, something real. The wife.
“I’LL KILL YOU!” She rasps through the fire, and pulls the struggling Jason through. But he doesn’t burn. He feels a weightlessness take over his sensations. Darkness, all around him. Until he hits the ground.
SLAM! Jason groans, opening his eyes to a world of fire. A dark man in a suit sits on a throne of skulls before him.
“Welcome, Jason. I’ve been expecting you.” Jason, in fact, was in hell.
Jason lights his cigarette on the eternal flames surrounding him, and takes a drag, “Bollocks.”
| 2020-04-16T15:36:07 | 2020-04-16T12:40:24 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
|
The words feel like a bomb had just gone off, everything else was so much silence.
Gun at the ready, I wheel around to find my target nonchalantly walking over to a chair, poking a finger into the hole in his head and chuckling to himself.
"Heh, it's been too long..." He slumps into his seat, wood creaking beneath his weight. "Pull up a chair, let's talk."
My aim is still trained on the man, but it gets shakier as I continue to look at my target.
"Actually, before you do, could you pump a few more rounds into me? The sensation's starting to wear off."
I hesitate before obliging the man by emptying my clip into him, making sure most of my bullets land in his head. The sound of the gunshots pale in comparison to those first words.
"Oh yeah, that's good." He still speaks with half his face missing, the corners of his mouth are pulled back in the biggest grin I have ever seen.
I'm out of ammo, a consequence for packing light. I see nothing better to do, and drag a chair over to talk to him.
"Seriously man, I needed that. Thanks."
The blood leaking from his empty eye sockets is quite distracting. "No... problem."
"I'm pretty sure you're wondering why I'm still alive."
"Yes I am."
"Do you know what happens when the universe dies?"
"... Entropy?"
He laughs, it's made all the more haunting with his open throat. "Heh... No. When the universe dies, it chooses one individual to continue living in the next universe."
"... What?"
"But because it takes so goddamn long for the next universe to be born, it makes that individual completely immortal."
"So you're saying... that you saw the Big Bang."
"Yep, and it hurt like a motherfucker! Do you know how painful a blast that contains literally everything is?"
"..."
"Really fucking painful! The feeling lasted a good few thousand years or so by my count, and after some time, my pain receptors just shut down."
"Wha-"
"Hold on, I can feel my eye coming back..." The tissue in his socket reforms, each nerve winds into place and I watch as the orb is slowly filled with thick goo. I see a lot of fucked up stuff in this business, but this is the first time I fight not to puke. "There we go, I can see you clear as day!"
My disgust keeps me from screaming, lest I lose my lunch. "So you're immortal and you regenerate... cool. Question: Why the fuck are you so goddamn jovial?"
His face hardens. "Do you know what it's like to live without pain? What it's like to have a fundamental part of living stripped from you? When you've lived as long as I have, you need pain just to feel alive. Immortality isn't a gift."
He stands from his chair. "So when I say 'thank you for shooting me in the face', I fucking mean it. Now are you gonna use that knife of yours or what?"
|
**Whoa! You're alive!**
No shit. First rule of being a successful hitman: have a gun, preferably a sniper rifle. All you did was throw a chicken wing at me. On a related note, why did you try to kill me at Hooters?
**I think the more important question is why are YOU here.**
I like the food.
**So what's your problem if I chuck a wing at you?**
Is this Arby's? Do we throw food at other patrons here? No, and no.
**Do you know why I'm trying to kill you?**
Yes, and I don't blame you one bit. That's a LOT of reward money.
**And I plan on getting it.**
Not now, I'm eating. Relax. Here, HAND me a goddamn wing.
**Fine, here.**
Thanks. Boy, you know, people joke about this place, but the food really isn't all that half too terribly bad.
**You're not fooling anyone.**
You know I'm gay, right?
**Plot twist!**
No shit! (fist bump) Look, sure, you wanna kill me, but I don't want you to, so as you can see... I'm in a bit of a bind. (sighs) Can I tell you a story?
**I don't know, CAN YOU?**
Yes. Yes, I can.
**Then proceed.**
A Polack, a black, and a mexican walk into a bar--
**No. Not a story. Also, offensive. And how is that relevant?**
Just trying to lighten the mood. And believe it or not, that joke is *least* offensive to mexicans, who are the obvious punchline, given their joke placement in the number three slot. It's scientific.
**I really should have brought a gun.**
Yeah, why didn't you?
**In this state, you're not allowed to bring a gun into a restaurant.**
I know! That's why the slogan here at Hooters is "You Won't Get Shot!"
**It is?**
They're pivoting from sexism and they don't know how.
**Poor Hooters.**
It's not like they can brag about how good the food is.
**They'd get sued!**
Bro! (high fives) THIS is why I hang at Hooters. It's like an American embassy, but with short shorts and Coors Light.
**But what do you do when they close for the night?**
Can you keep a secret?
**I mean, I AM trying to kill you--**
But BESIDES that.
**Ok, why not?**
(whispers in ear)
**That's bloody genius. I mean, I CAN'T kill you now.**
You barely tried to begin with. A chicken wing?
**What can I say? I didn't think ahead.**
No. No you did not. Here, next round is on me....
(fade to black)
| 2019-08-29T19:15:04 | 2019-08-29T19:10:30 | 120 | 16 |
[WP] You are a mighty draconian blacksmith for a small village in the mountains. You make unbreakable tools for the villagers in exchange for coin, yet refuse to make weapons. Until…
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The stranger standing before me pulled off his hat and scarf to reveal a face that I've never seen nor heard of before - pale skin tarnished with weather strung over bones, messy short hair and a long nose. What made that face different from other travellers were the deeply seated grayish blue eyes resembling a winter river so deep, you would certainly drown in it.
"How may I help you with my craft? What do you require: horseshoes, hoes, shovels, shears, maybe a hammer and nails?"
The stranger made an expression that I could only guess was a light smile while his eyes measured me head to toe. When he spoke back he had a very weird accent and his words were careful.
"I've come from afar and were told you're the best in your craft far and wide. I have a need for a tool that you've never made, touched or even seen, but I can tell you how to make it."
With those the stranger gave me a number of drawings done with such attention to detail I gasped. Measurements, dimensions, all matching to form a long device made of wood and steel with springs, hinges and screws. Despite a feeling deep down inside my mind I had to know how it worked and was made, the urge was too great to resist.
Many days have passed during the work on the peculiar tool. The stranger showed me smithing techniques I've never seen before, but limited himself to observing and making corrections on the drawings. While I worked on metals, he worked on wood and alchemy foreign even to the wisest I've met.
When the steel was met with wood, hinges with the springs and alchemical coatings were applied the stranger showed me the purpose of the tool and I've fallen to my knees over the vow I broken out of dangerous curiosity.
I've created a weapon worse than anything I've ever made or seen, a terrifying contraption breathing fire and spewing metal, easier to use than a crossbow or a slingshot and with a monstrously better range, speed and accuracy. Empires would be made and destroyed with it, countless lives lost and saved, tyranny and freedom mixed into one.
I couldn't accept his coin, but I accepted his knowledge, knowing that it was rather a curse than a blessing. Watching the drawings burn in the forge fire I knew I could not trust myself to ever again grab a hammer to smith again.
|
The blonde woman entered with a slow walk.
I still remember I immediatly understood she was not from the village. Nither from the country.
I supposed she was from the other side of the river. Sure to get to my village it must have been a long walk.
I took off my hat and bowed. I had no fear to show her my long horns. And what surprised me, it's that she did not looked surprised.
"Morning lady. How can I help you?"
"Morning blacksmith. I need a sword."
I put my hat back on. Ome more proof she was not from around.
"I apologize. But I can do anything for you. But not weapons."
"I know. And I know why. It is because of your son, isn't it?"
I almost fainted there. How did she know?
"I don't know what they told you, lady. But I invite you to get out and never came back."
But she didn't.
"So you are not playing along, you really don't recognize me." She said
"I have never seen you before. "
"Well I was three years old when we met last time. At your son and my brother funeral."
I stared at her in silence, feeling like a fool.
"Ajas.... the younger sister."
"Yep. Of Bojor. Your son's best friend. "
I walked closer to her. I could recognize her but still can't Belive my eyes.
"My god! You are... how old are you?"
"Twenty."
"So much has passed."
"And the pain it's still the same. But I have a trace."
"A trace?"
"You always tought your son and my brother were killed because of the swords you gave them. The murderer used arrows and that was all he got from them. Well you were right. I recognized my brother's sorwd in the hands of the new private mercenary of the knig. He also have a second one but did not pulled it out. But it might be...."
"My son sword...."
They were special. Crafted with magic. A birthday present for their entrance into adulthood.
So special that it did make sense someone wanted to steal them.
"To make justice, I need a stronger sword."
"And you will have it." I said tearing as I grabbed my hammer.
| 2022-08-21T16:57:46 | 2022-08-21T13:10:00 | 172 | 92 |
[WP] You are forced to take a genies place, and can only be freed once you have granted 10 wishes. The catch: You have no magic in any way.
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"Everybody down on the ground!" Bullets fired from my rifle into the ceiling of the bank. Bits of plastered rained down on the people throwing themselves onto the marble floor and an alarm rang through the building.
I stepped over people cowering as I made my way to the teller. "Withdrawal. One million dollars. Now!"
The lady shook as she nodded and escorted me to the vault. She shoveled stacks of hundred dollar bills into my duffel bag that I had brought. My gun pointed at her head to tell her not to do anything funny. "That should be a million."
The bag felt like it was filled with bricks. I never really thought about how heavy 10,000 pieces of paper would be. After struggling, I managed to get it over my head and around my shoulder. I bolted for the front doors and stepped outside. Police had arrived by now, and one was on a megaphone telling me to release the hostages. Apparently, he didn't know I already got what I came for, and I simply ignored him.
They ordered me to stop as I calmly walked down the sidewalk. Bolts of plasma burned my flesh as they opened fire. My wounds healed almost as fast as they were being made. While I had no magic of my own, the magic of the bottle would prevent me from dying until all ten wishes had been granted. At first, I thought it was an awesome idea, and I wanted to draw it out as long as possible. Now, with ten years of servitude and only three wishes fulfilled, I wanted this shit over as soon as possible. Enough explaining to people that I can only grant wishes without magic, now I took any chance I could get.
The man in his twenties stood around the corner with his mouth open. I threw the heavy duffel bag into his arms. "Wish fulfilled. Here's your million dollars."
"I wish I was no longer wanted by the police."
After a wish like that and he still trusts me. I smirked as I grabbed him by the collar and guided him around the corner. A squad of cops blockaded the alley and had their guns trained on us. I threw my rifle down, and shoved my 'master' into the squad. "Here he us, officers! The mastermind behind this bank robbery!"
Wish fulfilled. Now that he was in custody, he would no longer be wanted. My body turned to smoke and I retreated into my lamp for the next schmuck who thought he was getting lucky.
|
From out of the bottle poured shifting smoke. The man stared at it, jaw agape, as the tendrils swirled up and began to take form. Wisps gave way to skin, flowing and changing into cloth and metal. At last, before him stood the strange inhabitant of the lamp.
I coughed and stretched as my fingers reformed, then tugged my t-shirt down over my stomach.
"Wassup."
The man sat down as though dropped, butt landing in the sand with a light "thump." I looked around; sand, gentle waves, seagulls, grass. All the usual things a beach should have. The giant glass-and-metal tower in the distance was new. Guess my latest stint in there *was* closer to a hundred years than twenty.
"So... just in case you're wondering, you have just opened my bottle. Thanks for that by the way. My name is-"
"Are you a genie!?" he interrupted. Rude.
"Ah. Well, not really, not a genie as such."
"But the bottle-"
"Yeah, the whole 'smoke and bottle' thing. That's the magic of the bottle; I can't do so much as a card trick. Just a normal human."
The man looked down, crestfallen. It's at this stage that I tend to feel sorry for people... if I didn't have to deal with what came after.
"So you can't grant wishes..."
I tried to clam up, but then I felt the irresistible PULL. Damn that bottle.
"Actually... I do grant wishes. Well, a wish. Per master." His face turned up in a mixture of hope and confusion.
"You do? But you said-"
"Yeah yeah, no magic. I don't. Still have to satisfy your request-" and I held against the PULL for as long as I could before spitting out, "-master."
With that he leapt up, bottle in hand. "Excellent! Then I am ready to make my wish!"
I clapped my hands and smiled. I love when they wish impulsively: makes it go so much faster. "Great! Let's hear it! Need some romantic help? A storage shed cleared? Taxes filed?"
"No great genie!" Hoo boy. They don't listen. "For my wish I command you-"
Pleasebesimple, pleasebesimple, pleasebesimple, pleasebesimple...
"To free my town from the cruel warlord that now rules it!"
Shit.
| 2015-04-20T08:52:22 | 2015-04-20T08:39:04 | 603 | 125 |
[WP] You've faced many kinds of monsters in your life, but the one you specialize in killing are liches. With a teacup in hand, you're wondering why this lich is so goddamn friendly.
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It was an awkward sound, I thought. Bone clinking against fine china. I stood with a blessed k-bar in one hand and pistol with anointed bullets in the other, door freshly splintered from my - admittedly overzealous - entry.
It took a moment for the scene to really register though. The lich's lair, an old abandoned missile silo out in the grassy fields of the country side had been renovated entirely to be a rather pleasant, homey little place. Doilies on the fine wood tables, motivational phrases painted on quaint woodwork hung from the walls, and pictures of men, women and children in various frames and formats all along the furniture and walls.
And center of the brightly lit and comfortably heated living room was a small skeleton wearing a pink polka-dot apron, currently putting out tea.
"Greetings dear, I had expected you sooner. I'm afraid the tea went cold, so I'm brewing a new batch. Sit! Sit!' it - she? - emphatically gestured to one of the little chairs around the table in the center of the room.
The skeleton's eyes were empty sockets, as expected of a lich, but perplexingly they oozed a sense of warmth, and I could almost see the crinkling in the corner of it's eyes in a smile. Watching her toddle away into the kitchen space even moreso reminded me of my own late grandmother.
"I...uh, wasn't quite expecting this," I said out loud, my hands lowering to my side as I continued to soak in the ambiance.
The anti-curse charms in my leather jacket were silent. The enchanted earring in my left ear similarly lay dormant, not detecting any mind-altering charms, and my necklace dim. No traps.
"Oh come now, why would you come to visit an old lady like me if not for tea? My divining spells saw you coming days ago dear!" she lightly cackled as she steeped the tea.
After another moment, she hoisted the teapot and rounded out of the kitchen space over to the small table where she stopped.
"What?" I asked.
"Well, I can't give you tea if you don't sit down your caboose!" she said.
I could hear the smile in her voice, which only added to the incomprehensibility of the situation. After another pause, I gently pulled out one of the wooden chairs and sat in it. All my defenses continued to lay inactive as she clacked the teacup in front of me and gently, but deftly poured the piping hot tea into it. I grabbed for the cup before pausing.
"I don't wish to be rude, but I... um," I stammered. Why did I feel guilty about this?
"Yes, dear?"
"Well, I've had... bad experiences with others of your kind. Liches. So, hopefully I don't offend if I were to make sure nothing was... done to the tea?"
Her bony head flipped back and she cackled yet again.
"Heavens no dear! I understand how strange it must be to get tea from a doddering old bat like me. Come do whatever you wish if it'll make you feel safe. Just do it fast before the tea grows cold again!" she said, taking a seat across from me at the small table.
I nodded and undid the button on the cuff of my jacket and quickly rolled the sleeve, revealing a number of tattoos that flowed up my arm.
"I see you've had your own wild streak," she said, her smile again radiating through her voice even as her face held in unchanging bone.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
I dipped the tip of my finger into the tea and then brushed it along part of the tattoo on my forearm. I stared for a moment, but nothing. The tattooed magical sigils unreactive. If the tea was poisioned or contaminated with something, the best runes available couldn't detect it.
"How do you think I ended up like this? My husband passed away, so i figured I should meet some people, try some new things. One thing lead to another, you attend a few grave robbing parties and light cultist orgies and the next thing you know, you've got a necronomicon, an undead body, and all the time in the world ahead of you to learn how to make the best darn tea this side of the state!" she cackled yet again.
"I can't help but feel that was quite a jump in events," I said, finally bringing the teacup to my lips and after one last final pause, took a sip of the hot tea.
And damned if it wasn't the best tea this side of the state.
|
As a valiant knight of the Great Order, I have faced many a evil in my lifetime. Scoundrels and miscreants you couldn't even imagine crossed my path, but none were a match to my trusty sword.
I have not lived a good life, but I don't regret any of my actions. The monsters I slayed were a necessity, to save the lives of the innocent and those that couldn't protect themselves. I have vowed to serve justice and to bring order to those who seek it.
Monsters of all kinds stood before me, all kinds of decoys used, but the story I relay today is as unbelievable and as indelible from my mind that I must share it to unburden my heavy heart.
It all happened in a scorching hot summer day in the 44th year of the Lord.
As I trawled through a jungle in search for water, I stumbled upon an undead beast of the worst kind, a lich.
It just stood there, in its skeletal attire, with a black gown around its dilapidated body. It turned around, immediately noticed me and spoke in a squeaky voice:
''Hiiii! Will you join my tea party?''
I was stunned by the girly voice emanating from this gruesome creature. Was it perhaps a trap? Upon further inspection, I've spotted the monster's servants huddled in a circle around a giant table, kettles, spoons and small plates for each and every being on site, if you can call them beings.
''Um...'' Was all I was able to utter before the lich extended its arm, nudging me towards one of the unoccupied stools. I let myself be guided by this menace, even though fear consumed my heart, I felt petrified to pursue any action.
Sitting at the table, the monsters focused their attention on me, attentively peering through me, as if I was too ugly or too ominous to warrant a proper look.
''So this is Patrisha and this is Annie, and that over there is Josh. Oh and over there is Matthew and this is Peter...''
The lich went on and on, but I didn't listen any further. I had to get out of there and I had to do it fast. In the presence of a mighty lich, strange things can occur and reality may shift in unparalleled ways. To my left and right, nothing but forest and in front of me the terrifying lich. I don't think it realized just how ugly it was in the glistening sun and my disgust was palpable by the time the monster shut its mouth.
''...So what is your name?!''
''I'm the Great Knight Arelius, servant of the Great Order!''
I spoke proudly and proud I was. As someone with ten years of active service under his belt, I'm worthy of the title bestowed upon me.
''Drink your tea Arelius, it's delicious!''
I didn't want to drink anything, but felt pressured by the menacing presence of all these monsters around me. I didn't have to swallow, I thought to myself, as I pressed the teacup near my mouth.
Taking a sip, I was immediately beguiled by the soft taste of this loving drink. Swallowing was not only an option, it was a must. So I swallowed and as I did, my entire body started to shiver.
My mind felt broken into a million pieces, all stitched together by a patch of gooey viscous glue and the liquid inside of my brain undulated in ways that was giving me aneurysms.
Suddenly, it all stopped and I felt a deep connection to everyone around me, like we were all connected by the same bond, by the same thread that was woven all over the universe.
I was one and I was all.
I barely muttered the following words: ''What is in this tea?''
''Hihihih, it's laced with acid, makes you see things as they should be. We should all be friends!'' The lich emited through its crooked teeth.
''But you are a lich, we are sworn enemies according to the Great Order!''
I belched and immediately retracted as I felt the warmth of our social circle swirl me into heaven.
''Not if you join me! We can all be friends together!''
That was the day I became a servant of the feminized lich, who would soon aim to unite the dead, undead and the living.
Let me tell you one more thing, it was some damn good tea.
| 2020-05-21T13:24:18 | 2020-05-21T11:53:03 | 86 | 29 |
[WP] You carry a legendary blade famous for the trait that it can only be swung at an evil foe, Being a well known hero you are tasked with killing the infamous “Black knight” however upon confronting the armored outlaw you find your blade won’t move against the armored figure.
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The weight of Revolution's handle was ripping my fingers off. I gripped the handle with both hands, holding it front of me as my eyes trained on my black-armored foe, but it refused to move another inch. The knight, their helmet hiding their face from me was unmoved, longsword still sheathed on their waist.
Behind me, I hear the yelling of my fellow generals, the rattling of steel of the soldiers I led, a mixture of confusion, rage and fear.
The Black Knight marched closer to me, arm resting on the pommel of their sword. With every step they took towards me, the sword got heavier and heavier. The sounds of the field began to quieten, the knight's aura pressing down against my body. Eventually, Revolution fell from my hands, its blade sunk deeply into the dirt.
I fell backwards as they drew their sword. I closed my eyes as they raised it into the air, before opening them again at the sound of metal clashing on dirt.
The knight had sunk their blade beside mine.
A feminine voice rung out."Revolution has a mind of their own, you know."
The knight took hold of Revolution, prying it from the dirt as she lifted it into the air. She pointed it downwards at me, before straining and dropping from her grip.
"Hm." she said. "I guess Revolution likes you."
She reached a hand forward. I hesitated, but took it as she helped me to my feet. Her face still hidden by the helm, I struggled to understand.
"...How did you know its name?"
The knight paused, reaching down to pick up the sword and held it out to me.
"It used to be mine." she said. "Until I lost it. You wanna know how?"
I took Revolution back from her, lighter than it was before. I gave her a confused look. Her armor tilted slightly, as if mockingly judging me, and shrugged.
"Try pointing it at your screaming fat boy over there."
I was stunned, long enough for her to pluck her own sword from the ground and begin marching towards the army behind me. The sounds of panicked screams and metal boots touching dirt rung out as the knight began to charge.
Standing alone, I wrapped both of my hands on the blade, still rather heavy, and pointed it against my own country, at a slightly rotund man in overweighted armor, sitting on a horse.
Instantly, the sword became so light that I nearly tossed it.
I stared at the general, who was panicking alongside the rest of his soldiers.
They would return to the kingdom. Spin a story about how I failed to use the sword against the Black Knight, and that my family should be executed for treason.
Unless I got there first.
I scanned the battlefield for the Black Knight. She was on the left flank, massacring my former comrades with a sword that looked rather familiar to mine.
I readied Revolution against the right flank, still light as a feather, and charged.
|
"Wait, why can't I lift...," I was totally dumbfounded.
"Well as you grow older, you will suffer performance issue. All men go through that stage. You just need to visit this alchemist called Perzifear," the Black Knight deadpanned. He looked like he hadn't slept for days, and his eyes were devoid of life.
I looked at him. And looked at my sword, Artemis, again.
"Really? I put a lot of effort into the joke, my friend," he sounded a bit disappointed.
"Artemis is forged to kill evil. No evildoer can resist its slash," I said to no one in particular.
"Evil? Me? What did I do?"
"I don't know, Lord Creta told me you are the enemy of the realm"
"Lord Creta the Dogs-butcher? I merely pulled some pranks on him when I met him. For that he declared me enemy of the realm?" the Black Knight was incredulous.
"What do you mean dogs-butcher?"
"Oh, his favourite past time is to set dogs fighting against each other. Then he will tie up the loser, and torture the dog until it dies, slowly. I heard the sick bastard normally cut the dog's limb one by one, and leaving the dog to bleed to death.
I chanced upon him in Lady Summer's Brothel. He was surrounded by guards, so there was no way I could punch his teeth out for the dogs.
So I decided to play a prank on him and told the good Lady that Creta loved to be slapped by a few girls at the same time. Some sort of weird fetish. I think the good Lady arranged for 4 girls to do exactly that.
The last I heard, Creta jumped out of the brothel's window from the 1st floor thinking that someone wanted to assassinate him.
That was like 4 weeks ago. I then went to the royal capital to meet an old friend. I came back today and had wanted to visit Lady Summer again to apologize."
If horror had a colour, that would be the colour of my face. "Lady Summer's Brothel was burnt down 4 weeks ago. The good Lady and 4 of her girls perished in the fire. Lord Creta has kindly took in all surviving girls into his castle. Though the coroner did say that there were signs of torture on the deceaseds' bodies, it was put down as injuries due to occupational hazards. Oh my god....."
The Black Knight dropped to his knees and held his head in his hands. "No...no...this can't be happening..." he mumbled.
"Black Knight, if you are so willing, I will infiltrate Creta's castle tonight and interrogate him. Artemis shall be my witness. Would you join me?"
He looked up to me with fire in his eyes for the very first time. "Only if you let me kill him."
| 2021-03-25T05:41:54 | 2021-03-25T02:38:34 | 256 | 153 |
[WP] The three best assassins in the world are all tasked to kill the same person, who doesn’t exist.
|
“Heidi? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question, Eguchi. The way I see it, you’re stepping in on my bounty. Same goes for you, Teddy.”
“I beg to differ, Miss Henderson. Contract for Mr. Spencer’s head belongs to me.”
The three assassins warily eyed one another in the dimly lit warehouse, aiming their weapons of choice from one person to the next. A tense silence hung in the air for some time until Eguchi spoke, “Wait a moment. Just to confirm my suspicions, are both of you also pursuing a Mr. Jalen Spencer?”
The other two quietly nodded. Eguchi slowly lowered his silenced Beretta M9A3, prompting Heidi and Teddy to relax their shoulders and lower their respective weapons. The Japanese assassin continued, “I would like to believe this is some sort of error on the part of our respective agencies. Perhaps if there were only two of us here, I would be willing to pass it off as a failure in communication. But the fact that all three of us are standing here is…concerning. I know for a fact our employers would never allow such an oversight to occur.”
Heidi added, “Come to think of it, did any of y’all actually find this Spencer fella around here? I’ve been casing the place out for hours but couldn’t catch hide nor hair of the little bastard.”
“I imagine my recon was far more thorough than either of yours, but I haven’t had any luck meself. Didn’t even catch a glimpse of ‘em when I was clearing out this warehouse.”
The trio looked at one another once more, their initial suspicion for one another now replaced with the dawning realization of what was transpiring. “We need to leave this place. Now,” said Eguchi sharply.
“’Fraid it’s a little too late for that, mate,” replied Teddy, pointing behind Eguchi to the large window next to the main entrance. Even through the layer of dirt caked on the glass, the three assassins could easily make out the shapes of several armed men making their way towards the entrance.
Heidi let out a sigh and checked the magazine in her CZ P-09 before saying, “Well, boys. I got twenty in the mag.”
Eguchi replied, “Seventeen for me,” as he positioned himself behind a wooden crate and aimed his Beretta at the large door.
“Never thought I’d see the day when I’d need someone else to save my skin. We get out of this in one piece, maybe I’ll buy the two of yous a pint of Guinness,” said Teddy as he climbed up onto the rafters and aimed his HK45 at the door.
“Make it two and you’ve got a deal, Irish,” replied Heidi as she ducked behind a pair of steel drum barrels. The three assassins instinctively averted their gaze and covered their ears as soon as the first flashbang burst through the glass, popping up from cover and patiently waiting for the first hostile to enter their sights.
r/williamk9949
|
On a Monday morning I received an anonymous envelope with a hundred thousand dollars in it. Under the wad of cash was a letter, folded in half, and a photograph of a bald urbane guy. I opened the letter. Anthony B. Smith, Investment Banker, get the job done and you will get a million, it said. There was another name and a number scribbled at the lower-left corner. I called the guy, a certain Martin Schwartz, and asked him if he were the financer for this job. He replied in the affirmative. I took the photo with me, opened a drawer and pulled out my Baretta. It was time to go hunting.
My search began in the financial district. I looked over the records of all the registered investment bankers and I found him. An employee of Hartman and Co.
When I reached the Hartman building I found two guys waiting in the reception area. One of them was busy reading a magazine while the other fiddled with his phone. These guys looked a bit rugged, unlike the businessmen that inhabited buildings of this kind. It was not their clothing, but their lack of elegance and roughness of manner that gave them away. I had competition hot on my heels.
Keeping my voice as low as possible I asked the receptionist for Anthony Smith. At the mention of his name, my two fellow visitors started looking at me. The receptionist just asked me to wait.
And I waited. My two companions were not bothered by me in the slightest and neither was I. About ten minutes later, the receptionist called one of them up. That was bad. If either one of them got in first they would take all the money. I had to act fast.
With no other method entering my mind I resorted to the use of my fists. I punched the first fairly tall guy in the face. He stumbled and fell back into the couch. The second man then sensed his opportunity and tried getting a garotting wire around my neck. With full force, I ran backwards and slammed him into a wall. Meanwhile, the tall guy had recovered and presently he was holding a switchblade in his hand. This was my moment of reckoning. Quickly I took the Baretta out and shot him in the leg. The receptionist screamed.
Things had gone too far now. Now it was all or nothing. Realising this I jumped over the reception desk and barged inside. There I called for Anthony Smith. They said that he didn't work there anymore. I asked them again. This time a voice said, "I am Anthony Smith."
Bald and well dressed he was, but he wasn't Anthony Smith. We had been fooled, all of us, Anthony B. Smith never existed. That funny looking bald man was Sergeant Blaine.
"There are armed forces all around you. These guys aren't investment bankers," he said.
He then asked me to surrender. He also caught hold of the two casualties in the reception area. Contract killers, both of them. Mondays really suck, don't they?
| 2020-06-25T16:26:08 | 2020-06-25T14:55:24 | 34 | 16 |
[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.
|
I did the math and figured it was on point.
If everything went according to plan I'd be rich.
I would take care of my debt first.
So many bills and habit to boot.
Check into a rehab center somewhere.
Got a throwaway for cheap.
My hands were shaking.
"Where's the money?!"
Pocket change.
Fuck.
| 2015-01-06T07:38:55 | 2015-01-06T01:50:36 | 34 | 10 |
[WP] Nuclear holocaust is imminent. The rich and powerfull are hiding away in their bunkers, but when the countdown was finished the world was still there. One message was sent around the world via satellites: "Now They have imprisoned Themselves what shall We do?" With coords of all the bunkers..
|
The relief was palpable. At the very last second of the eleventh hour, a miracle happened.
As soon as the net was back up, the underground went to work, blocking all transmissions in and out of the bunkers. Easy enough said one Anonymous hacker.
So, the bunker crowd, as the people now called them, had no idea it was no longer necessary to cower underground. Discussion on reddit speculated on how many days, weeks, months, the silo monkeys (another popular name for them) would feel they needed until it was safe to come out. As all communication with the outside seemed to have disappeared, the holocaust must have occurred.
The people came to a decision. Many of them had moral hesitancy about the plan but after being reminded daily about how the silo monkeys planned to leave them all to perish in the fireball or from the agony of poisoning afterward without a single thought, they acquiesced.
Some tops were welded shut. Groups in some areas thought it poetic to roll huge boulders over the exits. Every bunker that had been located was sealed. Several sign makers, sculptors and bronze workers around the world fashioned engraved plaques, meant to stand up to time. Most read "look on my works ye mighty and despair."
|
"Jerry, you still need the welder or can I bring it down?"
"Nah, bring it down. 'Suppose it's good enough." A voice replied from the top of the tower. Randy unhitched the rope and the welder slowly started falling. They'd built the compound in record time, right on top of the huge steel doors. A thirty foot tower and sandbags lined in a circle, guns and ammunition stacked on top of each other sat around the encampment.
"You really think they're gonna come?" asked Jeff. Jeff was helping Randy shore up the base of the tower. He was Sheriff Wacos' son, a young lad, about twelve.
"I reckon they will. Lotta people hate the rich. But your dad's right, they didn't do anything wrong by being rich. And even if they did, the law's the law. They deserve their place in this world just as much as anyone else." The welder reached the bottom and Randy tied the rope. Jerry shouted from the roof,
"Sheriff! I see something! Right on the road coming from town!" Everyone turned to Sheriff Waco.
"They're comin. Everyone, to your post!"
| 2022-07-18T18:21:12 | 2022-07-18T18:09:46 | 50 | 19 |
[WP] "Sir, there was a miscalculation, the earthlings became mad and fought back... it may be that they have stolen our mothership and are on route to our homeworld."
|
Lieutenant Halford Frenman had joined the army when he was 18. He had suffered the endless hours of tedium and spine crushing weight of training, and the mind-numbing and deafening shock of service.
He truly wished to relax in peace, while his back and knee aches nestled him to sleep.
And now, for some god damned reason, he's on a fucking alien spaceship, stripped naked and tied down next a hundred other fucking idiots.
He was not happy. Not happy at all.
The first step was to get free. Luckily, his friends in the army had been true psychopaths and tied him to the bed a few times after he smashed one of their noses. One dislocated shoulder, and he was able to wiggle his arm so the elbow could bend at a fairly harrowing angle.
Hal could hear one of his neighbors vomiting, which made him roll his eyes, despite the pain.
His forearm free, he undid the belt lashing his stomach to the table. From there, it was simple to undo the rest. And he landed feet first on the metal table, popping his should back into place.
In less than 2 minutes, the rest of the prisoners were freed from the tables, and most were standing awkwardly, with their hands over their privates.
Lieutenant Halford Frenman collected the medical equipment and passed it out to everyone involved. He knew exactly how to help scared helpless children get into the right mindset to fight. These were mostly civilians, so scaring them wasn't even that hard.
Almost a second after Lieutenant Halford Frenman had finished passing out the weapons, but before he could make a speech, the door to the room slid down into the floor, revealing 4 soldiers with what he assumed were guns.
Several seconds later, the solders laid dead having been cut to pieces by the entire forward group firing on them at once.
Hal grabbed the weapons and passed them to people he spotted that had likely also served. You could always tell. They moved quickly from there, moving in rows of 5, stealing the guns.
When the heavy blast doors closed on them, one of the smarter civilians took apart the medical instruments, and Lieutenant Halford's gun before handing it back to him.
With 4 blasts, there was a hole big enough to poke your hand through. With 10 more, you could squeeze right through. Luckily, they ran into a small army that were quickly killed, and looted all of their guns.
This smart Alex knew exactly what she was doing as she grabbed every gun, and started passing them around. Showing 4 others how to combine them quickly.
Suddenly, he felt a breeze. Then a gust. Then a torrent of air, forcing him to the side. 3 doors had opened simultaneously and were threatening to suck his entire army into space. Thinking quickly, he had everyone fire at the wall, dislodging an entire section. Large enough that they wouldn't have to worry about anyone getting spaced.
&#x200B;
The control room was next door. Several aliens seemed to make a gesture of surrender. He thought. Unfortunately, a very stupid alien attempted to fire on them. Which led to... a much larger fire fight.
Needless to say, but still required, they were all dead. Which just pissed Lieutenant Halford Frenman off more. The smarter people could tell that the ship was still moving, but not how to steer it. Hal told them to leave the controls alone, and had them focus on making better weapons. He didn't need a degree or engineering to know what the sphere on the monitor meant.
These things had been taking them to their planet. Sure, Hal thought. Let's see what they think when this thing releases a full army on them.
&#x200B;
"AND WILL SOMEONE FIND ME SOME DAMN PANTS!" He yelled.
|
Lathanial rested over the sensor console. The device emitted a high-pitched alert that drew a sense of urgency to the crew. Lathanial silenced the radar with a flip of a switch and study the board. A series of blooming lights moved in formation towards a larger motionless orb.
"They exceeded probabilities," he grumbled.
Captain Doros nodded. "Indeed sir. The enemy has made an impressive advance within the past year."
Lathanial attempted to wipe sleep from his eyes. He once operated hours beyond his fellow commanders studying war behaviors and tactics decades ago. But now, age fragmented that exceptional ability along with others.
He shifted a limb. The sound of cartilage popping followed.
"This is bad," he said and observed the young captain. "But tell me Doros, who this is bad for and why?"
Doros took a step towards the console. He studied it as if it was a chess board.
"Sir, it won't end well for our enemies for two reasons: Our defenses are stronger than all the countries combined 10-fold. Our armory can leave continents as unhabitable as a Jupiter volcano." He frowned. "Of course, we would never use the term nuclear option. It leaves both sides lesser.”
Lathanial nodded in agreement. "And your other explanation?"
"The attacking enemy will fight on unfamiliar territory." Captain Doros said.
"But would you consider the enemy’s knowledge of environment's circumstances?"
"Absolutely, but one can be intelligent on a subject and fail at its execution. Our average citizens analyze our every decision, yet not one could pilot our ships without wrecking it in minutes."
"You are correct on that matter," Lathanial said and slouched over the console. "But overall wrong. *We* are in danger ways.”
Doros replaced his upright military posture with hunched shoulders and clinched fists. His body pulsated and his mind raced.
“Captain Doros, please draft orders to retreat. “Lathanial said.
Doros clicked his jaw. "Lord Lathanial, I must object. If anything, we need to stand our ground. We will fend off the enemy's attack. Give us some time to regroup and launch a counterattack. Then, we will solidify victory."
Lathanial made a heavy sigh and stood up. He towered over Captain Doros by 7 feet.
"Young captain, you have been an essential member of this military for the past two centuries. But you're still young and have a lot to ascertain. I have fought many wars as Lord, but never once have I met this enemy type," Lathanial said. His eyes glowed a brilliant teal as an angry timbre seized his voice.
"The Earthlings contain three aspects which make them a sizeable threat:
The first is their ability to create magnificent work when they become allies. It took some time for their countries to set aside eras of indifferences, but the species went from walking to running once they became unified.
The second regards how they accomplish deadlines no matter the workload and the lack of time. They struck down one of our star fighters 8 months ago. Since then, they've been able to recreate our technology down to the molecule." He pointed towards the radar. "Now they’re sending dozens of squadrons towards our mothership. It's funny how much fuel a sense of urgency can provide."
Captain Doros took a deep breath.
"But they do not have space combat experience Sir. The most they've done is sent a group of humans to Mars -- all died within 3 Earth days."
Lathanial nodded, "Which brings me to my last point:
Humans are perfectively *stupid* which provides a level of optimism that allows them to take chances no other logical creature would. Eventually, one of their gambits will succeed, and not if but *when* it does, our homeland will become their new unconquered frontier."
| 2022-05-13T10:04:40 | 2022-05-13T09:40:54 | 147 | 92 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Tommy,
&#x200B;
I appreciated your letter very much and I am touched that you offered chocolate chip cookies, although I do prefer oatmeal raisin. Unfortunately I will not be able to give you a ride in my sleigh as I prefer to travel by winged abomination, which is not very good with children. As for your wish to get a puppy, that is something I would be happy to do. My own dog Cerberus just had hell-puppies and frankly we don't have many veterinarians here so I would be happy to give you one.
Happy Holidays,
The terrible lord of evil and eater of souls, Satan.
(I am new to writing and greatly appreciate any feedback)
|
Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star.
| 2018-10-28T10:09:15 | 2018-10-28T10:08:58 | 164 | 10 |
[WP] Write two different stories. The second story comes from reading every third word of the first.
|
He came as I rang the three little bells.
Simple Pete signaled toward the midnight storm outside, "I thought you knew to avoid that storm... Suppose it seemed it was manageable earlier... Over there's whiskey for you and me. Oscar said he thought you would want to be toasty after coming from that down pour. Said the wet dirt road would stop any man, one minute flat."
By now, I had loaded my trusty pistol, holding it in my right hand behind my back. Quickly I pressed the barrel to Pete's temple. The bright white wall sprayed red, I knelt and prayed for forgiveness.
__________________________________________________________________
**As the bells signaled midnight, I knew that it was over for me. He would be coming down the road any minute now, loaded pistol in hand. Back pressed to the wall, I prayed.**
|
Dear Elisa,
By God, I can't help but say, please, remember the help George gave me last year. I have a need to return the favour, the key to this is in you. It seems strange with our history, you understand, but please, I must send him thanks, it must be soon. In town they're building the coming festivals decorations, leave home on the morning of George's birthday and meet me by noon at the Clocktower. All will be revealed, be ready for George to forego his leave.
With as much love and fear as roads ahead could bring for us, and mankind.
Yours faithfully, Sebastion.
| 2014-07-29T13:10:19 | 2014-07-29T09:24:03 | 165 | 13 |
[WP] You assist the police to identify super villains through your super power - you know someones biggest secret just by looking at them. Unfortunately, you can't find the latest evil doer to terrorise the city, and you are begin to think its because being a super villain isn't their biggest secret
|
“I’m sorry...I just can’t find him.”
I’ve never uttered that sentence before. But this crime - evidenced by a giant gaping crater in the middle of the Market District - it had no perp. None that I could identify, at least.
The police’s job was to bring in suspects. And they had - dozens of them. Ice Princess, Gorilla, Deadlift, The Steamroller, Cutthroat, Mole Man, Bullet Biter, The Credit Bureau - none of them did this. I know, because it was my job to read their minds and find their deepest, darkest secret. And what could be deeper, darker than the senseless murder of twenty three civilians?
“What do you mean, you can’t find him?” The police captain demanded of me.
“All of these secrets are crimes we already know about. Not the explosion in the Market. This isn’t any of their work. It’s got to be someone else, or...”
“Or?”
“Or...someone has a worse secret. And it’s masking their hand in this attack.”
The captain sighed, turning to my partner, Detective Fray. A good guy - but not the brightest, relying on brute force (and me) to get the answers he sought. “Looks like we’re stuck with good old fashioned police work on this one.”
I was sent home, confused and disappointed in myself. Was I losing my ability? It couldn’t be - I had been reading their hearts and souls, just not the right ones. Maybe it was someone incredibly clever, able to hide from the law despite every uniform in Baron City looking for them. Maybe they were lying low, planning their next attack. Blending into the crowd. Waiting. Laughing.
I downed a glass of wine and slammed the empty cup on the table in determination. I would find this villain. Even if I had to read every person in this goddamn city.
It was 7 pm when I started out, and 3 am when I returned. I found out so many things I never cared to know.
“I hate my son.”
“I stole from my old boss.”
“I think I’m gay.”
“I’ve gambled away all the money in my bank account.”
Nothing helpful. These were normal people, hardly supervillains capable of the destruction of several dozen buildings. No one in my walk that night had anything close to the secret I was looking for.
In the next two weeks, I continued to walk around the city without success. Every day, I felt like more of a failure. People were counting on me to prevent another attack, and I was letting them all down. What kind of a hero can’t even locate a bad guy?
Then the call came in. “We got him.”
I rushed into the station, where a Detective Anderson was being congratulated on her hard work and skills of deduction. I half-heartedly listened to her explain how she looked for samples from the crime scene, had them analyzed by the lab, and matched the molecular signature of the accelerant to Wannabe My Lava, a super villain with several much smaller priors.
“Let me see him!” I begged. Basking in her victory, Anderson relented.
I walked into the interrogation room, where a defeated, middle-aged man sat shackled to a table. I didn’t say a word, just sat across from him and stared him in the eyes. I needed to know my powers were not at fault here. I needed to see his secret, hear the deaths of all those people echoing in my head as I’m sure they echoed in his.
Instead, “I write smut fan fiction.”
|
It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, I’m standing in the middle of an empty forest in east Texas, and everything is covered in a thin layer of ice. The blades of grass and pebbles littering the ground crunch beneath my boots as I make my way through the frozen pine trees. The sound ricochets off of everything, with not even a bird chirp to add to the chorus of steps.
Whoever is hiding out here will hear me coming from a mile away, that’s for sure. But hopefully, their thoughts will travel through the bitter cold air and into my brain before they see me. Hopefully, I’ll hear who’s coming and what they’re planning on doing before they even realize I’m standing here, vulnerable beneath the pine branches.
I stop and pull my hat further down over my ears, readjust the cloth over my nose and mouth, and zip my coat up until there’s no more zipper left. Something about this cold and ice seems...off. Not only is it completely unheard of to see this kind of weather in Texas, in the middle of October, but it seems as though, the entire forest has evacuated.
There are no birds or forest animals or sounds. There is no wind or snow, the air surrounding me is as quiet as death itself. I let my hands drop to my sides, as I stand between two trees and try not to move a single muscle. The silence is almost overwhelming. Not even the hum of humanity can be heard through the ice enslaved branches.
*“I am coming for you.”*
I whip my head around so fast my boots almost slide out from underneath me. A voice. It was there, in my mind, coming from someone close by. I blink rapidly to clear the adrenaline that just spiked through my system. The heart hammering in my chest is as loud as a gun shot in this unbearably quiet forest.
*“I am coming.”*
It’s there again, whispering to me from within. My eyes grow wide, fear clenching at my stomach and draining the color from my face as realization sets in. Whoever this is...*whatever* this is, they know of my ability. They know...that I can read their thoughts as soon as the thoughts enter their own mind. *And they’re coming for me.*
I search the forest frantically with my eyes, not daring to take another step in any direction and give away my location. The material of my coat sounds like sandpaper scratching against wood as I spin my body around to search between the frozen tree trunks.
There’s nothing. Nothings there, everything just looks the same. Brown and white with a hint of blue mixed in. The only sound is coming from me and as hard as I try to reach out my mind to their thoughts, I come back with silence.
Panic blooms in my chest and sweat beads along my forehead beneath my hat, as I slowly reach at my side and grip the handle of my 9mm. The gun slides loudly from the holster at my hip and I release the safety, preparing myself. Whoever’s out there, is getting closer. I don’t know how or why I can’t hear them, but something in the pit of my stomach can feel them approaching. And something tells me...they aren’t human.
*“Boo.”*
**Hai! If you liked this story and would like to read more of my stuff, everything can be found at r/AliesStories! :3 Thanks for reading!**
| 2019-11-02T10:02:31 | 2019-11-02T09:38:53 | 33 | 15 |
[WP] Your teacher asked you to demonstrate some magic in class. After you finish your demonstration the room is completely silent until your teacher asks "Do you have *any* idea what you just did?"
|
First day of school and just introduced to the other students. It was so booring. Why did dad send me to live with my grandparents? Mrs Stevens was calling kids to go up to the front of the classroom and show something and talk about it. Pete brought a rabbit and was talking about it eating lettuce. Jane showed off a phone her mother used. I admit it was funny when it rang and it was her mother looking for her phone.
Then Mrs. Stevens called on me. "Mika? I know you were not expecting this. But your grandmother mentioned you know magic tricks. Can you show us?" For some reason holding a deck of cards up.
I really didn't want to do this. I wasn't very good at all. I get up and sigh. "Okay, I know a trick." Snapping my fingers on my left hand as a somatic I summon a small ball of light. Tossing it to my right hand, I snap my fingers again for a second ball. Tossing the first ball up as I toss the second before summoning a third. Hands always in motion as I summon and toss.
"These are my fairy lights. I can only pull down seven right now cause it is hard to get them in sync." My hands and the balls moving faster. "The really hard part is I had to learn how to juggle to make this trick look good."
I stop the tossing and just hold my left palm under the spinning orbs a moment to break the illusion that I needed to toss them around to move them. Then I lift my palm into the falling orbs path. Everyone watches as six orbs impact my hand with a little snap as I reabsorb the energy keeping them active.
As the last orb comes down it jiggles to the side and sets on my shoulder. "These dancing lights are called fairy lights because they move in a whimsy as the caster decides and can be made to act much like a fae. Done well and a fae will assume you already have a dance partner and will leave you alone. If they don't believe it though you will have to dance much harder with the one that figured it out."
The room was silent. Great, a new day in a new school and I look a fool with such a basic spell. I should have used lightning or a fireball. Then Mrs. Stevens croaks out. "Do you have *any* idea what you just did?"
"I'm sorry. You asked for a trick. If you want more serious magic I know some fire and electric spells. Oh and a cleaning spell. But don't tell my dad. He thinks I clean my room by hand."
|
This is either the best or worst moment of my life. Probably the latter.
"ZETA! Do you have ANY idea of what you just did!?" Exclaimed the teacher. Looking at the giant hole ripping through the academy, I had a feeling he was being rhetorical. Despite this, I still responded "Uhh, Thunder magic I suppose..?". He was not pleased. I mean, I got a good grade - I'm very good at Thunder magic - but something told me I was the only one happy with this situation.
-----_____-----_____-----_____-----_____-----
"HeHeHey there princiPAL, What's happening with you today?," Was my sub-par greeting I gave to the one man who could screw up my life the easiest. Good start. "Financial disaster, sit down." He said, sending a bigger chill down my spine than the Ice majors. It was only when I sat down that I saw the, ehm, *unpleasant* marks on his shoulder that I likely gave him.
"I approved your use of and tampering with runes on the ONE condition that you wouldn't bow up half the school." There was a long pause. "And yet," he chuckled, "I can't help but be impressed."
Wow, wrong about two things in the span of two minutes. Hardly a record but it's impressive.
"How many Runes went into your implant?" He inquired. "150 total went into the thunder rune implant," It was actually double that, but since 150 is already over the budget he doesn't need to know about that.
"The augmentation of your abilities is absolutely stunning, When we first met, you told me your main goal was to be on the Great Mage Council, correct?" Oh boy, I'm liking where this is going. "Yes sir, that is correct," "While your skills aren't Great Mage Council worthy as of yet, they are certainly World Tournament ready. Hopefully there, you'll learn some self control and be ready for the council."
Wait, What?
"Wait, What?"
"You heard me, I'm putting in a recommendation. If you do choose, you could enter the World Tournament and skip the whole qualifications round the next time it starts up." Best day of my life, it's been confirmed. My life goal has just taken an energy drink and I am not about to sleep it off.
"But there's one catch."
"The recommendation will be given AFTER you fix my academy," he said with a glare colder than the Advanced Ice Track. I have a long couple of months ahead of me.
| 2022-07-13T15:31:17 | 2022-07-13T15:17:22 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] You are an immortal that got sentenced to permanent burial over 1000 years ago. Today a team of archaeologists just dug you up.
|
Dust falls a beam of light sweeps my face, my hairs stand on end as the first gust of air rolls over me, my sarcophagus opens there's a man there his gaze meets mine as he falls back, he looks strange very pale as if some great sickness has befallen him as my eyes adjust I see more of these pale men women as well, my muscles ache as I stretch and step out, they all scatter save for one with some kind of primitive looking device, I ask them what year it is in the language of mankind but they understand it not only looking more bewildered, the man with the device shows me glyphs back lit upon his black mirror, they are strange yet familiar to me, I can smell their fear the last thing I smelt all those years ago when I was sealed up, fear and water.
Two days have passed and though I cannot communicate I recognize what appear to be numbers, the black mirror shows the year to be 2019 yet this must be false for it was the year 28,666 when I took my slumber, I try to ask them of the fate that has fallen my beloved Babylon, where is my great tower of knowledge, and of the rantings of the old man from Judea. I recognize the desert as mine own but what happened to our great buildings, our obelisks and bazzars, I wish to ask them why technology has regressed so much that they use black mirrors to communicate and fly with the assistance of machines when such lowly technology was old long before I came here.
There are people here at my room, they say I am the find of the Millenia and that they have found me an interpreter who recognizes the etchings on my resting place, an old man comes before me, his sin is great as was that of the people of my time, I can smell it on him, his Enochian is flawless and I am told of the destruction of my lands, of a flood that killed all those I had spent ages raising up above their humanity. This man calls himself Pope and declares that he is God's messenger upon the earth and that I am to come with him, this Pope forgets himself he says I must travel with him and that I mustn't speak my old tounge as it was lost for a reason, but no man commands me and his frail skull crushes easily in my fist, humanity will once more unite in their truest freedom no longer shall they abide by petty morality they shall surpass god as I intended them to back when I taught them warfare and lust and greed and to live for themselves, my cities shall runneth over the earth once more and no flood shall stop me this time. Humanity will once again know that I Lucifer am their light bringer.
|
It's post-galactic year 1457. I'd finally exerted my reserves and soiled my connection to the infinite dimensional energy source I've manipulated for eons. I use to be what they called a superhero, but eventually my homeworld brought upon its own destruction. I fled with the survivors into space; colonizing the nearest life supporting planet, giving birth to the Ultraterreans. It is here I reigned supreme for thousands of years. However this peace did not last, as we gathered our resources and built our civilations spreading far and wide throughout the Galaxy. My people did just as they did before, conjuring the ever dormant destructive power of war. Many tried to recreate my powers, some even forming armies of empowered beings. I've watch artificial gods rise and fall; I did not think much of my immortality coming to its limits. The people still faithful and loyal to the Ultraterreans lined the last defense fleet up against the invading Interstellar Vampires, a faction of vampires who survived Earth's destruction. I flew before them expensing an energy beam leveling half the Vampires fleet. My people followed suit. I remember the proud feeling of seeing ship after enemy ship fall to an allied blast as slipped into a deep sleep, floating in the cold void awaiting saving. I assumed that this was it and that my legacy would live on through my people. However I did see the following events coming whatsoever.
Post-galactic year 2457
It was as if a divine light had been shined into the unwaivering darkness. I could feel my muscles tense and the feeling return to every inch of my body. My heart beats first bump brought tears of confusion and pain as I felt the energy swell inside my core. Yes. Yes. Yes. My connection had returned. Once again, I knew, the power of infinite realities had found me again. With this I rose to the darkness and pushed upwards with all my strength against feet thick stone. As I did light began to feel the space and roars of what seemed to be a town square echoed through my superhearing. I climbed out to my feet and stood side by side to a statue of my self. The first Ultraterrean dictator to fall, Immortal Man. It reminded me of what happened in the war but my sigh of relief was soon interrupted as I took a gaze. Nothing looked familiar, save the position of the moons. Time has passed, alot of time. And by the looks on these people faces, it seems they've also never seen a "God" before.....
Lol trash at writing enjoy.
| 2019-10-26T01:25:26 | 2019-10-26T00:49:39 | 37 | 21 |
[WP] Write erotica of hilariously bad quality.
An example of what I'm looking for would be something like this:
She flopped onto the breakfast table like a wet sock, her eyes bulging with desire. Her body was covered in nudity. "I bet I can eat more pancakes than you," she coughed, lustily.
Have fun!
EDIT: I did a radio play of /u/Xiaeng's submission, which can be heard here:
https://soundcloud.com/contemptslot/weis-story
EDIT 2: **STOP POSTING 50 SHADES OF GREY. THIS WASN'T INSPIRED BY THAT, AND YOU AREN'T ORIGINAL OR FUNNY.**
|
"Aww yes, boy! Slap that little meat-schlong into my piehole!"
Chocolate-colored skin, dark as tree sap found on some filthy elementary school playground, flopped about atop the mesh hammock. The skinny white man heaved and slammed against the woman, moaning like a flamingo in an oven. Hot, filthy sweat filled the room with its scent, like curry night in a soup kitchen. The spicy stench wicked and a flavored the meaty nether regions.
A sun-kissed arm, plump as an elephant's ankle, grabbed hold of the bony guy, pulling him into fatty rolls of skin, thick as vanilla milkshakes at some old-timey diner.
"Who's your fat old mommy, boy?!"
"You are?"
The woman hollered aloud, hiding the loud fart that ejected from her ample buttocks. The man's nostrils, hairy and wide, were enveloped in the symphony of heavy body odor and greasy hair. He huffed and puffed, continuing on with his meatstick's exploration into the sloppy folds.
"I can't hold my sausage-milk in anymore!"
"Let 'er rip!"
It was ecstasy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Was it good for you, boy?"
"I think I should hire a Thai hooker next time."
"Your total comes to three-hundred and fifty dollars."
"You ruined my toilet on the way from the bathroom."
"Fine. Order some pizza. I'll call the plumber."
|
"Are you sure you want to do this here?" Jorden Rapture McThunderBuns whispered.
"Yes. I'm sure." Kristy Lexxus O'Damn-she-fine said back.
They writhed on the table, various foods fell to the floor...*passionately.*
Patrons across the restaurant gasped in horror. The server tried to tap Jorden on the shoulder to get his attention, but slipped on the sweat covered floor and received a concussion.
Their moans began to vibrate the restaurant. Ceiling tiles fell, crashing to the floor in the glorious resonance of their *UBER-LOVE.*
"Get all up in there, *now!*" Kristy screeched like a banshee from the fifth dimension.
"But I don't have a *condom*!" Jorden whimpered like a beaten dog, as she actually beat him.
"*I don't care!* Let's make *babies*!" Kristy pined. "I'd *totally* make a great mother!"
"No can do." Said Jorden, immediately going flaccid. "That's not how Jorden Rapture McThunderbuns *do*."
He buttoned up his shirt, which immediately tore open under the flexing of his Thanksgiving Turkey-Sized pecs, and walked away into the sunset.
Some say Sister Christian By Night Ranger could be heard echoing in the distance.
| 2015-02-16T10:00:52 | 2015-02-16T09:35:35 | 40 | 27 |
[WP] Every new year the priests sacrifice whoever finds the stone bean in their meal to bring the clan good fortune in the months to come. It's supposed to be random, but you get suspicious when you notice the priests watching you carefully as you sit down to eat.
|
The heat of the holy men’s gazes is piercing as I take my place at the far end of the feasting hall. The space, which is usually loud and full of mirth, is uncharacteristically quiet on this grim occasion, the tension in the air filling the silence with a deafening hum. Amidst the tension, are the quiet murmurs of the clan nobles, and the occasional word of one of the priests addressing a nervous member of their flock. However, I cannot help but notice their eyes scarcely left me, despite my best efforts to sink into my seat.
The grand table is full of bowls of hearty stew and fresh bread, no doubt concealing the fate of a “lucky” clan member, in the form of a stone bean. This “honorable” fate is supposed to be chosen at random by the patron deity, to bring luck and prosperity in the seasons to come in the form of self sacrifice. I have come to know better.
It’s always the beggars. The peasants. The the “trouble makers” and the heretics. The old, the weak, and the ill. Always by “the graces of the divine” that these people are chosen. One less “unproductive” mouth to feed. This is what brings “prosperity.” And, at the end of this harvest, I’m unlucky enough to have the holy gazes upon me. Me, the orphaned farm hand who sleeps in the haystacks and cleans muck for spare change. Of course it would be me.
Slowly, and hesitantly, the feasting begins, and I meet the eyes of the priests as I dip my spoon into the thick stew. Their faces melt together into a mass of dark sunken eyes, wrinkles and white hairs, all while I try my best to bore my gaze into theirs, looking for the answer I already knew.
I swirl my spoon in the bowl, and feel the tiniest of taps against the wood. It’s gentle, so nobody hears, but no doubt they hear the pounding in my chest. The dark hollow eyes brighten, and yellowed teeth are revealed as wrinkled lips pull back in knowing grins. My eyes do not leave theirs, and the spark in their gaze ignites a dormant blaze in my rib cage. I lift my spoon, and nod to the men, as the first bite of stew passes my lips. It’s warm, delicious, savory, and by all accounts deadly.
Gradually, bowls are emptied, and relieved sighs echo the halls. The silence is eventually filled with quiet conversations, and happy tones, when the bean is yet to be found in finished meals. Still, the eyes bore into mine, and mine into theirs, as spoonful after spoonful is slowly raised to my mouth. In these moments, I hate them. I hate their stew. I hate their beans. I hate the gods. Every mouthful feeds my ire with tender meat and soft potatoes. I’m very careful, not to touch the bottom of my bowl. Not yet.
The smiles turn to scowls of impatience, and my fear turns to indignant rebelliousness as I grin and lift a large spoonful of what looks to be potatoes into my mouth, chew carefully, and swallow it down with a generous sip of wine. It’s far more delicious than any other bite so far.
As I lift my bowl, the old hunched men lean even farther forward, and the whole clan is watching me now as I drink down the last of my broth, and lay the bowl back down. I hadn’t realized I was the last to finish, but as soon as my dish revealed no stone bean, there was a shocked murmur about the crowd. I can’t help the grin on my face, when the gaggle of priests shift from smug, to shocked, to outraged. No doubt they know what I’ve done, but I know I can rest easy after my meal. No smart man would say a word, lest they reveal themselves and their horrible scheme.
I stand with a satisfied sigh, thanking the holy men graciously, before leaving them to the hall full of outraged nobles and terrified commoners. Perhaps no sacrifice is needed this year? Surely something was missed? Oh well. I’m sure the bean will resurface in a day or two.
(I haven’t written in a long while but this was lots of fun. Hope someone enjoys it!)
|
Father Talbot cast his warm gaze over the feasters as the town gathered together for Wellentien. Small gestures to his flock, showing congregates that they were seen and valued by the towns holy man. He was a young man by all accounts, of an age with Tim’s sister and liked ubiquitously.
Everyone gathered here had known that they were welcome, that this was their home, and what was to come. The proud carved wooden beams overhead, inscribed with the runes of those who had given themselves for the town at the previous mid-winter festivals gave fortitude where fear may have reigned. Fires warmed the hall and the thatched roof and wooden floor insulated against the cold. Over the celebration a bracing storm could be heard outside, not uncommon for this time of year, yet strong enough to draw conversation for a while.
Tim took his place among his friends. He didn’t make it to town too often. Farming was a hard task in these lands and the herds of his families’ goats required someone to stay at the farmstead instead joining the festivities. This year was different. This year he had been allowed to attend. Usually, his parents came to town and would leave Tim to take care of the farm, taking his sister Mary in an attempt to find her a husband after her first died a few years ago. Tim’s father, a short stout man with a trimmed beard he took pride in had mentioned that Father Talbot had asked for all the young men that were usually stuck on the land to be allowed to attend this year. Tim’s mother, a handsome woman with a kind disposition and a mother’s grace had worried he would end up sleeping in a pigsty after losing control of himself. He had assured his mother that would not happen. That he was a responsible man now. He was fifteen after all. He figured it would be much more likely he could find a stable or maybe even someone else’s bed to collapse in.
He caught Father Talbots eye once again, a warm smile pinned to his face but his eyes seemed intent. Talbots gaze lingered for a second before moving to others. He was a good man, Father Talbot.
Mary’s husband had passed away after a ladder fell out underneath him at the Abbey while he was seeing to the thatch. Father Talbot was distraught, of course, being the first to discover him, but that didn’t prevent him from comforting Mary when he needed her most. Tim had discovered them once, they must have been consoling one and other as both were red faced, breathing heavy and a little dishevelled. If he hadn’t have known the penalties for philandering, particularly for a Father, he would have guessed they could have been up to something else, but the shame and sadness in his sisters eyes and the kind soul of Father Talbot had assured him that their shared grief was the source of the distress.
Another gaze from Father Talbot made Tim feel almost uncomfortable. The same smile still plastered across the fathers’ face but his eyes almost staring through him in anticipation.
That’s when he felt it. The small hard stone at the bottom of his stew. The look on his face must have given something away as the father did not look away this time. Calming himself by slowing his breathing he began to feel nauseous. The air around him suddenly thick and hot. Everyone knew it could happen to them of course. But no one thought it would. Father Talbots stare had begun to draw attention and some others began to look over. Tim tried to stand up and tripped over the bench. Laughter followed with some jovial cheers, no doubt assuming the young man had over done it with the mead.
Father Talbot was not laughing. Tim gathered his senses and made for the door. Jeered along by the rows of celebrants he knew he had to get outside. To calm himself down. This was his duty. His responsibility. But he needed some time. As he approached the door, the young Father Talbot stepped in his way, blocking the door. He looked down at Tim with anger in his eyes and a grisly, teeth laden grin.
“Is something wrong with your food, boy...?”, Father Talbot spat.
| 2021-12-31T22:11:39 | 2021-12-31T16:38:52 | 54 | 18 |
[WP] Humanity is dead; you were asleep in a cryogenic facility for super-human soldiers. Aliens have woke you centuries later to fight for their survival from the aliens that ended humanity. The problem? You're actually a janitor that fell into a pod and all of the soldiers died in the previous war.
|
The aliens presented themselves in a humanoid form, which was of huge convenience to Bob. What was less convenient was that they were pressing him on the matter of 22nd century warfare.
'Oh,' was all he could stupidly manage.
Robert O'Lyle had never really excelled in any form of conflict, except the combat of germs, pests and some particularly nasty moulds. Even then, he had perished in the exercise of these duties almost immediately; that was to say, he had tripped and fallen into one of the pods.
'Take him out,' one of the aliens hissed. They were decent imitations of humans, tall and strange as they were, aside from a few obvious mistakes. Having the face upside down was one of them.
Bob blinked slowly, some of his motor functions still frozen by the cryogenic cold. The humanoids helped him out of the sleek, onyx pod, and clouds solidified out of the air as he rose.
'Am I really the only one left?' Bob asked, still shaking as they helped him to his feet.
'You are a warrior,' one of them, the leader, said. Bob knew he was the leader because they had been helpful enough to give his form a crown, big and pointy and made of gold, as in the old human story-books. 'You can help us defeat the Rangers.'
An odd name for the alien species that had wiped out humanity, but this anachronism had not been invented by the humanoids. Even in Bob's time, there had been talk of the Rangers. Back then, they had only known their ships: massive, oblong slices of metal that cruised through the black velvet of space at staggering speeds, and fired powerful pillars of light upon anything that came too close.
The discovery that there had been organic matter inside the ships had made the headlines on the day that Bob had taken his fateful stumble.
'I'm sorry to disappoint, friends, but I'm no warrior,' Bob said wearily. 'Only a collector of dust.'
'Yes,' the crowned one said, 'You combat the entropy itself. A noble rank, even in our hierarchies.'
Bob raised his eyebrows. These aliens seemed alright, he decided. He'd do his best to help.
'Tell us,' one of the others said excitedly, 'How do we use the fabled ancient weapon?' He produced a bleak, white bottle, with a strangely shaped lid. It read PESTICIDE on the sticker.
Bob frowned darkly, and took the bottle.
He twisted the spray-cap and depressed the trigger. A cloud of vapour filled the air, and the humanoids backed away in fright. The smell of ammonium lingered a few seconds, and suddenly the humanoids started to applaud, strangely by clapping their fore-arms together rather than their hands. But Bob had understood the message.
'My friends,' he said solemnly, 'I think it is time to turn this war around.'
|
The hum of machinery grew in my mind, perturbing the nothingness. It was abrasive and terrifying, like looking to the foot of your bed and seeing a figure not present before you closed your eyes.
A *swoosh* contrasted the repetitive and unfamiliar clicks and thuds, familiar to me like an alarm set before; annoying yet welcome. It was the inverse of the last thing I had heard. As soon as it silenced I registered that my eyes were closed, and so made a mental push to open them. It was certainly a task; they seemed to have friction against my eyes, as if a cohesive bond had formed between my cornea and skin over the sleep I had just emerged from.
Vision was blurry at first but sharpened as i willed it to; little new information resulted from this. Green lights flickered all around and the source of the mechanical murmur was unknown. Before I could even lift a limb I felt my inertia force me forward; suddenly I was out of the place I had awoken in and on the ground. My legs had skirted against the floor but my legs were unable to sustain me upright so I was now on the cold metallic floor. All of this information was overwhelming me. All I knew next was another change in momentum.
A wide sky had opened up to me. Rushing air went past my face, but it was warm and dense. Clouds were the main form I could see but they were alien to me, black wisps, foreign and monstrous. The speed of my decent was apparent to me as I bullet-ed past one; I had gone skydiving before, and my panicked mind retrieved the memory for the sake of control. Panic compounded from this however, as no cord flapped in the breeze in my peripheral. I was in my rubber yellow cleanup suit, as I had been cleaning my area in the aircraft before the sirens...
Suddenly it clicked. I remembered the blaring sirens and the shifting floor. I remembered the screams as the pod *swooshed* open and I fell forward. I remembered the feeling of dread as my limbs went limp. I thought of all of this, instead of the fact that the clouds had gone, leading into a scorched earth. I realized this only moments before I fell upon it, cracking my neck instantly.
~
The bugs skittered towards the site of impact, their pincers readied in anticipation. The huge ship overhead had appeared over their base in an instant, and they knew that they would be dropping their greatest asset; the Uber-soldier. But, as they came upon the place where the dot came out of the sky and fell, they vomited. It was a blob of skin and blood, already bubbling and melting into the soot.
In rapid clicks and hisses one said to the other, "What the hell is this?"
| 2018-10-13T08:31:33 | 2018-10-13T07:35:13 | 117 | 53 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that.
|
I knew he was trouble when he walked in.
He came in, head held up high, posture like someone had shoved a metal rod up his ass. Young, cocky, asshole. It was slow day, only a couple of people were around. None of the regulars. A guy working on his laptop, and another girl watching the snow fall over Union Square outside.
He walked over to the counter like he owned the place. He raised his voice. “You folk might want to leave,” he said. “This might get ugly.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He must have a foot on me and his arms were as thick as my thighs. The two customers looked at me and I nodded. “Best to leave, yeah.” They hurried out. What were the odds either of them would call the cops? Next to none. They’d think the other person would.
“You want something?” I asked.
The man picked up a cup and threw it at the wall next to my head, probably intending to make me flinch. I caught it as it flew by my head and set it back down. The PTSD and emotional trauma did come with some upsides.
“So you’re Elizabeth, I take?” eyes narrowed.
I went with the classic response. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He sneered. “Nobody’s asking, *sweetheart,*” he said. “We’ve been keeping track of what kind of clientele you serve. The rotten. The wannabes. The worst of the worst.”
“Strange,” I mused. “None of them have ever threatened me in my own workplace. Truly, nothing screams paragon of virtue like trying to intimidate women.”
He walked over to a table, picked it up with one hand and threw it against the wall. The table shattered and left a dent in the wall. He picked up a metal chair and, looking me in the eyes, bent it in half.
I rolled my eyes. “You realize you’re paying for that, right?”
He laughed and continued to wreck the place. Tables, chairs, vases, whatever he could find his hands on, grinning all the time. This was just pathetic, this is what the League had resorted to? Petty intimidation? And it could only be the League with their idiotic ideals of heroism. The government weren’t a bunch of thugs, and anyone else wouldn’t have bothered with the intimidation, they would’ve tried to kill me. Honestly, I would have preferred that. That was honest. This though…
“Are you done?” I asked as he sauntered back over to me.
“For now I am,” he said, again with that grin showing impeccable teeth. I was tempted to punch him…but no. I was out. I didn’t interfere anymore. It wasn’t worth it. “Now listen here, no more serving your “regulars,” yeah? Tell them someone, ah, tipped you off to what they really are. And that you don't serve their kind."
“They don’t trash the place, and tip well. They seem like better customers than you are.”
He leaned closer, looking me dead in the eyes. “Now, the League is protecting all of you from…maniacs like them, maybe you should be a little grateful.” He straightened. “You know, it might get some people thinking, why would any self-respecting citizen serve people like them. Might give the League the wrong idea...”
A handful of people sauntered into the shop snow on their shoulders. “I heard you were having trouble, Liz,” the man in the lead, Jon, said. Behind him, there was Rory, her red hair falling out of her fur hood and Michel, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the winter wonderland outside.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” the Leaguer said and *smiled.*” Actually smiled. He couldn’t see the tension in the air. I could feel it. Didn't realize how screwed he was.
“Jon, Rory, Mike,” I said, nodding to each of them. “What brings you here.”
“Heard a bull was running around in your shop, Liz,” Jon said, his eyes locked on the intruder. “Thought you could use some help getting it out.”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” I said, asshole or not the guy looked in his 20s. “He’s just a kid, let him go.”
He swiveled towards me, eyes ablaze. I mentally chastised myself. I hadn't thought before speaking. Forgot how sentimental these young heroes were.
“A kid? Listen bitch,” he spat, “I’ll show you how much of a kid I really am.” I saw the punch coming a mile away – really those idiots with super strength were always slow for some reason, and moved to the side, but I needn’t have bothered. The kid flew back and hit the wall with a wet sounding thud and a crack. One second he was in front of the counter reaching for me, the next he was against the wall, a red stain on the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I put my head in my hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jon,” I snarled.
Jon frowned at me, moving his hand back down – he didn’t actually need to move his hand to use telekinesis – he just liked to show off. “He was going to hit you, Liz.”
“Seriously? You think that idiot could have even *touched* me?”
“I don’t know, Liz,” Rory spoke, laughing, “You’ve been out for a long time…”
I glared at her. “Now the league will investigate, things will only go downhill.”
Jon’s voice was laced with steel. “The League won’t fucking dare.”
I knew that tone of voice. “Jon no…”
But he was already turning away. “C’mon Rory, Mike. Let’s have a chat with the local League office.”
I surveyed the broken tables, the body, the blood. "Leaving the adult to clean up the mess..." I muttered uncharitably and went in the back to get the bleach.
***
Due to demand, I present
[Part 2: Blood on the Snow](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/9q1h8u/urban_fantasy_blood_on_the_snow_out_of_retirement/?)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
Glass crunched underfoot, and I shifted the broken glass with my foot and took in the rest of the scene. The broken windows were bad, but it was the pictures. My breath caught and I pressed my fingers over my eyes.
I'd opened this little diner back in the 80s. We were in the bad part of town, it was all I could afford, but I'd wanted this cafe since I was a little girl. Bacon eggs and pancakes were staples, but my Belgian Waffles were what really put Sal's Place on the map. I made all the donuts, and everyone knew they had one chance to get them.
We didn't get supers, not like the uptown places did. Sunshine Deli had pictures of the Wonder Twins and Moongirl, signed and dated. And you could be sure to catch Mr. Impossible every other Sunday if you could afford $12 lattes. I attracted what I liked to call Irregulars. Boys and girls didn't have much in the way of family or trust funds, but set about righting wrongs - often with their fists or with guns. But they did like omelettes.
Digger was the first one who came regularly. Always in the same booth, always the same order. Biscuits and sausage gravy with black coffee. When I read stories about him, it was always about how some rapist or mugger had been buried up to his neck near some fire ants. He'd never been caught, but some surveillance video had surfaced. And his fingernails were always so dirty.
"Here you go, sweetie," I said sliding the bowl with the biscuits and gravy over. I added dish of fruit salad, and he looked at me with those dark eyes of his set in his pale face. "Didn't order this, ma'am."
"I know, hon, it's on the house. You need a bit of fruit, and I don't want to hear anything more about it," and I bustled off filling coffee cups, clearing tables and taking orders. When I cleared his table, his fruit dish was empty and I pocketed a nice tip. Next time he'd added the fruit to his order.
"Ma'am," he said and I swear he was blushing. "Noticed that some of your walls were a little blank. If you'd excuse my forwardness, I think I could take some pictures of folk and start making a wall. I talked to some of the other irregulars and they thought it'd be nice for you."
To say that hadn't been on my mind would be a lie. But money was tight, had to pay rent of the restaurant, plus buying all the food, heat and hot water. Then there was Mothball, my cat. She'd been sick earlier and that had put a dent in what little savings I had managed to scrape together.
"Oh, hon, I don't know what to say," I managed, my throat feeling tight. He put his thick hand on mine and squeezed it gently. "You don't need to say anything, Miss Sal. We're happy to help you out." And they'd started putting their pictures up - always with masks on, or looking appropriately spooky. Silly kids. I worried about them all the time. And sometimes they got hurt. Sometimes killed. The juke always played loud on those days, and I made sure the coffee was hot and everyone got whipped cream on their pancakes.
The sound of running water made me rush to the kitchen, it was awash with water overflowing from the sink. I shut off the faucets and looked in, the drains had been plugged with dishrags. I reached into the cold water and pulled them out. The water gurgled and ran down, but it was too late to save most of the floor. A small sob escaped. My little dream. My small way of making this shithole part of town a better place. A broken soggy ruin.
Feeling numb, I wandered back into the dining room. Cans of paint had been hurled at my wall of Irregulars. Most of the frames were shattered, photos cut and torn and covered with paint.
I gently brushed the shards of glass away, and picked up Digger's photo, it was torn in half, his small little half-smile, more than anyone else saw ever, looked broken. I sniffed and put it on the counter and picked up Ghost-Dog's photo, it was dripping with the water that had leaked in from the kitchen. Rag-Tag, Little Pete, and Dark Mila had all been covered in paint. My friends. My little lost family.
The bell rang, and I whirled around clutching my pictures, but suddenly feeling very alone. But it was Digger, his dark eyes took in the scene and locked on me. His face was like still water, deep and dangerous and I moved over to him and slid my hand around his arm.
"Listen to me, sweetie, I need you to listen good. I want you to call everyone you know and tell them to meet me here. We have work to do..."
He looked at me for a long time and then nodded.
***
I looked around at the ring of faces. We were sitting in the ruin of my diner. The faces around me were grim, and I felt a deep sense of sadness. Every scar was a story that broke my heart. And I know, deep down that if they found out who did this there would be nothing but blood. But they had brought what I asked for. Cans of paint, hammers and nails, and tarps. Digger brought new frames and Dark Mila brought her camera.
"I've worked hard to make Sal's a place where you always feel welcome and where you get a taste of sweetness. For some of you," I said looking at Digger, "this is the only sweetness you will ever know. If you help me with this, you're making a promise. A promise that you want to make the world kinder - even if this is all you do and you go back to your night jobs same as you do. It's not nothing."
Vandal reached out and squeezed my hand, and I saw Digger wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.
"Thanks for helping me fix my little broken dream," I said, my voice choking up. "Now let's get to work."
(edit a typo - also edited my edit since apparently I floated it in the middle of the story - stupid whiskey)
| 2022-11-10T02:01:25 | 2018-10-20T23:57:04 | 1,330 | 17 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
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I lie in bed, listening to the rain gently pattering on the skylight. How did I get so lucky, I wonder? I roll over gently, smiling at the sleeping form next to me. The love of my life, she lies there sleeping. She's on her side, facing away from the window - she never did like nighttime storms as much as I did. I caress her gently, from her shoulder down to her hip, but I stop when she starts to stir - as much as I love her, I'd hate to wake her. Though she doesn't have my insomnia, she still never gets enough sleep. Someone has to look out for her health. So I resume my quiet introspection as the wind stirs the damp leaves outside. How lucky am I, to have been with the woman I love every single night for two years? Never a night apart, even when we travel. It fills me with so much joy that I think, for a moment anyways, that tomorrow might be the day. Tomorrow, I might finally find the courage to introduce myself to her.
|
They say parenthood is difficult, but my Charlie is an absolute angel! He stays perfectly quiet while I change him, never cried when I feed him his veggies, and loves going out! Just yesterday I took him for a ride in his stroller and he barely made a sound, he loves being outside so much.
Other people just don't understand parenthood. They recoil and act like they've never seen a baby, they gag and vomit as if they didn't shit their diapers too at that age.
Little Charlie is the light of my life, but even he gets tired at the end of the day. So I put him in my car, through the driver's side of course. The passenger side still has a huge gash where that truck T boned me. I carefully buckle him in and drive him home, he needs his rest after all!
I lovingly tuck him into his little bed, kiss his cracked forehead, close the lid, and begin to rebury my son.
| 2016-05-19T09:33:01 | 2016-05-19T07:52:43 | 1,288 | 331 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
All my life I have been able to subconsciously translate my speech to match the original language of who I am talking to.
It was quite terrifying at first. speaking Polish to my Mom when I was 2 minutes old was quite the tale. The poor Korean woman at Walmart...
Anyways, life had gone on as usual. Occasionally, I would get compliments on my knowledge of language, or cause arguments from people thinking I spoke one way or another, but no huge events had arisen.
At least, until McDonalds.
I went in, expecting it to be a normal day. I was craving a cheeseburger. I make my way up to the register. It’s a flashy British man taking the order.
“I’ll have one Cheeseburger, please.” I say. He stops, and stares at me. I probably had just surprised him by speaking some other language, and so I waited. He smirks.
“Finally!” He says, in a somewhat relieved tone. “I’ve been waiting here for 2 years, you know!”
He hopped over the counter, and grabbed me by the wrist. “You and I have some business to attend to.” He said, as he dragged me out of the McDonalds.
I looked behind me, and saw the other customers horrified at the events that are taking place.
“Who the hell are you, and what do you want!?” I said, angry and confused.
He turned around, and looked me directly in the eye.
“I’m the Doctor. I was sent a message by my future self to wait at this McDonalds until a man speaking Gallifreyan arrived.”
Been watching too much Doctor Who recently. r/cringe material right here boys.
EDIT: Formatting.
|
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger deluxe,” I say looking up at the glowing menu, “with fries and regular spri--” I stop as I see the cashier with mouth agape and brows furrowed.
“What the f” she mouths, cutting off the last syllable as she hisses the f. Her confusion turned to an irritated stare obviously annoyed.
I reciprocated a confused look as I fidgeted with my wallet.
“Oh sorry,” she exclaims snapping back to reality “That’s a double cheeseburger deluxe with fries and regular coke. Is there any--”
“Sprite!” I corrected awkwardly.
“Regular Sprite. Is there anything else you want to add?”
“Nope that’s it.”
She writes something down on my receipt. She was slow, strokes intentional and heavy. She pauses, looks up, then scribbles again. “Remember,” she mutters before pushing the receipt my way. I picked a table so that my back is to a corner and read the back of the receipt. It had these weird blocky letters, I can tell they were supposed to curve by the erratic corners. None of the characters I can read save for the number 24 right by the end. I was tempted to ask the cashier what she just wrote on my receipt but that would lead to a lot of explaining and I felt like I didn’t have enough energy for it. What is it? Maybe it told me that I’d die in 24 hours? Maybe I owed her 24 whatever currency she wrote? Maybe she could just be crazy?
\-----
First time responding to a writing prompt! Constructive criticism is welcome! :D
| 2018-06-24T21:53:14 | 2018-06-24T21:35:31 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] Create a fictional mythological race, (werewolves, vampires, skinwalkers, etc) and the legend behind it
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"The grengrams got my shoelaces again," little Rick Leon said to his mom. "So I can't tie my shoes. Not today."
"Oh...my god, come on, again?" his mom said. She was clearly angry with him, possibly even frustrated. He had learned that word from his father.
"It's okay, I don't mind."
"Your shoes are going to fall off and get ruined, so I mind. Let me see if we have any of the velcro kind left..."
Sure enough, they did, although they were a size to small and Rick was sure to get made fun of when he got to school. All the kids who didn't know how to tie their shoes wore the velcro kind.
At school, no one made fun of him, and Rick was thankful for that. His dad had bought him new shoelaces on his way home from work. Rick took them out of his shoes and hid the laces in his pocket before he slept.
That night, Rick woke and felt something moving around under his covers. He lifted his covers. "Grengrams," he whispered. They were little creatures. They way they looked made Rick think of a worm that tried to be a human, but couldn't, and so it was sad all the time. "Why do you want my shoelaces?"
There were four of them tonight, more than usual, perhaps because he had hid the laces in his pocket. One of the grengrams bounced and Rick thought it might be trying to speak. The boy leaned closer so that he could hear.
"We need the laces for the monster!" the little grengram said. "It grows with each day, and we must tie it down."
"What monster?" Rick said, shaking and suddenly scared. "Where is it?"
"It lives inside your mother's belly. Every day, it grows a little more until it will make your mother hurt and bleed. We try to go inside and tie it down, but it will come out eventually, anyway."
"That's not good. I love my mom, how can I stop it?"
"Give us laces."
"But that will just hold it down. Don't we need to destroy it?"
"Only you can destroy it. You have to jump on your mother's belly while she sleeps. Jump as hard as you can."
"Okay," Rick said and left his room, such was the importance of his mission. He opened up his parents' bedroom door and realized something: the grengrams had never told him why the monster was bad. If there really was something bad there, his mom was sure to know about it and see the doctor. That's what had happened with his aunt's cancer. Something grew in her boob until the doctor had to take it out.
Rick turned and walked back to his room. The grengrams were waiting. "What's bad about the monster?"
"It will come and disturb us. It will cry and smash us."
"Then leave. It's my house."
"Give us laces."
"No, leave."
"You will give us the laces! We'll give you anything, anything you want."
"I want you to go away."
The grengrams didn't say anything, and left. Rick put the laces back on his shoe and slept with them on his feet. The grengrams never came back.
***
Grengrams are small, wingless wyrms that attempt to induce miscarriage in the hope of a feast. Typically they use ropes to achieve this by literally pulling the fetus from the womb, but they will enlist the help of others if they can. If you encounter one, tell it to leave three times, just like Rick did, and it will never come back.
|
They listen.
With wide, hungry eyes, and an unending appetite, they listen to you as you talk.
Anything and everything. Your first kiss, a problem you're having, the story behind your tattoo. They sit across the table at the local tavern, as a person you just met.
They take it all in with immense satisfaction.
But they direct it, to perhaps the story of your wife, your husband. How you met. Once the words fall out, they never go back in.
The Akamei. The listeners. The story-thieves. The Self-Stealers.
By the time your conversation is over you have no memory of yourself at all. You can recognize your loved ones, but have no memory of why.
And filled with youthful energy the Akamei that listened to your life can live another 20 years. They move on to the next town.
My brother was a victim.
He was a headstrong warrior for the magistrate. Always willing to boast, and always willing to talk to anyone who would listen.
After I had not received any letters that month, I went in search of him.
He was there. A fighter with no personality left. He had told the monster everything. I was greeted with a strange look.
"I know you from somewhere," he said.
"I am your brother!" I said.
His face only shifted to concern.
I grabbed him by the shoulders.
"I am your brother! We lived in the same house for years! You taught me how to fish!"
"I believe you. I simply cannot remember any evidence."
I checked his mouth. The telltale white stripe, down the center of his tongue made me shiver.
After speaking with his superiors I learned it had happened after one night. A single night passed and my brother was lost to me, and his comrades. His fighting spirit had died, and his rousing personality was gone.
He wandered through life, repeating the motions and feeling nothing.
An Akamei. A monster of old.
I would have my revenge.
I procured pure alcohol, and a priest, convinced to aid my cause, consecrated it. If I could get close, I would dash it on the monster, and some of the stories it kept loosely within would have a chance to escape.
Also with me, was a pistol. It had been my brother's. It had been a gift from me, inscribed with his name on the barrel. One ball waited, packed in with my rage. I had carved a small three pointed star into the bullet.
The symbol was from a god it betrayed to keep living. It began as a human, and it made the choice to go with Siafon, one of the old gods.
Wind blew in from the north, the smell of grease wafted from the tavern in front of me. Bits of snow trickled from above, and swathes fell of the roof in stinging waves.
I readied myself for a confrontation with a deep breath. Snow, wind, and the spirit of revenge followed me inside as I crossed into the candle-lit bar.
People talked, glasses clinked together. My eyes scanned the room, meeting everyone's eyes for a second.
Only one pair stayed locked onto their table partner.
A young woman. She looked at boy across from her. It looked to be his first drink of ale.
My grip tightened on the pistol under my coat.
She was entrancing. Long eyelashes batted towards the boy, and he swung his mug of ale around, spilling it as he spilled his stories.
I pushed the people aside as I approached...
| 2016-12-16T09:14:56 | 2016-12-16T09:14:18 | 122 | 14 |
[WP] You are frantically driving back to your house. Your wife called you for she delivered, even though it has been just six months. You open the door and find your wife hugging a 1 foot egg. "I will explain everything honey, but could you warm our baby for a while, I am hungry AF."
|
She's just sitting there, holding the biggest red egg you've ever seen. You open and close your mouth, not sure what to say.
"Well?" She asks and looks at you expectantly. "Are you just going to stand there like a goldfish or come over here and greet our first baby?"
You're still not sure if this is real, when she speaks up again. "Or you could heat up that plate of pasta from last night, if that's more your speed right now"
She smiles. Such a happy, loving and tired smile.
"Pasta? Hungry, right, you're hungry. I'll heat the pasta for you, honey" You stumble to the kitchen, your mind a flurry of questions.
It's been 6 months, not 9. Isn't your baby really early? Shouldn't you be at the hospital? It's an egg? A RED egg.
The microwave beeps. Time's up. You pick up the plate and a fork and take it to the living room. Your wife beams at you.
"Please hold it, while I eat" she says and hands you the egg. It feels warm in your hands.
"Are you okay?" You manage to ask.
"Hmmm? Yeah" her mouth is full of pasta. "Just tired and hungry"
"Um, is it a boy or a girl?" You feel so stupid for asking that.
"Well, the scans said it's a girl, but we'll know for sure once it hatches in three months"
"Sh-should I get a blanket for it, or...?"
"Gods, John, what's gotten into you?"
"Oh, I don't know, Lizandra, maybe it's because you never mentioned our daughter could come out still in her egg. We prepared for a full birth. You told me that was the norm for half-dragons. We haven't even started looking at bassinets, yet"
"Yeah, I'm surprised, too. Maybe I should call my mom"
"We don't need an incubator, do we?"
"JOHN!" she punches you in the arm before laughing.
|
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN 'YOURE THE EASTER BUNNY'?" You shouted as you paced back and forth as your wife devoured the plate of sandwiches in front of her. This couldn't be right, you must be dreaming. You pinched yourself hard "ow" nope. Not dreaming, just insane apparently.
"Like I told you, it's in my blood. Every generation the eldest girl in my family has been the Easter Mother. I'm not sure exactly when the bunny stuff came about but that doesn't matter."
You just stared at her in shock again as she munches on another sandwich. This was a joke. A bad joke, not even funny. You have spent the past few months thinking you were going to be a father and now you had to accept that the woman you were deeply in love with was completely insane.
"So you lay eggs? Your family is a bunch of egg laying Easter bunnies? What the fuck!"
She seemed resigned but continued "no we don't lays eggs. We lay THE Egg. Capitol E. The Egg represents all life in this universe. Ignore the Easter bunny thing, that's gotten you off track. Now that I've found the one I love, I will lay Eggs at least once a year. If I don't lay the eggs then life in the universe will end. That ok with you?"
You didn't think you could hear anything more surprising than the fact that your partner laid eggs but now your jaw was on the floor.
"The end of the universe? But...but what's inside the egg?"
"Life. If I don't give birth to these eggs. Life is over"
I couldn't take it anymore I was going insane. But something was nagging you. Something you couldn't ignore any longer.
"But if all life could end, and you family is the only thing that can stop it, isn't that kinda...putting all your eggs in one basket?
| 2022-08-22T08:44:50 | 2022-08-22T02:54:42 | 428 | 282 |
[WP] Your life is an endless series of horror movies. You're always at the wrong place at the wrong time. You're stuck seeing all your friends die right after you make them. The reason you're still alive? You can hear the horror music.
|
I sigh. Not again. It's the third time this week.
I *was* trying to have a quiet cup of coffe at a "hole in the wall" kind of cafés in the city in what I assumed would be a nice evening. But of course it had to happen here too. I take in the table I'm sitting and the people around it. So yeah, Lise is likely dead, she's done enough drugs to be on the list. I guess her lil tyke is going to be cool though, he's about a year old, can't have him killed off. But James? Hmm, maybe he'll make it. Ah right, kid needs to have a dad too. Survivors motif, pretty sneaky one this time around.
I lean back in my chair and pick up a napkin and wipe some coffee out of my beard. Then a few seconds later, Lises eyes roll back in her head and she starts speaking in tounges. Calmly, I study her face and say "No, that's wrong, it's supposed to be 'Gur Denk-Mah *Densiro* Balamb', you're in a public place after all"
As the demon in her body lounges across the table, I casually lean the back the chair enough to be able to do a flip backwards and then I put the knife square in her forehead where the sigil predictably showed up. Hmm, probably three more from the sound of it. I turn around and in a fluid motion twist the neck of an elderly man charging me. I then spot the cracks in the sidewalk, shit, I guess this is a big one.
While it climbs up I can tell it's definitely dangerous, but I still haven't forgot about no 3. I look around and find a dead cop, yeah, a dead cop, hehehe. I pocket his gun and I'm annoyed he didn't have a spare mag since it'd made things less tedious. When the big bad is completely above the ground, I deliver the line I've been working on for months "Hey motherfucker, your balls are showing" and I shoot his testicles on his arms. While he collapses into a heap on the ground, I stroll over to him and yank loose a table leg on the way, I go "Here's a nice tune to listen to asshole" and I shove it into his ear canal which promptly ends his short life, I stop for a moment and curse to myself. Damnit, I used that line two weeks ago didn't I? I've really got to think up some new material, I'm getting sloppy here.
I then sidestep and pick up a tray and swing it around just in time to connect with James face, welp, guess tyke is an orphan. When he falls to the ground, I put the last round into the back of his head, then I sigh and throw the gun away. While sirens have started blaring and people are running around in a panic, I walk up the street and think to myself how annoying all of this is. A cool wind starts to blow and I sigh deeply. Ah, right.
I turn around and look down the street, that's now suspiciously empty. And then from the shadows, I hear it.
'da.. da..'
|
"Yeah, just last week I was talking to Joey about this same exact thing, the printer doesn't jam, you just have to-"
Suddenly Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield starts blasting from just outside my office door.
"Oh fuck." I say, as Judy from accounting goes from listening intently to slightly worried in an instant.
"What's wrong?" She says.
"We've got to go, something really bad is about to happen."
"What makes you say that?"
"It's Tubular Bells this time, probably some demon shit, I do *not* want to be here when that shit goes down." I say as I run to the window and start to look outside.
"Uh, Justin, I don't understand-"
"Of course you don't- I, uh, I don't have time to explain, we need to get out of here right now, you have to trust me- Oh God damnit"
Judy's eyes are now glowing a bright red and her body has begun to float just a tiny bit off the ground.
"Well I guess I won't be fucking Judy anytime soon." I say to myself, the music getting more and more intense.
Quickly but with a sense of expertise, I grab a paperweight off my desk and shatter the window.
"Salve, ego Gregorio rex spirituum Grangroin, ego veni ut adversarer-" Judy's possessed body spits out as I jump out the window.
"Fuck that, go fuck up somebody else's day you piece of demon shit."
I land in a bush and dust myself off, walking across the grass to the nearby street.
Out of nowhere, a homeless man walks up and starts begging for some change.
"Hey there sir, I don't mean to bug you, but if you could spare anything, a penny, a nickel *anything* I'd-"
"Buddy I promise you, you don't want to have anything to do with me, just keep on walking"
"I believe everybody is worth talking to, I promise sir, I just need a little help to get back on my feet-"
In the distance I can hear a familiar song, but I can't put my finger on it.
"Fuck. There's another song, what is that?"
"I don't hear anything sir, but I want you to know that-"
"No, shut up, it's getting closer, I can almost make it out."
Suddenly a zombie reached out from a nearby bush, grabbing the homeless man, and beginning to eat him.
"Oooooh, it was The Walking Dead theme song, I knew I recognized it. But does that even count? That's kind of unfair, gotta say.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" screamed the homeless man as the zombie tore away at his flesh.
Slowly, I pull out headphones and put them in. On my phone, I pull up "I'm Walking on Sunshine" and put the volume up.
"Sorry dude, I gotta get home, pretty sure some shit is going to be going down there too."
The man continued to be eaten as I skipped away into the sunset, waiting for the next victim of the random horror music.
| 2017-01-01T03:46:20 | 2017-01-01T00:41:52 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it.
|
This has been one of my longest running fantasies. For me it'd be about 19 years. Let's begin.
I heard voices around me, "He's waking up." I heard my mother say "oh thank god." Some of my oldest friends and family were all around me, but they all looked a little off. As I started to gain my bearings I saw my hands and arms. It didn't make sense. I was fat again. My arms had only light fuzz on them, my hands had almost no definition and my knuckles were completely bare. I didn't remember how I got there.
Before I could really think about it too much one of the doctors started shining a light in my eyes and asking me questions, "Do you know what day it is?" I replied, "No, but that really doesn't say much if you knew me..." My friends and family laughed, reassured. "Where am I? What happened?" The doctor explained, "Nobody is exactly sure. You were playing by yourself and you must have fallen and hit your head. They found you lying behind the lodge."
Was it really happening? I had fantasized about this moment since I failed out of college. Do I really get a second chance? I still remember it vividly. It was the hardest I ever hit my head. I was playing by myself in the snow behind the lodge where my family vacationed every winter, and I thought I could jump down the big snow embankment onto the groomed trail. The way I remembered it, I hit my head, was totally dazed, counted off all the digits of pi I could remember to make sure I was "still there" and proceeded with my day. Could it be true? Did I actually knock myself completely out and have to be hospitalized? Would it happen the same way again?
I knew I needed to keep cool. I said whatever I could remember, but it was so long ago. "I was playing by myself at [camp] behind the lodge. I thought I could just jump down onto the trail, but I must have slipped and hit my head. It's spring break, 1997. I'm 11." These recollections seemed to set everyone at ease. The doctor kept asking me questions, but I felt totally fine. I was elated. I didn't know where to start.
I asked for some paper. I started writing pi. I remembered all the digits I thought I should which was about 40 more than I recall knowing in 1997. I handed the paper to my dad to verify later in case I was just making up the "extra" 40 digits. ...or if I was making up all of them for that matter.
My friends D&F were there. D had always been super interested in how many digits of pi I knew and was amazed that I now knew about 40 more. I tried to just gas light him and tell him he just didn't realize how many I knew. He didn't fight me on it. Nostalgia washed over me. I think I would only see these two together a couple more times. As I finally convinced everyone I was OK, I realized I had a tough decision to make. Do I tell anyone? Do I try to lay low and minimize my butterfly-effect? Will it even all happen the same? Should I try to "fix" things? Can I fix things?
I tried to think of something that would convince me it was real. I thought to myself "nihongo-o wakarimasu." My Japanese was terrible, but I shouldn't know a word yet. I spoke aloud, "Dad, the derivative of e^x is e^x, correct?" My dad was impressed, "When did you learn that?" "School," I replied, and he didn't question it. I was convinced.
I asked if we could go back to [camp], and the doctors said that as long as I felt alright it should be fine. When we got to the car my reflexes took over. I walked to the driver's door and said "don't worry, I'm fine to drive." My parents looked at my extremely confused and then laughed. They must have thought I was joking. Suddenly it set in. I wouldn't drive again for at least 4 more year, and I wouldn't be regularly driving my parents for almost 15. I decided that was convenient, and hopped in my "regular" seat behind the passenger seat in the back.
When we got back to [camp] everyone was excited. I got to see Y again. I forgot about Y. He was the best camp leader ever. We told some jokes and everyone was happy I was OK. That night I confused everyone when I only put meat and vegetables on my plate. People asked both mocking and generally confused, "No pasta tonight?" I went to bed early.
The next day I wanted to test the limits of my new "powers". How much could I remember? Was it just facts? I don't remember exactly what it felt like to be 11, but I think I was clumsy. I knew what I needed to do. "Mom, Dad, can I rent some skis?" "Skiing is dangerous, and you just fell. Are you sure you should do that?" "C'mon Mom. We're here in the snow. Let me ski. I'll stay off the steep slopes." After convincing them, I got my skis and skied perfect parallel down the hill. Apparently I got to keep my coordination too. I spent the rest of the day tearing up the bunny slopes, and eventually went to the "hard" hills.
When I got back home and school started again the feelings were totally overwhelming. Besides realizing what a cringe-worthy disaster I was, I was not prepared for how harsh middle school had been. The kids teased me relentlessly, and my comebacks that would have been legendary in 2008 made absolutely no sense in 1997. It was fine to me, though, because I knew who would become my best friends, and I didn't have much trouble connecting with them. It really helped that I knew everything about every important video game that was just released.
My classes were a breeze. Not only had I already read all the books and learned the material, but the homework that devastated me when I was actually 11 was so simple now. I realized that I could do it all differently. Not just perfect, but better than perfect. I got home and started to research. Amazon hadn't even gone public yet. I was going to be rich.
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When my vision went from black to colors, I finally saw the people around me.
Tall and short, fat and skinny, black and white and red and yellow- it was as if every possible variety of human had been thrown into one room and given the same clothes, the same uniform, white and sterile and unfriendly. They were arrayed in a semi-circle, clutching sharp tools and needles, bloodied doctor’s masks wrapped about their faces. They were still, silent, as unmoving as the stones and as expressionless as the trees.
“Hello?” I asked, a realized that I was unarmed, half naked, and in someone else’s bed.
So I decided to forgo any more pleasantries.
“What the fuck?”
“This may be a little hard to take, Mr. Device,” said one of them, and her voice was a nurse’s voice: smooth and soft and pacifying. “But your memory is a lie.”
I tried to sit up, but pain frayed the edges of my vision, and I collapsed weak and sweating back onto the white sheets.
“The decision was made not to restrain you physically,” another doctor said, “as a result of your past… experiences.”
“Experiences- what do you mean, my memory is a lie?” They had worked my temper up a bit, or rather, I had... because confusion was the enemy of progress, and progress was my best friend.
A white light flared into life, crisp and clean, throwing little waves of luminescence off the bed sheets.
“Look. I may not have much money, but I have friends. Friends who don’t bother with little things like ‘rules’ or ‘laws’ or morality. So someone here had better tell me what’s going on, or said friends will take offence: I call them mister fist and mister foot, and they get all funny when they’re introduced to mister bone.”
One of the doctors raised an eyebrow. “Elaborate. But, Mister Device, we are your friends. And we very much doubt that someone in your physical condition could pose much of a threat to your comrades. Physically speaking, that is.”
“Have you seen me?” I managed a weak chuckle. “I spent years training with people who make Bruce Lee look like Barbie.”
“See yourself, Mister Device. We very much doubt you did.”
I looked down at myself, past a scrawny chest and belly, past a set of thighs that look like they had never supported any weight in their life. My feet were small and skinny, not the reassuring broadness I was used to. Also, I was white.
Wait a second.
I was white?
“What the hell did you do to me?”
They glanced at one another. Then nurse-voice stepped up again and began to speak, and for lack of a better option I began to listen.
“You volunteered, Mister Device.”
“That’s not my name.”
“Doctor Anthony Device, PhD in Advanced Cognitive Transference. You were a subject in your own experiment. Engineered to send you to the past by swapping your mind with the mind of another.”
New memories began to form, or perhaps they were old, memories of skyscrapers that towered impossibly high, cars that didn’t need wheels or a road. A family, lost by time, eroded by memory, a handful of friends. A girlfriend. All coming back to me, like birds returning to their summer home after a long and biting winter.
“You switched places with a man who fought in a war two hundred years ago. The mind that inhabited your body gained your memories, your impulses, your sense of self-identity, and your way of thinking: and then we put that mind into a comma, until your original one could come back.”
War. Yes, I remembered that. But it was like memories of a movie, a film, an external happening, not something personal. Blood, screams, bullets, gunfire. The harsh roar of planes and the hissing as metal cut through the jungle, the wet and the heat and the misery.
The death.
“I died. The person I inhabited,” I said, and realized how hard it was to say it, “died.”
“Exactly. And that is why you woke up. Back in your body. Your real body, with your real memories. Twenty years of memories are all a lie, I am afraid. But the rest, you will find, are utterly true.”
I was silent for a moment. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because we don’t have to explain all of this. Gradually, you would have come to the same conclusion. We just sped up the process.”
“Oh. So, assuming I do believe you… now what happens?”
Again, they glanced at one another, as if uncertain as to how to proceed.
“Up to you, Doctor. Though we are obligated to tell you something.”
“Yes?”
One of them stepped a few paces until she was standing over me, hair dangling down to tickle at my face.
“The war you fought in was called the Vietnam War, and it ended in the loss of countless lives. In five minutes, that war will have never existed. Neither will you.”
“What?”
“You died trying to protect a child, gunned down by a friend who thought you were an enemy. The way you fell was broadcasted internationally over thousands upon thousands of screens. The backlash against the warring forces was enough to end the war prematurely- a full six months before it would have.
“Temporal Theorists predict that this resulted in an alternate timeline being formed, the one that we currently inhabit- a one where your work, your existence, is unnecessary. We are not real, Doctor, just messages sent from the future. Cognitive beings who nonetheless have no ability to influence the world around them by physical action.”
As she said that, I realized I could no longer feel her hair against my face. An echo of it, like a memory, was the only thing that remained.
“You have five minutes in which your existence is protected by ours- as long as there are some who know of you, who know of your presence, you will continue to exist. If no one knows you are there, you will simply wink out of existence. Time will no longer have to account for your existence.
“So it’s up to you, Doctor. What do you want to do with the last five minutes of your life?”
I took a deep breath, and thought for a little bit.
“Do you have e-mail?”
She blinked.
“No. We have no need for one.”
“Well, get me some form of pseudo-instant messaging that I can access. Preferably video. We have work to do.”
“And that work, Doctor?”
“Making sure the world knows I exist.”
| 2016-06-28T10:21:35 | 2016-06-28T06:30:38 | 18 | 10 |
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
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**Anxiety**
Pressure fills my chest as my heart beats wildly inside.
The tingling moves through my fingers, up my arms.
I grasp at my chest, push against it.
I feel every part of my body -
the blood pulsing in my head,
the prickling of every nerve.
You ask what's wrong.
Don't you know?
It's just...
me.
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Ten years you held my heart locked in a cage.
I strive for calm but begin to come unhinged
You destroyed our lives with your casual fling
Your heartlessness served to set the stage
Deeply dreaming of my sweet revenge
Your lying throat I'll wring
My anger to assuage.
Burning to avenge.
Hot. Blinding.
Rage.
| 2015-02-12T23:52:27 | 2015-02-12T22:26:14 | 40 | 26 |
[WP] A permanent storm rages across a planet. The only inhabitants are nomads who constantly travel inside the eye of the storm.
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For the last year, this is how we have lived. The slow, but ever-moving storm around us. For days, we would walk ceaselessly until we reached the leading edge of the eye. Then we would be able to make camp for a few weeks until the trailing edge caught up to us again.
When the government began their weather control program, the whole world was behind it. We looked forward to the moderate winters, the year round growing seasons, and the mountain skiing in July. The few people that saw this coming were written off as crackpots.
But it only took 10 years to prove the crackpots right. It started slowly, the sudden hurricanes popping up out of nowhere, the stray tornado that followed the planned rainstorms. That was how I'd lost my parents. The government said it was a fluke, but they became more frequent within months.
Eventually, the tornados disappeared but the hurricanes got stronger. Soon, any cities within a hundred miles of the coastlines were decimated. As people started moving inland, the riots and killings began. The looting and ration-hoarding was expected, but as the storms grew even stronger, moving further inland, people started trying to find any reprieve. A storm shelter, a leftover Cold War bunker, mountain caves. These were the only places you could be safe.
Then came the big storm. It started in the Atlantic and moved west, towards North America, destroying everything in its path. It moved so slowly, it took six months to cross the ocean. By the time it reached land, the eye was almost 250 miles across. The winds topped 150 miles an hour, ripping houses apart and tearing trees from the ground.
I was living in upstate New York when the front edge hit. Some of the neighbors had a storm shelter where we rode out the storm. We thought that it would dissipate when it hit land, but that wasn't the case. It just kept coming.
After two months underground, we heard the winds stop. After a couple more days of nothing, we risked going topside. The devastation was utter and complete. In the west, we could see the wall of clouds,maybe only twenty miles away, and we knew the storm had passed. Thank god! We scavenged what we could and brought it back to the shelter, our home base while we rebuilt.
We quickly erected some simple shelters from lumber scraps. We watched as the storm moved slowly westward until it seemed a distant memory. We quickly hit the lull after the storm. But, that too was short lived.
After a few weeks, the skies in the east began to darken once more. The winds slowly began to rise. We knew what was coming. The clear skies didn't mean the storm was over, we were merely in the middle of it. The eye of the storm had grown so large, and it was moving so slowly, that we were spared for weeks.
We knew we couldn't last through another storm, so we took a few days to pack what we could carry, and moved on. We were one of the lucky groups. We had no infirm, no elderly, nothing to slow us down. We caught up with, and passed, several groups that did. I hate to think of what happened when the storm overtook them.
This is how we've lived. A few weeks on the march, a few weeks of rest, always trying to stay ahead of the storm. As I write this note, we sit at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. The storm is catching up to us.
Some have decided to sail the ocean, building boats out of whatever scraps they can find. Not me. The eye may be calm, but the waves are still there and they will destroy the rickety crafts quickly. This is how I will die. I can hear the waves crashing below me, the jagged rocks offering me a quick demise. Perhaps I will see you in a better world.
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The Vultures were returning from the outlying suburbs when Kira approached the Elder’s wagon to report. The old man’s advisor was stabbing his finger at piles of crumpled maps, shouting to be heard above the groaning generator.
“-s been fifteen years since She last chose this path. There’s no way we can know if the charging station is even there, let alone intact!”
“And what would you have me do, Malik? We are no more free to walk from Her guidance as we ever have been. If the station no longer stands, we shall adapt. This is our way.”
Fists clenching, Malik stepped closer until he was only inches from the Elder’s face. “And how, old fool, do you expect our way to survive without power? It’s- ”
Noticing Kira’s presence, the advisor hurriedly stepped back and cleared his throat. Even to those with power, the Stormchasers reputation held respect above all. Glaring meaningfully at the Elder, he turned to vault from the wagon and back into the dust.
The Elder turned to Kira with an apologetic smile.
“Malik grows concerned about our dwindling fuel supply,” he said, tapping lightly on the vibrating generator. “He lacks faith that She will guide us on the right path, as She always has.”
Grunting with the effort, he slowly lowered himself into his chair. “Truly, I do not blame him for his worries. The year has not been kind to us.” He gestured to the seat opposite. “Please, sit.”
Shifting uncomfortably on her feet, Kira did not move.
“If it would please you Elder, I would give you my report. There is… a matter of some urgency for you to attend to.”
The Elder nodded and waved his hand for her to continue.
“Her walls breached the outer city at dusk the day before last, as we predicted. As instructed, Petyr and I scouted the northernmost edge of the ruins as swiftly as the Storm allowed.”
Her gaze dropping to the floor uncertainly, Kira hesitated. The situation was new ground for her; for them all.
Sitting forward in his chair impatiently, the Elder hurried her on. “And the station? The charging station – does it stand?”
“I… we did not reach the station before I was forced to return, Elder.”
The Elder’s chair was nearly knocked over when he rose to his feet.
“Forced? The station is our highest priority!”
“Yes, Elder. Though Petyr remains to search the city, I had no choice but to return with what we found. You… you will understand when I show you. Please, follow.”
Ahead of the Elder’s wagon, Kira’s wheel was surrounded by a shouting throng of nomads. Supported by Kira, the Elder limped along the street towards it. He could see them staring and gesticulating at something lying on the floor in front of the vehicle. As the crowd noticed his presence and respectfully parted to allow him through, the object on the floor came into horrifying focus. He froze.
“It can’t be…”
Kira knelt beside down beside it, brushing off dust that had blown up from the street.
“We found it in an old building only a few hours into the city. It must have been there for days, but the Storm had only just breached the outer city last night.” She stood and turned to the Elder, who was still staring open mouthed at the ground. “How can this be possible? What could have done this to her?”
Without responding, the Elder fell to his knees.
Lying limp on the floor, with a chest punctured with dozens of bloodied holes, was the broken body of a young girl.
| 2015-02-07T18:52:18 | 2015-02-07T16:23:42 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good."
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"Yeah, it's a potato. Have you never had one before?" I asked.
"Never. It seems pretty interesting. Do these grow on trees?"
"No, uhhh, they actually grow in the ground."
"Amazing. I've never heard of them before."
"You've never had a french fry?"
"A what?"
"A french fry, from McDonald's?"
"I've never heard of them. Are they expensive?"
"What? No, fries are cheap."
"Oh, that's amazing. I'll have to start looking out for them. Are they imported from France?"
"No, it's just a name. You've really never heard of potatoes?"
"Never! But they're really tasty!"
"That's umm... really interesting, son," I told him. "You know, in celebration of your first dinner with us, I baked up a special dessert. I'll be right back."
Me and the missus went back into the kitchen and just started dying laughing. Yeah, this little punk thought he was playing me, but just because I'm old doesn't mean I've never heard of Reddit. On the contrary, I'm a karma-whoring, Dagobah-swamping, The_Donald-trollin', Blacktwitter-following, certified 5/7 shitposter from way back and everybody knows it. I’ve been ShittyMorphed, Wild Sketched, and gotten a poem for my sprog (whatever the fuck that is). I could do an AMA with two broken arms. Potatoes. Fuck him and his potatoes. We quickly whipped up a little something for dessert and came back out.
"Are you ready for a treat?" my wife asked.
"Oh, yummy, after the potato I'm really excited to see what else you guys make," the little punk answered.
"Our favorite," I said, "a coconut and some jolly ranchers. Enjoy!"
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'Yeah, potatoes don't really grow around here. My dad sometimes sends them from up north,' I informed him.
&#x200B;
'Do they taste good?'
&#x200B;
'I dunno, try 'em.'
&#x200B;
He held a spoonful of it, inquisitively, slowly raising it to his mouth. He stuck out his tongue, testing the waters. Needless to say, he liked it. Everyone likes my grandmother's potato recipe.
&#x200B;
'Don't forget to eat your asparagus, now!'
&#x200B;
Both my daughter and her boyfriend groaned. It's always a hassle getting them to eat their veggies.
&#x200B;
'If you eat everything on your plate, you guys can go to the park afterwards.'
&#x200B;
After some pretty skilled negotiating on my part, they managed to finish everything. Truly an amazing trade deal.
&#x200B;
'Now, you two don't stay out \*too\* late. School starts tomorrow. Be back by 7.'
'But that's only 1 hour!' She started pouting.
&#x200B;
'I want you to be up early. Besides, his mom's gonna be here soon. I called her before dinner.'
&#x200B;
With that, they were off. I've never understood love at such a young age. It's not long before she breaks up with this boyfriend and finds a new one in her class. As long as she's not having problems, I don't think I need to stick my nose in that.
&#x200B;
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| 2018-09-22T11:38:18 | 2018-09-22T10:52:49 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] You're an immortal being of a unimaginable power, befriended by a young human. The human has made you a member of his family, and has made you promise not to destroy the world. But this morning, someone killed your human.
My first writing post - hopefully its not a copy or breaking rules.
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Legend has it, only a god can kill another god. After the battle of Mount Olympus, I fear that I'm the only one left. Life has been a slow drag for the last few millennia. I live my life in the mountains, away from civilization. Seeing those pathetic little ants just infuriates me! They have the one thing that I could never obtain. They all have an expiration date. The human year is 1955, monks from the local village heard a rumor that I was still around. Soon, I had handfuls of humans coming to see me, wanting knowledge. Of course, they just want something from me. All they want is wisdom, of which I have plenty. I indulged their curiosity but after a few years I noticed they started to slow down. From their first visit to now, 20 years later, only one monk remained. He shares with me that he just fathered a daughter. He's standing in front of me, gleaming, it was almost laughable. But he did something unexpected... He asked me to come down from my mountain and bless his daughter. I never could have expected such kindness from a human. We walk down the mountain together, locked in conversation.
"I thought monks were forbidden from a romantic relationship", I broached.
The monk keels over, cackling like a maniac,
"you think I could ever be a monk? Oh hell no, I came here seeking friendship. Several years ago, my doctor discovered a brain tumor, inoperable. I was given a year to live, at most. Slowly my friends vanished, I was left with nobody. Except you, you have taught me so many things."
A friend?! This man has been seeing me for years because he wanted a friend?! Why? Humans used to be terrified of me. I couldn't possibly imagine that he's telling me the tru-
"Can I ask you a favor"
breaks my train of thought
"Of course, my friend, what can I do for you"
"Will you be the godfather of my daughter?"
"I am, uh, i am not sure I understand the concept. I am a god but alas, I am no father"
The rest of the walk he explains to me the role of this so called Godfather. We reach his village and his wife was feeding their newborn. I couldn't help but laugh, I've seen warriors emerge from war looking better than this woman in front of me.
"Oh and one last thing Ares?"
"Yes, my friend?"
I still can't believe I have a friend.
"If you are going to watch over my daughter, you can't be out destroying the world."
"I can do that, Zacharey"
-this is my first attempt at a wp, part 2 will be written if you guys enjoy.
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I didn't know how I came into being. I didn't know why. I didn't even remember when. But most importantly?
I didn't know if there was anyone else.
I spent trillions of years floating through the cosmos, looking for life. Eventually, I found a planet. There had been planets like it before, but this one was special, I knew it. And I was right. There were many creatures on this planet, but there were quite a few that looked similar to me. I stayed with these creatures for many years, and they gave me many names. Alexander, Ivan, Genghis, and Napoleon were but some of them. Eventually, I tired of what they called 'conquest'. I spent some years wandering. Eventually, I came to a place called 'Dublin'. There, I found a woman was in need. I normally didn't help mortals, but that day I felt generous. After I freed her attackers from their mortal coils, she invited me to her house. I initially objected, but even I got hungry now and again. She had a few other humans at her house, all of varying degrees of interesting. However, the woman, whose name was Sara apparently, captivated me for some reason. I had never felt this way about a human before. She told me it was called 'love', and that she felt it too. Not too long after we started 'dating', I told her my secret. She did not believe me at first, but I have ways of convincing people. She knew I had a history of destruction, so she asked I promis that no matter what happen, I never take to conquest again.
A few days later, we walking when a car came screeching around the corner. All of a sudden, someone in the back reached out of the window with something in his hand. I quickly realized what was and ran to protect Sara, but I was too late. Before I could reach her, I saw the muzzle flash and she crumpled to the ground. She died in my arms. I did not normally show my power, but I took off after the car. I didn't catch up to them while they were on the road, but once they parked, I unleashed my full fury on them. I broke them. But before I ripped the last one's head from his shoulders, I asked him who ordered this. He told me, and asked if I would spare him. Just for his ignorance, instead of beheading him I crucified him. Now, I had options on what to do next. I used what they called television to get my message across: whoever had killed my girlfriend would be brought to justice.
| 2017-08-10T15:33:58 | 2017-08-10T15:03:51 | 141 | 23 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
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How to ask a girl on a date.
How to ask a girl on a cheap date.
How to ask a girl to coffee.
How to ask girl on date after rejection.
How to get girl to like me.
How to disengage home alarm.
How to disengage home alarm without knowing code.
Are garages alarmed?
How to enter house through garage.
How to enter house through garage +quietly.
Where to buy security cameras.
Where to buy small security cameras.
How to install security cameras.
How to install hidden security cameras.
How to install hidden security cameras +webfeed.
Can the police track my webfeed?
How to hide from police.
How to survive in jail.
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Why is the sky blue?
How far away is Uranus?
Why do mom and dad fight so much?
How to impress girls
Porn
Good date ideas
Porn
Where can I get the morning after pill?
How do I know when I should propose?
Good proposal ideas?
Cheap engagement rings
How to be a good parent
How to tell your parents they're grandparents
Good girl names
Ways to comfort your wife
How do I tell people we had a miscarriage?
Good boy names
Death of spouse support groups
Painless ways to kill yourself
| 2015-02-04T20:18:04 | 2015-02-04T16:12:00 | 50 | 23 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick of being ignored and insulted all the time, so they join the bad guys. They are a much more effective villain than anyone thought possible.
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No one cared about Atrxia when he was casting spells to keep Lugh alive when he had a tusk the size of a roofbeam rammed through his gut. Lugh just pulled himself further onto the tusk to get that one foot closer so he could jab the demonboar in the eye and blenderize his brains.
No one cared when Atraxia was keeping the air pure when they traversed the bog of eternal stench. Not one thank you kindly.
No it was all make the camp fire Atrxia, set up the tent we have to go scouting.
Or when in battle, couldn't you hurl a fire ball or do that holy thing that kills zombies?
Atrxia was a healer, not chef nor a priest, no what have you. What did they expect?
That's why he'd joined a new team. The new team he'd joined actually appreciated the fact his magic could be used to make people nigh Immortal. Rasek even thanked Atraxia when he kept the spearman alive after his head and body were severed and covered in third degree burns. All healed up and reattached now. Very grateful.
Atraxia was even expanding his healing repertoire now. He was figuring out how to cure mental disorders. He was fairly certain if he ever ran into his old team he could heal their ungratefulness and they could be a team again under new leadership.
He was certain it'd happen, his new team was currently planning on healing the King of Tatpace. And his old team was supposedly guarding the king.
Atraxia had to sneak in and heal the king before the peace summit. The king couldn't possibly be in his right mind if he thought peace was what the world needed right now. No, he needed healing.
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It’s a funny thing, healing. You have to have such an intimate knowledge of anatomy, whether it be human or orc or elf. You need to know how the body works; triggers for pain, and pleasure. The proper way to break a bone, or heal a hurt. So often on a precipice of which making a mistake means maiming or possibly killing your patient.
Many years ago, before the fall of the Empire of Daaz and the rise of the dread-lords, I was a member of a mercenary group that worked on behalf of local municipalities and fiefdoms. I was their healer, and I did splendid and fantastic works of healing and resurrection that have not been seen since the times of the saints. But my crew did not appreciate my skill or my great mercy. I got to loot last, was treated with mockery and disrespect, and and other forms of subjugation just because I was too clever to wield a sword or string a bow, because I had a higher calling and a greater purpose!
Pah. I swore I would show them my true power one day. I stand at the shoulders of giants now, trusted with the well-being of the greatest men and women of our time. Even Kvan the Cruel understands blood-debt, and more times than he can count I’ve saved him and his men. All on the word of a promise. Kvan’s promise; to wreak revenge on my former group.
They were killed, today, in the castle dungeon. I made sure that it wasn’t quick, with every time much of skill I have. I can bring a man from the brink of death back to life, you see. Over and over and over and over again.
| 2019-03-05T14:43:39 | 2019-03-05T14:14:27 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] The superheroes and supervillains are angry with you because you help them both but they can't kill you because you're too valuable. You remind them, "look, I'm a doctor with healing powers following the medical code, it doesn't matter who my patients are! Stop whining about it!"
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I would say that the hardest part of my job is saving lives.
Namely, saving heroes and villains from killing each other in my spotless hospital rooms the moment they wake up.
"Why am I in the same room as this creep?" said the Liberty Lancer, or better known as Rachel Weiss while in hospital clothes.
The creep, in today's instance, is Kage--Brooklyn Lee.
"And I categorically refuse to be in the same room as this piece of--"
I opened the room door, then, and my nurse, Bryan, looked at me with an all-too-familiar expression: a cocktail mix of "the same old shit again," and "oh my god, I can finally get out of here."
Brooklyn and Rachel turned their eyes on me then, and their shouting match became muted instantly.
"Is there a problem?" I said, as Bryan sneakily backed away into the hallway, before turning into a full sprint to, presumably, the break room.
"Doc," Rachel began her protest in earnest. "Kage and I don't mix. You know that."
In a rare show of agreement, Brooklyn nodded.
"You mix because we don't have enough room," I said, crossing my arms. I found that it helped make me more imposing, though I'm not sure if it made my words more convincing. Evidently not, because Kage was quick to speak up.
"Doctor," Brooklyn said. "Please, I implore you to reconsider your stance. Separating us is simply better for the long run."
"Honestly, I don't need people who destroy the city on a regular basis to tell me what's better for the long run," I said.
The two pointed at each other accusingly, as if the two--whether it's ideology or for the side they are fighting for--weren't equally responsible for turning buildings into rubble. Incidentally, it's why I pay through the nose for insurance. But I suppose the respective leagues are also paying through the nose for *me* to be their insurance.
"But I'm sure the West Lake Virtuous League has enough for me to be in a private ward," sulked Rachel.
"As do the Evil Eight," Brooklyn lifted his head up pompously.
"Sure," I said. "Lancer, would you like to ask the Dark Queen for her bed?"
At one of the city's foremost villainess' name, Rachel's sulk deepened even further, but no more words came out.
"And Kage," I said. "What about you? Fancy being smote while checking in with the Paladin?"
The city's Superman shut Brooklyn up quickly.
"That's what I thought," I smiled as professionally as I could, before bowing and backing out of the room. "And remember--your life is in our hands."
---
r/dexdrafts
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Part 1 of 2
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"Please come in."
Dark Menace was wearing regular clothes. A plain brown polo shirt and blue jeans this time. He always wore polo shirts to my office, so unlike his over the top super-villain costume. For someone that wants to destroy privacy, he really enjoys his own.
"So, how can I help you today?
"DoctorkillSilverhield." He rushed through the words.
"Sorry, can you say that again?
"Ahem, Doctor. I want you to kill Silver Shield."
"I don't think I could kill a superhero, much less should."
"Yes you can. Her skin is soft and smooth, any injection will do. I know she comes to see you."
"Apologies, Sir Menace, but I won't do it. I follow the medical code, I'll heal them no matter their identity."
"Well, I just came upon a little secret of yours. If you don't do as I say it will become public knowledge!"
"What little secret?"
Dark Menace came to me and showed the screen of his phone. I looked at it and stared into his eyes.
"Fine, I'll do it."
"Perfect!" He had the biggest smile I'd ever seen.
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So the days passed and I had almost forgotten about my talk with him until his arch-nemesis made an appointment.
"Please come in, Silver Shield."
She was also wearing regular clothes. A yellow floral blouse and jeans. She came inside and took a seat.
"I know that you are helping Dark Menace. It needs to stop, now."
"I'm sorry Silver Shield, but I can't do it. I made a vow as a doctor to cure anyone that comes to me. Just like I'm helping you right now."
I was cleaning her shoulder with alcohol and preparing the injection.
"He's a villain! If you want to help people the best that you can do is stop helping him!"
"I don't really think you want me to let him die, do you?" I walked to get a long glass vial and emptied its honey-colored contents into the injection.
"Are you questioning my honor?"
"No of course not, only your intentions." I injected the yellow contents into the woman's arm.
"Explain yourself, Doctor."
"He knows you are here." I threw the injection into the trashcan.
"What? What did you put in me?!" The woman's face was filled with terror.
The door opened and Dark Menace stood in the doorway.
Silver Shield stood up and got into fighting position.
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Edit: some grammar and editing
| 2021-08-01T11:11:47 | 2021-08-01T10:22:08 | 650 | 85 |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer.
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Every starting volunteer gets a manual on "how to be a volunteer without dying" it had everything in it. The elephant in the room of course that the book mainly covers is how to handle being told phrases like "die" or "kill yourself" or "kill someone else". The book lists a different solution to each problem. For "die" one could choose to dye their clothes another color, as both words are pronounced the same way. Kill yourself is a two man job, where one man takes a pill to stop his own heart, and another man uses the defibrillator and an antidote to start it back up. Finally, the phrases that tell you to murder another are more tricky to handle and methods of handling these type of phrases have changed throughout the years. Originally the method was to deliver a small dose of poison that was so slow that even a baby could live a long and healthy life before the poison took them. This was later outlawed when a volunteer messed up the dosage and killed his target in 13 minuets. Next, the volunteers were given a button that supposedly killed their targets (these jobs were only given to the truly ruthless volunteers mind you) but it didn't take long for the hit men to realize the button doesn't actually do anything. Which brings us to today. Now the task is given to death row inmates who are currently killed before they have the chance to kill. But even this faces a problem, currently judges are looking into deciding whether this is a cruel and unusual punishment. If it is, then our top men will have to think of something else again.
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It hadn’t always been this difficult. At first, when we still had our denial at least somewhat active, people knew on some level what could reasonably be asked for from someone. Many still have this understanding, but not because they have the ability to deny, but because they know the feeling of fear associated with being unable to deny.
Some don’t know this feeling at all. These were the first ones to recognize the power they now had over others.
I work as a volunteer in this society, I intervene when a person comes to me with a request they themselves, for whatever reason, are not comfortable fulfulling. Not because it pays well, because it usually doesn’t. I do it to help alleviate the fear a person feels when they accept a request, knowing that one request leads to more, and suddenly you’re no longer the person you were, and you’ve become just an object that fulfills the requests of others.
The only danger associated with my job is not knowing how far down this request has come. How many denials or referrals did this request take before it got to me? And who did it come from, and more importantly, why? There are rumors of corruption in the legal system. There are exemptions for volunteers when a “bad” request is made, but this has also caused instability for the jobs of those working in law enforcement. When their pay is based on fulfiling a quota of catching criminals, the volunteer is a danger to their way of life.
| 2016-04-03T14:11:44 | 2016-04-03T11:52:19 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] Your teleported to 44BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you're from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How do I die?"
Weewwww never knew my prompt would gain so much attention, thanks guys for all the interesting stories and comments
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*“Tell me, how do I die?”* Caesar asks me in a language that seems familiar, but unavoidably foreign. Being an ignorant American, I naturally have no idea what the hell he is saying because I exclusively speak in poorly-worded English.
By some immeasurable stroke of luck however, my phone is still operational, as is my translator app. Wow. I should write in to Verizon, they can advertise that you’ll still get 4G-LTE after exposure to a temporal rift.
*”Eyyyy?!”* Caesar says to me, impatience resonating in his voice.
I use my translator to promptly say, *“What do you want?”*
Startled at first by the magical rectangle in my hand, Caesar warms up to it quickly. With a determined voice, he speaks into the phone. *“How will I die?”*
Not being a history buff, I quickly give his question an internet search. The first result is what I need, and it begins loading up when some large man in a robe similar to Caesar’s approaches excitedly. He begins conversing with the emperor, and the two seem to be arguing, but far too quickly for my translator to register.
After the two finish their conversation, the large, bearded man gives me a puzzled, untrusting stare, and shuffles off. Caesar motions to my phone, so I bring it to his face, translator ready.
*“That was my dear friend Brutus. He and other senators have requested my presence for an urgent matter. When I return we will continue our conversation about my future.”*
I nod to show my understanding, and Caesar gives me two thumbs up and a big smile, a gesture I had shown him earlier. He walks away in the same direction his friend had gone. What a cooky guy.
Brutus. The name sounds awfully familiar. I shrug my shoulders and look back at my phone, exiting the translator app. A curiosity washes over me as I open up an internet enabled calendar, to see if it has updated to pinpoint exactly what year I’m stuck in. To my astonishment, the exact date appears on the screen: March 15, 44 BC.
Wow technology is absolutely crazy. I begin to hear an uproar from a nearby temple, with lots of shouting and alarms being sounded, but that’s been pretty commonplace since I’ve arrived. Rome sure is a noisy place. I pull out my earbuds, start listening to some jams, and begin scrolling through my social feeds as various guards and other people run by. Reddit will not believe the day I’ve had.
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Scenario 1: "Oh. That's an easy question. You die an excruciatingly painful death, by the hands of those who you call friends."
This would probably result in him killing me in a rage. Oh, and would probably result in the history of the world since 44BC changing beyond recognition. But who cares about that last part.
Scenario 2: "You die by choking 5 years later. It was your dinner."
Again. He would probably kill me in a rage. The timeline would be preserved, but there's no point in the integrity of the timeline if I'm not around to see it.
Ah. What should I choose? Choices choices choices.
Ah hah! How about...
_____________________________________________________
(Sorry for the 4th wall break, but, for mobile users who can't see the underline, the perspective of the story has just been changed to another character.)
No way.
No fucking way.
I, Julius Caesar, would be the first person to achieve immortality?
If that foreigner, whose name I never caught, was telling me the truth, that my reign would last a thousand years, that the flag of Rome would be seen across the lands, as North as Gaul and as East as the Han's land, then by the name of Jupiter, I need to change my name to something more epic.
Something more "Holy shit". Something that incites the feeling of strength.
"How about 'Caesar the Great'? Sounds fitting." said the foreigner.
Not bad. I'll call in a meeting for the Senate to rename the entire place, as well as to notify them of my change of titles.
I can't wait until Brutus hears the news.
_____________________________________________________
(Again, sorry for the 4th wall break)
Well that was easy.
Seems like the integrity of the timeline was preserved. And to make it better, I'm now going home with about 100 kilograms of gold!
"Set course for Xiangang, China, on the 16th of February, 2018."
"I'm sorry I can't do that, u/dummie1138"
"What? Why not?"
"The area you call 'Xiangang' is neither called 'Xiangang' nor controlled by the Great Ming Empire. Setting course for the 16th of February, 2018 to Hong Kong(UK)."
Well fuck.
_____________________________________________________
If you didn't hate that, please suggest a good AI name. I could really use one.
| 2018-02-15T20:47:22 | 2018-02-15T20:35:40 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand.
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"Ummmm, Professor"
"Yes Rickie, what do you have to add to the conversation?"
Looking at the others 2 humans in the class, he shrugs his shoulders and turns back to Professor G'lat. "I think your research is a bit... incorrect. Humans were never peaceful. Not even close. Those examples you gave were the exception not the rule."
Leaning against the desk, Prof G'lat looked over the group and sighed. "Rickie. Just because you are human doesn't make you the expert in human history. Before the Glok'nar invasion of Earth, all the sources show you were a peaceful people and your current aggressive natures are the result of Earth being destroyed and fighting for your species survival. The 2 major video graphic records that remain of pre-invasion Earth show that you were a peaceful people interesting in art, science and inclusivity. The tribal and xenophobia tendencies are only a few hundred years old."
Opening this mouth to say something, G'lat interrupted him again. "Rickie, I know you disagree with me but you are simply wrong. The refugee Terrans were full of myths of genocides, wars, tribalism and savagery. We simply can not find any supporting evidence of that being true."
Sighing a bit "Prof G'lat. All of that is true. Those myths were real. We had a number of wars, people killing people because they had different political ideas or skin color. People would attack people over the slightest transgressions. Humans have always been agressive and warlike. If it wasn't for the invasion, it is a really good chance we would have taken over this section of space and forced all the races to kneel that were left."
G'lat let out a squak that was his race's version of a laugh and stood tall. "So Rickie, you are telling me that Fred Rogers, Bob Ross and Bill Nye are exceptions to the rule of humans being peaceful? I find that hard to believe. Now be quiet."
Rickie and the other humans rolled their eyes and sighed heavily.
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"Yes, Human Dave?"
"I wouldn't say that what you presented us is false, but the truth is far broader than your, dare I say, well doctored material shows."
The class murmured. Some looked at each other nervously, other began to whisper to each other as the facial structure of the professor expressed internal conflict.
"If it isn't false how can it be doctored? I didn't miss anything in alien-available materials and databases!"
Human Dave frowned and stroked his hair.
"Well, I do not mean to insult your data gathering methods, but because you used only alien-available resources without consulting with any human historian there's a rather monstrous hole in your theory, which as a human I am happy to fill. If you do not mind I'd like to assume your role for a moment to show you and the class some material regarding humans coming from a human database."
After more murmuring from the class and a moment of thought the professor agreed. Human Dave approached the main console, plugged his omni and put a video file on screen.
"Before I start I'd like the class to understand that life evolved on Earth based on efficiency, adaptability, but above all else competition. The faster, stronger, smarter and more durable organism pushed the less fortune ones into extinction or servitude. Even after the evolution was slowed to a grinding halt because humans started using tools stronger ruled the weaker and smarter exploited the dumber. The following video file is a fictional representation of real historical events accompanied with a song, released together as a music video in Earth's year of 1998 A.C. After the video I'll explain the shown events and take questions. Be advised, the material presented is explicit and may trigger strong, psychological reactions. Discretion is advised"
Human Dave proceeded to show the class the video file (for convenience also located here: ["Pearl Jam - Do the Evolution"](https://youtu.be/aDaOgu2CQtI) ), explained the shown events and answered questions of those who had stomached the file and explanations.
Professor was not one of those.
| 2022-10-17T06:28:16 | 2022-10-17T06:08:41 | 85 | 38 |
[WP] The Illuminati is actually a gentlemen's club for the super-rich. Often men make high risk and dangerous bets/wagers such as: "I bet you can't destabilize Ukraine in under a week." One day you offer a wager to the most powerful member that's too irresistible to turn down.
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I've always had a thing for risk.
At sixteen, I placed my first bet. $20 on the Super Bowl. Watching every play on the edge of my seat, I knew I'd found something special.
From there on, the bets got bigger; and bolder.
$200 on a high school softball game? Entertainment.
$250 on the Lithuanian women's rugby squad?
Warm-up.
$600 on whether or not I get arrested this weekend?
Why the fuck not?
When I outgrew friendly bets, I moved to online websites. The possibilities were endless. Eventually though, I wanted the real thing.
Vegas baby. Coke and strippers in all their glory. The only thing easier than making a few grand was getting laid. That's where I found the formula that would change my life.
By the time I had graduated college, I had profited several hundred thousand dollars over the course of four years. I would go on to use this capital and formula to create Investment Entertainment, the first ever sports-based mutual fund.
We catered mostly to older white men and, after my first million, they just kept coming.
Soon my clients included the rich and famous. Names such as Bill Gates, Jay-Z, and Justin Timberlake were regular "investors". That's how I got in.
As a glorified bookie, they soon took me under their wing. European coasts, exotic women, and the finest drugs became normal for me. I knew I was in, just not quite all the way. You know when a group likes you, but something is just off? That was me. I wanted, no, needed initiation.
One night, after a long day in the sun, that chance came.
Justin looked up from his scotch and said,
"Listen Shadrach, you're a good kid. We like what you're doing and want you to keep doing it. Hell, we want you here. Question is, do you want to be here?"
Now, when Justin fuckin' Timberlake invites you in, you don't think. You say yes.
Nearly choking on my cigar, I managed to sputter "Yes".
I could hear Jay-Z snickering at my enthusiasm but I didn't care- I was in!
As if he already knew what I would answer, Justin continued, "Here's the deal. We know you have brains. We know you have guts. We want to know if you have balls. What is the most audacious bet you would be willing to take?"
I thought for a minute. After all, this was right up my wheel house. I looked slowly around the plush interior of our room. As I did, a smile spread across my face. I knew what I had to do.
Turning to my right and with all the confidence I could muster I said,
"Jay, I"ll bet you $100 million that not only will I turn Beyoncé against you, but that I will also convince her to write an album about it named "Lemonade" in honor of the piss I am about to take on your life."
Jay responded, "If you havin' girl problems I feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems and a bitch ain't one. You've got a deal."
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"Will you do it?"
The probie leaned back into his battered leather armchair, contemplating the enormity of the request with steepled fingers, just failing to hide trembling lips. Audacious was too pedestrian a word for the scale and horror of the opportunity presented to him.
"It's never been done" he muttered, though teeth stained by champagne and cigars.
"Oh it most certainly has been done. But he grew too attached to the trappings of the position, and failed to walk away when agreed."
I saw dull confusion spread across his pasty face as he struggled to absorb this revelation. New money: they were all the same. Parents too busy forging their successes in the boardroom to groom their children properly for a life in the back room, where all the real decisions were made. The finest education money could buy, and not a shred of wisdom.
"It will take a lot of money." He was nervous now, as expected. His need for acceptance, long obvious to those such as we, was all that kept him in that chair and not dashing out to his waiting chauffer in panic. Or perhaps he had some inkling of the consequences such a lapse in judgement would invite.
"More than you know." My eyes fixed unblinking on his.
"And for me? Everything you promised?" A badly disguised play for the last exit, couched as bargaining. Truly this one was an open book.
"Everything. Full membership."
And he was bought and paid for. There was no greater motivating daemon for a man than his own mortality; to have it promised away, and by someone 115 years old and thought long dead but visibly in the prime of their life, was not something any ordinary fool could resist.
This one was as ordinary as fools came. Perfect, as it turned out, for our purposes.
"Hell yeah. Let's do it." Empty bravado over an empty soul. Ugh. Now for the firm hand - offer the prize, then threaten to take it away.
"Know this. You will maintain the deception until you die. Our power and reach are limitless, and you will wish for death if you betray us."
A nod.
"You will believe what we tell you to believe. You will claim, and promise, what we tell you to. When the time comes for you to ascend the podium to accept your prize, you will say the words we tell you to say, step down, and return to us to witness the inferno they spark; as the people consume themselves in shame at their own folly. Finish what George could not."
The probie muttered quietly into the subcutaneous bug he didn't know he had, as he gargled the last of his champagne and stumbled out of the private room.
I was still chuckling at that last defiance when my friend and co-conspirator joined me, three hundred year old brandy in hand.
"Do you know what that buffoon said, Rupert?" I whispered, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
"Tell me, Ronald."
"I don't need your words. I know words. I have the best words."
| 2016-08-23T18:05:50 | 2016-08-23T17:17:24 | 52 | 15 |
[WP] Multi-dimensional travel already exists, but no one visits our dimension because it's "that" one
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It wasn’t that dimension 13E was too unstable, there was plenty of more unstable dimensions in the multi-verse.
It wasn’t like it was the one with the most dangerous inhabitants either, there were dragons and actual beasts in other worlds. 13E just had their myths and fairy tales.
No, 13E was specifically banned because of a dangerous plague that was unique to the dominant species. It seemed too risky to let them know about space travel, especially since it risked the spread of the horrid affliction; *Memes*.
Memes seemed to be the main cause of terrible ‘Viral’ sensations that would sweep through the populous, sometimes dozens at one time.
It was safer to keep them quarantined, lest the Meme plague proved contagious to the other species of the multi-verse.
Especially because of the affliction known as an “Ear Worm” which seemed particularly contagious. The one called Nyan Cat had infected more people than lived in some of the other worlds of the muti-verse!
*No, it was much better they remain isolated*
-Fin-
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They had reached their peak. The zenith of humanity personified. Peace reigned amongst the nations, and no one could be happier. The same could be said about the plethora of other dimensions. Except, of course, for *that* one.
It had begun as an experiment. Allow the people the control they so badly desired. But what did the people know?
How could they be wise enough to choose the right path? How could the sheep choose a shepherd?
Just look at how they turned out. Slaves to technology, to society, to their governments. It wasn't freedom. Knowingly choosing the wrong leader was far worse a form of enslavement than what they had.
How much better it was this way. They didn't know right from wrong, and they weren't expected to choose. Their benevolent leader, may he live forever and be healthy, chose for them.
But what was one bad dimension when there were so many others from which to choose?
*Subject 28874. Your break is over. Return to your station.*
| 2017-12-24T05:10:16 | 2017-12-24T02:46:39 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] A watch is invented where it says exactly how long until you meet your soulmate. You decide to get one for you and one for your wife. Your wife’s watch says ’negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours and 9 minutes’, the day you two met. Yours says ’12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes’.
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I love my wife. And because I love her, when she asked me for one of those stupid watches that tell you the moment you'll meet your soulmate, I went and bought two for us.
I didn't expect our times to be different.
Hers had the exact moment we met, 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours, and 9 minutes ago. I remember that moment so clearly, as I went to pick up the girl I had been talking to online for weeks for our first date. She was stunning, even more than I could have imagined. I knew she was going to be my soulmate, if there even was such a thing, right then, but apparently it was only I that was hers.
My watch had 12 days, 8 hours, and 29 minutes left.
The love of my life noticed the moment I put the watch on and I saw her face crumple. She was trying not to cry and honestly, I was too. This woman was my everything and I had no doubt she was the only one for me. I told her that she was the light of my world and no one could make me as happy as she did. That she was the only one I would ever want and that whoever the watch thought I should be waiting for couldn't compare to her. That I would never love them as much and didn't care to ever meet them.
I was wrong.
My wife wasn't angry with me, she knew I loved her with everything I had and she loved me back. We planned how wonderful the rest of our lives would be with our newborn child. We were so excited.
With 8 hours and 37 minutes left and the watch forgotten, we rushed to the hospital. A few days past due but my wife was finally in labor and we were giddy. Once we were there, we discovered our baby had gotten the umbilical cord wrapped around their throat and needed an emergency C-section. During the surgery, a nurse came out, calling for me. I hadn't even considered that my wife could get hurt before that. I was so stunned when she told me my wife wouldn't carry our baby home with me, wouldn't fight with me over whose turn it was to take care of them in the middle of the night, wouldn't watch our little one grow up, wouldn't grow old with me. She hadn't made it. My world fell apart.
But then they brought me our child. She looked just like her mama and I knew I had to be strong for both of them, for my wife who wanted to be here and for our child who needed me. I named her Lila James, just like her mama wanted. I knew I was going to give this little girl everything I could and that she was my greatest treasure.
When Lila started crawling, she found both of the watches under the living room sofa. I looked at mine and realized that 7 months, 6 days, 13 hours, and 8 minutes ago was the most challenging day of my life. I went to the shop to tell them their watches were full of it and they should be ashamed for selling faulty technology full of empty promises. They told me that the watches aren't really a measure for soulmates so much as they are for the person you will love the most. That's when I realized that while my wife was the one and only love of my life, our baby girl was who I loved most. She was the most precious thing I had and all that was left of her mother.
I still love my wife, and I adore our Lila James. Now, I wear both of our watches to remind myself of my two greatest blessings.
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12 Days to Go.
“For fucks sake, man!” I asserted. “I even look at all these girls here and think *are you the one? Are you the one?*” My best friend, Jon, looked at his phone, then at the care-worn bar and back to me.
“Bro, I really think you’re blowing this out of proportion.” Jon shot back.
Jon and I have been friends since I moved here in the 8th grade. I’ve never had another person I could trust with my secrets with more so than him. Together we sat at the bar. People filtered past us to the left and to the right. An old guy here; a hot chick there. The usual I guess.
I told him about the watch. How could I have been so stupid? Upon activation, it tells you when you are supposed to meet your ‘soulmate’. Seriously, TimeCorp has been coming up with some off-the-wall shit lately. I thought it would be cute to buy a pair and give one to Shelly during a night out. In retrospect, I should have at least activated mine before we left, just to make sure. Then at least, I could have prepared myself for what was to come.
There we sat at the table; a little Vietnamese place we liked to go to. The Pho was out of this world. Our night was wrapping up and we only had but a few more hours before we had to pick up our 4-year-old son from a friend’s house. That’s when I pulled out the long and decorative jewelry boxes.
“Oh, what’s this?” She asked, eyebrow perked. I’ve seen those eyes a hundred times. Those were the you-just-hit-it-out-of-the-park eyes. If I played my cards right here, I know what was to come later...
“Just open it!” I asserted. We opened our boxes at the same time. The beautiful blue brushed aluminum sparkled. The soft deer leather wrist bands perfectly complimented the piece. “All you have to do,” I began, slightly nervous, “is place your thumb on the face of the watch. It will then tell you when you are to meet your soulmate.”
After a second, Shelly smiled coyly. Her eyes met mine directly as she forcefully placed her thumb on the device. I did the same. In unison, a sexy female voice emanated from our watches. *Thank you for investing in TimeCorp Technologies. Enjoy your timepiece!* Bold red digital letters and numbers appeared on the face of our displays. Shelly gasped in satisfaction. I gasped in horror.
November 1, 2012 Her display read. “Aww! It’s perfect!” she exclaimed. It made her night. *It made her fucking night*. As it turns out, the day her and I met is what was displayed on her watch. I, on the other hand, swallowed the lump in my throat. “What does yours say?” She excitedly asked. I nearly shit myself. Time slowed as I looked down at my watch, then back at her.
“Well babe, mine of course says the same thing!” I lied. Shelly smiled. I took a large swig of my Heineken. She started taking pictures of her watch, surely to brag to her sister. My breathing became heavy. My eyes darted around the little restaurant and my hands started to shake. I stared into my half-finished bowl of spicy soup and wished it could swallow me whole.
I’m so fucked.
| 2018-01-06T19:20:45 | 2018-01-06T18:48:37 | 537 | 46 |
[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.
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I walked silently through the deserted town, tracing my fingers along the side of a wall, feeling it crumble beneath my touch. Around me, trees withered and died, their leaves shifting from green to sickly yellow to deathly gray, before they collapsed to ash. I could feel the very air getting colder, the light caress of the wind on my face becoming sharp and frigid. I was certain that the sunlight falling on me was dimmer than before.
I turned around, gazing at the barren ruin my power had created. Behind me, the sidewalk was cracked and faded. I could see the disintegrating imprints my footsteps had left on the ground. I could see the dust drifting up around me as I stayed in one place for too long, giving my power too much of a grip on the environment. A few minutes more and the very ground would fragment into a thousand pieces. I sat down with a depressing finality, trying not to remember the horror of receiving my powers, of touching my friends and watching them age a thousand years in a few heartbeats, of staring numbly at my hands as people fled in a panic from me. I was a monster. There was no doubting that. My power was born of my dark subconsciousness, birthed from self-hatred and a desire to end it all.
The concrete at my feet split open, spiderweb fractures spreading outwards. I closed my eyes. My face was set in a smile as the crevice yawned open and I fell towards the darkness underneath.
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People never really saw me for who I am, they saw a facade. I put on a calm, brave face, but in reality I was a raging inferno of hatred just waiting to unleash my fury. It had been this way my whole life, there were times when I really thought I was going to kill someone because of how angry they were making me.
Then it happened, the shockwave, the one that set the whole world into a new motion. Most people got really useful powers, some got flight, others got speed, my mother god bless her heart got the power to heal. I on the other hand, I got fire. Hellfire. I got the power to burn anything and everything at the flick of a wrist. I believe in fiction it had two names, Pyromancy when magic was directly involved, and Pyrokenisis when it was a form of telekinetic power. I dont quite know which category I'm in, all I know is that I can burn things.
Its hard to explain to people that no, I'm not the chill, carefree person they saw me as, and that in fact I'm so angry I can literally set the world on fire. A lot of people called me a liar, a freak, I've even had a couple call me a demon before... but really, I'm just the same guy, exposed for who he really is.
| 2019-09-08T05:28:06 | 2019-09-08T05:15:24 | 327 | 120 |
[WP] You live in a world where everyone ages until 18 then stops aging until they find their soulmate. Only then they age together. As your childhood friends grow elderly, you cannot seem to move past 18.
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It was easier in the old days.
Long ago when humanity was young, it was a simpler thing of statistics. Probability.
Nowadays, I can’t remember my parents’ faces well, but I remember my mothers’ songs. Soft, lilting lullabies, echoing out from our hovel and into the windows of the clustered shacks nearby, hushing babes and children as we tried to listen to the end, only to fall asleep.
My father’s words to me that someone was out there for me kept me going far beyond his death. Those words were a small comfort after a thousand battles in hundreds of wars. I rationalized my survival as being tied to that message, even as millions of the young died around me in countless conflicts.
And a thousand years later? Two thousand? Three? Oh the marvels my parents could’ve seen.
By then, there were so many people alive that there were dedicated industries for Nevers or Forevers or Eternals, or whatever else the current fad of naming my kind had become. I’d always considered us... the Unlucky.
There were ways around staying young forever when you had the time to potentially meet every person alive, but as populations boomed and the centuries turned like the ticking clock hand, trying became tedious moreso than anything resembling hopeful. Forget the ever flowing crowds, and forget meeting millions upon millions of strangers. I wanted to do something productive.
I remember discussing with my friends during the Renaissance the sheer improbability of meeting a soulmate. We hearty survivors, a thousand years old, most of us from the same small German village, walked among the masterpieces of the greats, laughing at the absurdity of it all.
I can’t remember my specific words, but I remember the fervor and passion with which I spoke. Under the auspices of firm resolve we decided to embrace the impossibility and continue on, together yet alone, fulfilled by companionship yet lacking in our true souls’ connections. In a thousand years we’d only known one of us to meet their true love.
I can’t help but laugh now, because a week later, one of us met a young Parisian, and her life changed forever. The dozen of us met again for her funeral sixty years later. A blink of relativity compared to our longevity. She, eleven hundred and change. Him, three hundred and forty.
Over and over and over, we few coupled and died. Our group thinned at weddings and funerals, and the friends I’d known since before I stopped aging were all but gone.
And on I persisted. Bored with work and qualified for everything after thousands of years, I leapt at the opportunity for the colonial programs. We built space stations, conquered the solar system, and humanity ballooned like never before.
I abandoned the shackles of nano-fiber thin probability and signed on to the Alpha Centauri project, then Andromeda, and on and on, until humanity was spread so far among the stars, I began to realize what I’d already begun to learn that night in Paris, so long before: I would go insane long, long before I ever met my soulmate.
And if I ever did meet them, would I really be worth anything by then?
|
My dad used to tell me"It's hell getting old son." That was easy for him to say though, he and my mom had been high school sweethearts since their freshman year. All he has ever known was getting old. I've watched him go from being being able to run around and play with me and brothers in our youth, to being relegated to his old and well worn leather recliner where he entertains his grandchildren with his mind instead. They aren't my own children of course, if only I could be so fortunate.
When I first hit 18, my inability to find a lasting connection seemed like a blessing at first. As my friends and I moved through our young adulthood I watched the stresses of their lives begin to catch up with them. As their hair began to fall out and wrinkles set in, the strain of aging that was brought on by these relationships hardly seemed worth whatever benefits they could possibly bring with. As I entered into my 30's, I held on to this conviction as I was able to hang out with younger folk as a peer and not some ancient outsider.
The day that changed though was at my little brother's 5th anniversary party. Looking around the place, I realized I was the only person who still appeared to be in the stuck in the innocence of youth. As I tried to talk to people who I had known since my adolescence, it became more and more apparent that I was struggling to find commonality. They were talking about starting families and being careful to not drink to much because their hangovers set in far stronger than they used to.
These conversations rocked me to my core. For the firs time, I felt that they were truly older than me. Despite the fact I had made more rotation around the sun than them and had more worldly experience, their minds and bodies were fully developed and in maturity, while mine was still stuck. I attempted to shrug this off and think them the dumb ones, but a feeling of emptiness entered into my soul that I haven't been able to shake since.
Now I am a 45 year old who looks like and has the brain of an 18 year old. I still get breakouts of acne and am prone to pubescent emotional swings that should have been far in my past. My oldest nephew is 15 now, and we look more like brothers than me and his father have in decades.
My poor state is not for lack of effort on my part. I have had many relationships over the decades since my 18th birthday. They haven't all lasted a full year, but those that have ended abruptly when we realized neither of us had aged a day in that time. I am currently on month 4 of a new relationship with a cute girl who says she is 32, but you can never tell anymore. My facial hair feels like it is coming in thicker, rather than the wispy mustache that I have only been able to grow in the past. But this could all simply be a trick of lighting, and it wouldn't be the first time I had lied to myself about such things.
| 2020-01-26T20:49:31 | 2020-01-26T20:15:30 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity is dead. You were the last human alive until you eventually die. Expecting some sort of afterlife you’re surprised when the first thing you hear is, “OH MY GOD FINALLY! Can we start the next round now?”
|
I wake up…nowhere. At first, I am alone, and every direction I look there is nothingness. Then, I look at the sky, and it’s there. Then I look down, and there’s grass under my feet.
Figures start to appear. The noise gives it all away, and an outline appears before their body fully appears, but soon they are everywhere. In front of me, in the distance. So many that I can no longer see the horizon.
Their faces are all the faces of strangers to me. I walk around desperately, in circles, looking for one I know.
“Hello?” I ask one of them. “What’s going on?”
Most of them ignore me. They shake their head, and continue on with their conversation.
“Shame you were so close but so far,” one of them says.
“What?”
A hand on my shoulder. I turn around.
“Mom?”
She gives me a hug as my heart drops.
“Mom, is this…the afterlife?”
She grabs my shoulders, and smiles sadly. “In a way, it is.”“What’s going on?”
“You did such a good job. We were all watching…I knew you would do great.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your life. In the end, I know you came up short, but…you lived such a good life.”
“My life?” All I can think about were those final days, alone in my bed, waiting for the end. What kind of life was that? “All I did was try and follow what you taught me. Love the people around me…never give up…don’t apologize for being me. Things didn’t even work out that well for me. You died, dad died, she left me...I was all alone in the end.”
“But you stayed you. And that’s why I’m so proud.”
She looks up at the sky, and I follow her line of sight. In the sky, the clouds have formed a number, and then another one…10, 9, 8…
I look around. Slowly, the figures are reduced to outlines, and then they vanish. A loud cheer goes up all around me.
“Mom? What’s going on?”
She looks at me, and smiles. “We might not meet in this round, but I’m still rooting for you. You were the one good thing I did last time.”
“What? What round?”
“Other people will try and use you to up their score, but don’t let them.”“What? What score? I don’t know anything you’re talking about.”
She smiles, almost heartbreakingly wide. “And that’s why you’ll do great again. You don't play the same way we do. And I hope you never do. Good luck, honey. I love you.”
And with her last words, she vanishes. I am all alone again, on the grassy field. I feel a final moment of comfort, that things are going to be okay.
And then everything goes white, and…
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
Something about his voice made her want to tear out his vocal cords and rearrange them herself. His tone was especially annoying.
“You spent 30 years! Ugh, I waited *sooo* long,” he whined petulantly. “I mean, every time you were driving I was rooting for some drunk teenager to smash into your seat. You were cute in the first decade, honey, but I swear on my Boss you totally flumped the rest.” He folded his feathered arms condescendingly. “I’ll have to thank Satan for inventing breast cancer, Gutierrez, because that whole...” he gestured to Gutierrez’s head and swept his hands down to her toes, “thing... was hard to watch. Bring on the next round of living. Or non-living.” He paused. “After-living?”
Gutierrez more than disliked this guy (-shaped thing). “Well, I’m sorry I lived to irritate you, man,” she snapped.
“You should be,” he said. “I’m in charge of directing you to your afterlife. You can choose it, and I’ll decide if you’re worthy. Honestly, dear, you’re probably not worthy of much.”
“Heaven?” she asked.
The guy laughed. “Pshh. No way, Rosa-Jose.”
Gutierrez frowned. “Egyptian afterlife?”
“Were you buried with a Book of the Dead and speak ancient Egyptian?”
Gutierrez denied this, increasingly vexed.
“If you weren’t an amazing person, forget about Elysium. You didn’t die honorably in battle, so Valhalla’s off the table. You could try for La Tierra de los Muertos, if you want. Everyone gets in there. It’s a nice-ish place, but you’ll disappear once you’re forgotten, sweet stuff.”
“I mean, maybe.” Gutierrez considered this. “Any other afterlives?”
“You could be reborn. Reincarnation on its own is a bit more of a general faith. Plus, you can choose what you want to be reincarnated as.” The man rocked back and forth on his feet. He seemed a little less annoying, now that he was focusing on strictly business.
“Eh,” Gutierrez said. “I kinda just want to take a break. Can I fade to black?”
The man raised his fluffy eyebrows. “Sure, Rosa. You wanna say goodbye to any dead family?”
“Honestly, not really. Just tell the ones I liked that I didn’t live a terrible life.”
“I’m obligated not to lie to the dead, but I’ll make an exception in your case,” he retorted. Looks like the snark was back. “Which ones did you like?”
“You’re a magical being or spirit or whatever. You can figure it out.”
“Angel,” the man opposite her said. “And I guess I’ll have to. Have fun with eternal nothingness!”
White snapped over Rosa’s eyes, ears, and mind forever.
____
r/Bennywrites
| 2019-05-24T15:09:11 | 2019-05-24T13:01:05 | 2,469 | 129 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
As I eat my last rations in the war-torn ruins of the former city of London, I cannot help but reflect on our sins. I have no hope of anyone finding these notes, but nonetheless, I hope to keep my sanity for a few more days before I succumb to the madness.
Will future generations ever forgive us?
I doubt they will understand the hubris that led us down the path of supressing so basic a biological function as sleep. If humanity somehow survives, it will be a different society. All great art and our science will be lost and forgotten.
And why? For a bit more productivity! That is what they will say, but the truth is a bit more complicated. In fact, there has been resistance to the pill from the very beginning. Scientists worldwide had warned against it. Some countries even banned the use of the drug.
The lure was too tempting. Big corporations like AmazonMeta had trouble finding enough employees. The low birthrate and the second corona pandemic had deminished the work force. People realized their unique position and started demanding higher and higher wages. Then Ambrosio came and offered a solution.
Why didn't the common people stop it? If you could make twice as much money working two jobs, why wouldn't you? Or maybe spend more time with the family. There was a huge divide on the issue, but those that took Ambrosio had a clear advantage. Soon, critical scientists were silenced. The media painted those not using the pill as lazy. "Sleeper" has become a common slur.
Should I have spoken out when I had the chance? Yes, but I had a daughter to feed. After all, we only knew that it slowly changed something in the brain. Who was to say if it caused symptoms in an average human lifetime? There were so many excuses.
My hope is that humanity can learn from our hubris. Productivity has a price.
I am scared of the things I will do once the madness sets in.
|
Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it.
| 2022-03-18T10:06:35 | 2022-03-18T07:24:03 | 45 | 14 |
[WP] Humans are born with a mark around their wrist which has a matching color with that of their soulmate's, but can change through their life. Your mark has had a blue hue since you were 14, but one night, while you're out, people start looking at you funny. You realize that your mark is gone.
|
"Hey, Peter," Max calls out from across the street. He waves in his usual jubilant manner. Beside him, Becky stands. She's dressed particularly pretty tonight. Classy, like a dame from the 30s. It complemented Max's casual suit quite nicely. I call out a greeting and cross the road to meet them.
"Where's Jill?" Becky asks as she leans up on her tippy toes to look over my shoulder.
"Oh," I shrug. "She'll be here. She had to stay late at work, so she said she'd meet us at the fountain." The four of us had been meeting there for ten years- Becky and Jill even longer, as they'd been best friends since grade school.
Becky carefully adjusted the hem of her skirt and straightened the purple ribbon tied around her waist. It matched her Mark. Becky and Max had been the kind of almost sickeningly sweet couple that went out of their way to wear at least one thing every day that matched their Mark. These things they wore, Max explained to me on one occasion, had to be bought by the other person. A token of bonding- a reaffirmation of their status as soulmates.
It was romantic, and it was something I'd noticed Jill starting to adopt. Every once in a while, she'd buy me something cerulean and leave it in on my pillow for me to find when I came home after work. Last week, it was a tie. Tonight seemed like an appropriate time to wear it, especially considering the contents of the bag I held in my hand. "I got something for Jill," I say and reach into the bag. From it, I remove a black box, and I flip the lid open to reveal a necklace of cerulean pearls.
Becky gasps and covers her mouth, careful not to smear her bright red lipstick. "Peter!"
"Do you think she'll like it?"
"She'll *love* it." Becky sighs. "I'm a little jealous."
Max laughs, but cuts himself off. Becky looks up at him, confused, and then follows his gaze downward. "...Peter," Max says. His voice is deep, his tone concerning. He swallows audibly and points to my arm.
Thinking something might be on my jacket, I snap the jewelry box closed and tuck it back into the bag, and then dust at the fabric of my sleeve. "Did I get it?"
"No, Peter, *look*-"
"Y-your Mark," Becky interjects and grabs my forearm. Her brown eyes are wide and wet with tears.
I look down to my arm, where my sleeve has rolled up and bunched at my elbow, and then to my wrist. My Mark isn't there.
My Mark is gone.
The bag falls to the ground and topples onto its side. The jewelry box rolls out, clattering quietly.
I stare at my wrist.
Sirens scream loudly in the distance, echoing through the streets.
My Mark is gone.
Becky starts crying, rummaging through her purse for her phone. She frantically dials Jill's number. It rings.
*Answer.*
It rings.
*Answer.*
My Mark is gone.
"*Hi! You've reached Jilli-* **Jill laughs. A cat purrs into speaker.** *Jillian Miller -and- Sir Maximus Pounce, and we are so sorry we missed your call! Please leave a message and your number and we'll get back to you as soon as possible!*" Becky ends the call and immediately dials it again. It rings. She's sobbing now, and Max is caught between consoling her and trying to reach out to me.
But I can't speak.
*Answer.*
It rings. Red lights flash, sirens drowning the noise of the phone as they speed by and continue down the road.
I can't move.
The phone rings.
My Mark is gone.
"*Hi! You've reached Jilli-* **Jill laughs. A cat purrs into speaker.** *Jillian-*" Becky ends the call, and tries again. It rings.
My Mark is gone.
And so is Jill.
|
I actually didn't notice it until someone pointed it out. I'd had it since my birth, like everybody else. So long actually, I never noticed when it faded away.
My days were the same for the most part. You've heard the same story every time. College graduate. Dreams of doing something good. A llifetime of student debt. The realization things will never be normal. Working from 8-6 until the day I die. Things blend together so much anymore, that I wonder, when death does come, if I'll even notice it when it happens.
Unsuccessful, unlucky, and unloved. It's a cold world out there. I've never even had a relationship, let alone a fling. Many of my friends at this point have had a history of significant others, spouses, and even one night stands. We're nearing thirty, and a few of them are married with several kids. It's bizarre just to watch, let alone comprehend.
Oh well, you take what you get I figure. There's still someone out there I guess. Still someone for me. That still feels weird as fuck to say... I mean, how's it not supposed to sound creepy when you have the same mark as your "soulmate" on your wrist your entire life? And then, they're usually not really your soulmate, because eventually, it changes color, if it's like mine. What kind of fucked up shit is that?
Meh... No sense in worrying about it anymore. It's my one free night of the weekend, and I just want to get tanked. Everybody else has lives to go back to, I don't. And that's perfect. I can drink as much as I want. Wonder what alcohol poisoning feels like??
"Hey Freddy?"
I looked at Darla for a reason as to why she sounds so worried.
"Yeah what?"
"What... What happened to your wrist?"
"My wrist?" I realized. Glancing at my hand I just moved, I noticed the blue mark was gone. The deep blue ring, which used to be green, which used to be purple; was gone.
"It's... Normal??" The bartender observed as she leaned over the counter to get a better look. "I've never seen anything like that." I tried to stop her and Darla as they began murmuring to my friends and their coworkers alike in the bar.
"Hey, don't put me out there like that!" I said in a slight buzz. However by this point it was too late. I realized the music had been turned down slightly, and I turned to see several dozen pairs of eyes all on me. Everyone studied me like I had just committed a murder.
"W-what?!" I eeked out, "Why is it a big deal??"
Before I knew it, the bartender drug me to the side and murmured a explanation.
"Your mark is gone." She began.
"So??" I prodded.
"So, anyone can be your soulmate." She suddenly cooed, her voice becoming less business and much more sultry in approach, accentuating the natural beauty of her feature.
"Uhhh... I beg your pardon?" I froze. I glanced around at others in the room, noticing plenty of them sizing me up in an almost predatory manner.
"Here." She said as she slid a piece of paper into my pocket, "Give me a call sometime. You'd better hurry too, you're going to get a lot more numbers where that came from."
And just like that, my life as I knew it, for better or worse; was never going to be the same.
--
EDIT: Thanks for all the support and such everyone! I'm on break from work currently, so I didn't expect this much of a reaction to this prompt in 16 hours. Wow! I actually had this random idea when I read this, like "Wouldn't it be fucked up, if you got used to being alone (because wrist mark), and then suddenly people won't leave you alone? How much grief would this cause?" Interesting stuff. Thanks again!
| 2016-10-04T20:36:20 | 2016-10-04T19:26:14 | 1,532 | 346 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you.
|
Ed Benton stood in a courtroom of clouds. God was behind the redwood-sized podium, and a bit happy with the gavel. Michael stood in a suit with a scroll of everyone Ed had ever met. He called witness after witness and pried them about Mr. Benton.
With how judgmental he sounded, Ed almost regretted wearing a medal of the Archangel around his neck for most of his life. To think his mother gave him the middle name of heaven’s most petty public prosecutor.
Michael ran through the last of Ed’s interactions. His neighbors talked of how he shoveled their property when it snowed. The priest of his church of how he gave. His coworkers of how he was always there. His wife of how he was such a great father. His son of how he was the model of a man.
A child who lived along his mail route remembered fondly of how everyone on his street loved Mr. Benton. How Mr. Benton would only smile when the children would steal the mailman’s cart and wheel it down the street laughing.
Mr. Benton sat quietly when his public defender returned to the table. Saint Patrick smiled at Mr. Benton before looking curiously at his suit jacket.
“What’s in here?” the Irish saint said to himself as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a wriggling snake, and dropped it to the floor of clouds. “Oh, those always turn up...have to put them somewhere,” he said with a wink as the snake slithered away.
God banged the gavel.
“Heaven has finished its portion of the human testimony,” Michael, the Archangel announced. “We will now move on to God’s greater creatures.”
Ed Benton looked around confused. He thought this was it. He was a good Catholic man. What else was there? Everyone vouched for him. Even everyone along his mail route who he barely knew.
“Heaven would like to call its next witness,” Michael proclaimed. “Heaven calls...Lola”
Just then a yellow labrador walked up to the witness booth. She jumped into the chair and it began to turn backwards. God had to grab hold of the back of it and turn it to face the puppy toward the court.
The dog looked around the courtroom curiously. When her eyes met Mr. Benton her head froze. Her body tensed. It lurched forward in the chair. Lola growled.
Mr. Benton looked from the dog to God and back to the dog. “My Lord, please...it’s just a dog… it doesn’t know…”
God banged the gavel.
God, Michael, and St. Patrick all shook their heads.
God sighed. “...Mailmen.”
|
Alexander came into the 3rd floor apartment with a stutter, his glasses and awkward unshaven appearance left him unappealing. When my roommate, Casey, had told me he was bringing his friend over and that he was a little strange, he wasn't exaggerating. Casey had forgotten to mention a very important detail to Alex. The detail that we have a pet.
"Wow, you have a golden retriever!" Alexander seemed as excited as we were when class got cancelled. "That's a good dog, I can tell just by looking at him." "Oh yeah, he's pretty cool. I got him to fetch the news from the front too, doesn't even need a leash." "He's not your slave you know, this guy is his own individual, with his own hopes and dreams. He might have smaller aspirations and simpler drives, but they are there all the same." Casey and I just looked at each other, he didn't even ask who I was and I would be clueless to his presence if not for Casey telling me about him beforehand. I limply held my playstation 4 controller in my hand on the living area couch, unsure how to proceed. "I don't suppose that I could talk to him for a bit?" Now Casey and I were really confused. Did he really want to have a conversation with our dog? "You can learn a lot from animals, trust me. One of them told me something very important once, something that I can't talk with anyone else about. The gist of that conversation is to be good to all animals, trust me." I sat with my mouth agape, thinking if he was for real.
Without even attaining permission, Alexander immediately began sitting down and chatting with our dog. "What's your name man?" He asked inquisitively, and he seemed to expect an actual answer. "I see, well it seems like a good life." Casey and I were stunned. I couldn't even believe what was happening, and Casey started to realize that bringing him over was a really bad move. "You know, I eat 100% vegan. No animal products involved in my diet, absolutely not. I know it might not mean much to you, but I just can't eat meat or anything that an animal had to suffer for." This gross, unkempt man came into our house to spout off his vegan nonsense? I was about to say something but Casey immediately propped up and said "Yo, Alex, I think maybe we should hang out somewhere else, maybe your place? Alex responded "Sure, sounds like a plan." "Hey, see you later David." As Casey and Alex left the apartment, he waved to David, our dog.
| 2016-03-24T17:04:49 | 2016-03-24T12:50:08 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
In 1984, an oil painting was recovered from an abandoned house somewhere in Lousiana. Mahagony frame, weathered and neglected. No signature of the artist. Perhaps it was the work of the homeowner.
What was the painting of?
The upper torso of a brunette, eyes tightly closed, mouth hideously wide open, the background colored a pleasant cerulean.
It was later brought to a pawn shop, where it hung on a wall. Days later, the owner of the shop was reported missing.
The investigation came up with nothing. The trail had gone cold.
They should've looked at the painting.
|
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
He doesn't know. He can’t comprehend his fascination. The gatekeeper drops the corpses down the chute, and he watches the limp bodies jiggle as they collide with the floor.
Setting it on the table, he peels the flesh off, then, meticulously, removes the muscle and organs. The tendons are his favorite. He loves a good challenge.
He sets the skeleton next to the others on the floor. He takes a match to the pile of torn flesh and innards, and watches it burn, always asking the eternal question.
"Why do I burn the bodies?"
| 2015-06-09T07:11:34 | 2015-06-09T07:02:35 | 69 | 31 |
[WP]: An ordinary human being gets abducted into interplanetary olympics that have a fun twist: The loser's planet gets destroyed. All hope seems to be lost, until the last sport is revealed to be what humans do best.
Edit: Thanks to you people, I am now aware of the existence of Jimmy Neutron, and if I could, would take it back.
I apologise for not having watched the same cartoons as you did, growing up.
|
The aliens were terrifying and bewildering; hulking behemoths and stalking predators, covered in barbed spines or gelatinous acidic ooze. John counted himself lucky to have been spared the combat events. He had watched though, as fight after fight ended in a rapid exchange of blows, the victorious monsters not even breaking a sweat in the exertion of breaking their opponent.
Forced to the starting line of a what appeared to be a simple foot-race, he couldn't help but feel helplessly small, trapped between two nightmare creatures to his right and left, with the heat of an alien sun beating down on him. The unmistakeable sound of a starting gun. He bolted before the cattle prod could catch him from behind. Running, very literally he suspected, as if his life depended on it.
The pack pulled ahead, but he was barely 50 metres down the track before the great stone giant running to his right slowed, falling down onto one huge knee, toppling to the side with a dull thud. As John loped past the fallen alien he saw another bizarre creature slowing, it's many legs going limp as it's skin changed from a deep purple to a pale blue.
The sweat ran down his face, as the realisation struck him; out of every alien there, not one of the bastards was sweating. Not one of them was *able* to sweat. He was surrounded by the descendants of apex predators, accustomed to brief explosive chases to bring down prey with an economy of effort, not tests of endurance in fleeing. Unable to shed heat efficiently they were succumbing beneath the burning sun, boiling from the inside.
They had thought this their most difficult trial, the most amusing to throw the tiny human into. They had been very much mistaken.
|
No, seriously, I am not making this shit up. I *did* plan on going to Vegas. I did *not* get there. There was some weird ass UFO shit and then Bill FUCKING Murray came out and explained it all.
No, I have never used mind altering drugs. No I was not drinking because no I was *not* in Vegas. No there is no history of family illness. Bill Murray is an alien ambassador. Humans conquered the galaxy eons ago and have been trying to preserve planets better. We're one of many experiments and we are in **LAST. PLACE.** We failed the land tests, the sea tests, the air tests. Before us they didn't even check space because how could we fuck that up but we fucked that up. Bill says if we don't figure out how to take this shit seriously our ancestors are going to wipe down the planet and try again.
PLEASE do not get hung up on the Bill Murray part. No, listen, we don't even have to fix anything we just have to show that we know we're being tested and plan to do better. There's some sort of questionnaire in this big ass rock in Australia, I don't know. The only thing we have to do is make sure that when humanity is polled, a significant population can pick our Ambassador out of a line up. He's supposed to convince you himself but he gave up a long time ago. Now he only talks about it when he's drunk.
No. I was not drinking. He was drinking. Him. Not me. Fuck I don't have time for this shit. I'll just tell the internet he said no one would ever believe me. That always works.
| 2014-05-06T06:52:54 | 2014-05-06T06:43:30 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] 20 years ago, a mysterious illness caused everyone to go deaf, and life has been altered to accommodate it since. You just found the cure, and decide to use it on yourself. As your hearing returns, you instantly regret making that decision.
|
As I rested under the tree, under the horrible, soundless hell again, I thought about my life. Every action that came up to this point. And suddenly..there it was. A bottle of water. The last one. I throw a coin into the vending machine...and wait...and wait. Waiting. I look at the screen and put my finger over the speaker. Nope. No vibrations. Anyway, I insert another coin. Bottle falls. I pick it up. I drink the water.
Suddenly, I hear it. Ever so slightly. The trickling of water. I keep drinking. All of it. All. Of. It. I hear more. Balls bouncing. Children laughing. It's all coming together...and then I hear it. Slight words. I realize something. My alarm. It's been ringing for the past twenty years. I hear low but memory-piercing words...
"Never gonna give you up..."
|
The cure wasn't easy. Martha was hard of hearing before the Silence, so she was supposed to be a good candidate. A team from Johns Hopkins separated the thin layers of her eardrums and carfully replaced the tiny inner bones.
"Fast onset osteoporosis," was the explanation, "possibly from contact from infected sources." The source was unknown but tore through the world and she woke up and the flat thing she heard was the soft movment of her body in the hospital bed. The sheets scrached and there was sound from it. Nearby a few machines hummed. A roar of water. The toilet.
They let her out four days later.
Outside was a wall; shill birdsong and the rumbled of car wheels and the confusion from her body, the moans and growls and odd pops of her joints. It was too much. She wanted the quiet back.
| 2016-07-28T16:26:49 | 2016-07-28T12:38:56 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] The war was all but lost. The aliens captured world after world, Humanity’s subjugation seemed inevitable. Then your spec ops team was authorized. A group of Biologists with no morals, no scruples, no care for civilian casualties, and unlimited funding…
|
Braaqrek walks forward carefully. The alarms in his ship are blaring, warning him of potential boarders. The lower decks have gone silent minutes after the initial impact, even though the emergency life support system is still running perfectly fine. The lights are also functional, but none of his crewmates are anywhere to be seen.
Opening the blast door reveals corridor 1885-244A. Yet it does not look anything like a corridor on a starship. What was once smooth metal have been covered by a weird green growth. It spreads from the ground the the celling, covering walls and pipes with astonishing rate. Out of curiosity, Braaqrek reaches out with his gel tentacle to touch the growth. It was wet and slimy, but also somewhat warm to touch. More alarmingly, the metal plating underneath the green growth seems to be corroded somehow.
"Glad to see you face to face," a voice draws Braaqrek's attention away from the walls to the darkness in front of him. There, a human stands in a full pressure suit. It is holding some sort of sprayer in its hands, which is connected to the backpack of its suit with a white hose.
"I have finally found my perfect petri dish."
The human pulls the trigger on the sprayer, showering Braaqrek with a mysterious fluid. Before he can even pull his own weapon out, pain shot up from his gel tentacle to his secondary receptor cortex. He looks down and sees that his tentacle is covered in the same green growth that is covering parts of his ship.
He wants to scream. But it is too late. He can feel the green cells penetrating his gel-like body. The human looks on with laughter as he collapses onto the floor, turning him into a green blob on the ground.
"Experiment log #5502. Subject is killed too quickly. The metal-eater strain needs to be modified. Expression of R35 polymerase can be tuned down to allow more time for transmission."
The human looks over the dead blob. Time to find another test subject.
|
I laughed wildly. "You can tell it's bad when they actually don't keep us locked up, let alone when they actually give us money, *let alone* when they remove any kind of qualifications! Like, look at these! Maximum civilian casualties allowed, unlimited funding, any kind of test subject we want!"
"It is pretty crazy." My partner in crime pulled her gloves up. "So. What's the plan?"
"Well, I've been playing this little game recently. It's called Lobotomy Corporation."
"Hooh boy, yep. I've heard of that one."
"Well, there's this one creature there, it's called Nothing There."
"What?"
"Nothing There. That is its name." She was still confused, so I wrote "Nothing There" on a piece of paper, then pointed to the paper. "That's its name."
"Ooh, I see! Carry on."
"In very simple and slightly incorrect terms, if it gets angry, it kills the next employee to head into it's room. It then steals their skin, and uses that to get out. If you don't find it, it returns to it's normal form, and becomes to gigantic hulking monster of death and destruction."
"You want us to make that?"
"Something *better* than that. Just think about it." I put my hand on her shoulder, holding out my other arm and motioning it in the air. "A shapeshifting creature. It takes and absorbs knowledge like a sponge. The aliens can't track it, because for all intents and purposes, it *is* one of the aliens. And, hey! Humanity's doomed! I'm sure that everyone would be **thrilled** to become a shape-changer of the highest degree!" I put both hands on her shoulders, staring directly into her eyes. "We're finally gonna evolve humanity to the next level. You ready sis?" She grabbed my hands with her own, grinning fiercely.
"Absolutely! Let's get started!"
| 2022-12-09T13:02:15 | 2022-12-09T09:42:37 | 454 | 179 |
[WP] You are a mighty draconian blacksmith for a small village in the mountains. You make unbreakable tools for the villagers in exchange for coin, yet refuse to make weapons. Until…
|
In all my years, I've never seen a more broken woman in my life. Jenessa was an adventurer, a very popular, respectful, and powerful one at that. She had taken on many great quests in her time, from destroying an army of the undead, to killing dragons (good riddance. The less of them around, the better). She had a good life as a hero, and then she suddenly retired, 'I want to live a more peaceful life' her reasoning. She moved to the village 15 years ago and started working at the inn, along with her husband. They even had a child together. A very polite and kind young boy who loved animals... no one knew they'd be taken away from her so abruptly... or so violently.
The Knights from the City had been coming here for the past few months, apparently the king did not like her retiring one bit and had sent for them to demand she resume her duties, yet she always told them, "When I was an adventurer, I didn't join a guild, Ididn't join a knights academy, I didn't swear loyalty to any royals. I was a free agent. Emphasis on was. I don't have to answer to him if I don't want to." Then one night, I heard screams.
I ran out of my shop to find the knights holding her husband as he screamed at them to let them go, and I was questioning why, until I saw the Inn of fire, and heard the screams of anguish of a child. That coward with a crown had somehow found out that Jen would be out of town and had sent his lackeys to kill her husband and child, but it was in the way they had done it that had been truly sick. They had dragged them outside and started burning the building before grabbing the child and throwing him in. Once he died, the head knight killed the father and told us to tell Jenessa that this was a warning to those who don't follow the king. I wanted to kill them, we all did, but after what they did, we couldn't dare to. When Jenessa returned, some folks stopped her at the gate, wanting to warn her about what she was about to see, before a knight that had been stationed had come over and bluntly told her himself. She ran towards the wreckage, wanting it to be some sort of sick joke, but alas, she laid her eyes on the charred remains of her home, her livelihood, and her family stuck on pikes, not even listening as the knight told her that king would be expecting her in a couple of days. It took me and our strongest men to hold her back from killing the bastard as he galloped away. Thankfully, although I feel guilty about it, she never blamed any of us for not stopping them, saying she knew they would have harmed us or our loved ones if we did, but underneath that was nothing but sorrow and primal rage. Now, a few days after burying them at the hill, under the tree her son would play at with his friends, she stands before me. I look into her now dead eyes, drained of any joy and happiness she once had, knowing exactly why she was here, "It'll take me a couple of weeks, but I'll be able to make a set for ya." She nodded, a miniscule smile, one I honestly didn't think I'd see for a long while, on her lips as she reached for a coin bag, "No." She looks at me confused, before I continue, "The only payment I want, the only payment I need, is seeing those cowards heads."
|
"But come on!" Yelled the adventurer Volris "I need a sword to kill the bandit leader nearby, he's been extracting tribute from every village in the region!" his shouts echoed throughout the village, him angrily stomping back and forth, while Joldr calmly continued forging the farming tools that the villagers requested.
"No means no, lad. Didn't your Ma tell you that?" the smith asked, his calm blue eyes only slightly raising up from the forge, before looking back at the draconian scythe he was working on.
"I'll pay with coin" Volris took out a large pouch, presumably filled to the brim with coins of silver and gold make. "Triple your usual rate."
"No. Read my lips, you scrawny brat. Don't you humans have something better to do, like dying before reaching a century?"
"But why wont you help? You haven't given any answer!"
"Because i don't need to, lad. I said no, now run along to another village; i am a very busy man." the draconian said, a scaled hand holding the red-hot blade of the scythe steady, the other hammering it into shape with brutal slams of a hammer.
"I do! you can't just say no, innocents are dyi-"
"You think i don't know that!?" The scaled smith snapped, before cooling down a little. "I know that, i really do. But i can't forge another weapon."
"Another?"
"... Forget i said anything." Joldr spoke, with a whisper "Please."
"No, what the hell did you mean by 'another'?"
"... Seventy years ago, i made a sword for a man names Caethon Aesiran."
"The conqueror of the west? You mean you made-"
"Don't you fucking dare say its name!... Yes, i made the infernal thing, gods i wish i didn't. He forged an empire built on oppression, slavery, and expansionism. And what's the symbol of his real, the thing that thousands fight and die for every war?"
"You told me not to say it's name though-"
"Valasoron, the slayer of the giants! i made a symbol of fear and hatred for the free men of the world... Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"
"I just want to kill one person, what bad will that do?"
"Caethon said that as well. Before the conquests and the slavery and the realms, we were good friends, and he was just a boy with a dream: to make sure that no other boy would suffer the horrors of banditry he did. So no, i will not build another horrific symbol of tyranny, i don't care how much you give me!"
"... Look, that is a very good reason to not build weapons, and i get why you don't now... but people are dying, and i need your help to stop that. If you want me to bury the sword after using it, then sure. If you want me to slit my own throat after using it, then fine." Volris said, his voice sombre "But plebe do not let the many die because of the tyranny of one."
the smith stood silent for a moment, seeming to be deep in though, before sighting deeply.
"Very well" the draconian removed the scythe blade, placing it with others, before taking out new materials "Give me until noon tomorrow, and don't forget the bury the damn thing when you kill the bastard!"
| 2022-08-21T17:27:23 | 2022-08-21T14:13:31 | 85 | 35 |
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
The room is exactly as I recall it, to the most precise detail, but this is not my home. These walls, bookshelf, the leather couch, this is a shroud pulled over something far more malevolent. Then voices, I hear them coming from the basement, they whisper “he knows.” I look to the living room window, into the night. A small crowd of pale, blank, expressionless faces gathered, pointing at me, viewing me on display like some exhibit in a zoo. “He sees us,” one whispers. And then a scream “PUT HIM BACK, PUT HIM BACK NOW.”
Awake in my bed.
|
The wheel was pressed too far into her ribs and every breath, no matter how shallow, radiated waves of agony from deep inside her chest.
She could see, but the light was wrong. The noise of rushing, bubbling water muted other sounds. She couldn’t feel her feet, but she registered the water that was rising up past her chest. So cold.
When she tried to move, the wheel, the belt and the pain kept her from moving more than a few inches.
She saw movement in the mirror, and sick panic rose with the water.
“Mama, get me up! Up!”
| 2015-06-09T09:54:42 | 2015-06-09T09:37:54 | 95 | 24 |
[WP]Humans were one of the best pilots in the history of intergalactic travel, that was a well know fact. And yet, the ITA warned against hiring human pilots. Not an outright ban, per se, just not recommended.
|
"What do you mean they don't see them?"
"I mean exactly what it sounds like. Humans cannot see, feel, or in any way perceive those things the way we do"
"But they still pilot around them, don't they? Surely they don't make it across hyperspace out of sheer luck. Human pilots have one of the lowest fatality rates after all. There must be some trick, right?"
"No one knows for sure how they do it. They fly so close to them and yet somehow they always manage to narrowly escape. Some think that they are not sensed because of their lack of fear. Others say that it is because their minds remain free of the wails that clouds ours while in hyperspace. In any case, it works."
"So your are telling me it will probably be a close shave but we should trust the blind! No way. If there is a chance we won't make it, I would rather be awake during my last moments."
"Oh no you don't. Trust me. Forget any hyperspace experience you have had before; that was mere discomfort in comparison to this. Even in your sleep the horrors will permeate your brain. At this distance, you don't want to try being conscious. Even if the ship made it out the other side, your mind would not. Sedation is not optional."
"Oh, I see.
Hehe, *I see*; funny.
The company motto makes a lot more sense now:
*In a pitch-black night a blind man is the best guide*"
|
When the Brennish-Talterian rebellion broke out, my father did everything he could to get us off planet. He was desperate, our people were being hunted in the streets like wild animals. So desperate that he made us walk six days south of the Arel'ish mountains, where the 'Fair-trade' space ports were.
Pilot after pilot turned us down. "I won't risk that blockade with your kind on board." They all said with that emotionless tone pilots get when they've spent too many years staring into the black void. With a great sigh and a heavy head, my father walked my sister and I by the hand to the far end of the port. Everyone stared and gave repugnant looks at my father, as if he had just lost all his respect and honour in their eyes.
After the human had strapped us into the seats of his outdated but modified scout ship, my father gave me a half smile and held my shoulder as we lifted off and broke the atmosphere. As the blockade of ships grew closer and closer my father leaned forward with his head next the the humans tattooed shoulder.
"You've done this before right?" He asked with clear worry in his voice.
The man huffed with a smirk and lit a smoke as he turned his head to my father.
"Sure." He said with a wink as he cranked the volume on his terrible human music and grabbed the wheel.
| 2021-11-25T18:45:47 | 2021-11-25T18:06:56 | 239 | 114 |
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence.
|
Healthy people. Excelent services. Lively adults. Playful children.
Well to do people always loved my town. Excelence may as well have been its name, but as it stands, it was Glevsteen.
Admitedly, space was becoming more and more limited. Reasonable concern, perhaps, but ultimately irelevent. Excelence was still assured, space or no space.
Too often, people end up complaining about the oddest things, if you ask me. Really, if it's not one thing it's another with some people. Arse this. Penis that. Piss on this. Excrement that. Dicks, all of them.
I think they're whingy, personally. Never able to see the positive, because the negative's blinded them.
All too easy, really, to get blinded by the obvious and miss the bigger picture.
Glevsteen is a wonderful place. Lively people. Astounding adults. Stupendous students. Services abound.
By the way, I wonder, have you ever heard of Jeremiah Denton before? Obviously that's a bit out of left field, but I must admit that secret codes are my pasion - from the most complicated cryptology, to something as simple as the first letter in every sentence spelling out a secret message. X marks the spot to a new message whenever those things get involved, and to me, that's always interesting - it lets people get blinded by the obvious, and miss the bigger picture.
|
She laughed as she chased the naked toddler around the steamy bathroom, the water in the tub swirling away down the drain. "I'm gonna get yooouu!" She scooped the giggling child into the blue bath towel. "Got ya," she smiled, kissing his damp head as he giggled. Bath time was his favorite.
Their nightly routine was always the same. Dinner, bath, story, snuggles, while his father worked late at the office. "Good night, my little peanut," she said finally, pulling the covers up to his chin.
"Night, mama," he yawned, his little eyes already fluttering shut. She smiled as she turned off the light. She adored her little angel. He had been her light in her all consuming darkness the moment he'd been born three years ago.
"Ready for your bath, my sweet?" she asked the next night as she washed the plates from dinner.
"Yeah!" he grinned, hopping off his chair and running down the hall, stripping his clothes as he went. She laughed and hurried after him.
She hummed softly as she pulled the plug from the tub drain. She stood and wiped her soaking wet hands on the blue towel, careful to avoid the water that had spilled over the edge of the tub to drench the floor. The cold bath water swirled around as it emptied, carrying his life along with it.
| 2017-05-25T07:49:02 | 2017-05-25T07:45:06 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] "Welcome. You're dead. Congrats. Door to Heaven's on the left. Door to Hell is on the right. Go ahead and pick, but just know that the decision is final." The figure sitting at the desk spoke, stifling a yawn and not looking up from their book.
|
Looking up at the ornate desk, Sampson stared in disbelief. “What do you mean, choose? That’s not how this is supposed to work.”
The figure flipped the page of the book saying, “I don’t make the rules.”
Sampson asked timidly, “Can I look inside before I make my final choice?”
The figure, refusing to look at Sampson shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s never been tried before.”
Sampson, determined to try this approach goes to the door indicated as heaven. He studied the golden etchings on the silver door, trying to make them out. Unable to keep them in focus long enough make out any details he gave up.
He moved to open the door. As his hand touched the doorknob it swung open and revealed that the inside was completely black.
Leaving the door open he moved to the door marked hell. Not wasting time with this check, he opened the door, revealing a bright white light.
“Oi! Angel-man! Is this some kind of trick?”
The figure rolled his eyes. “If it were, then it must be on me.”
Sampson stared at him a moment longer then stepped through the door to hell, appearing right in front of the figure again. Both doors were still open. Hell’s door showing a brightly lit interior and heaven’s still pitch black. “What the hell?”
“I told you the joke must be on me.” The figure replied.
Sampson, not knowing what else to do stepped through the door to heaven.
As Sampson walked through the door, it closed just behind him. After a while his eyes adjusted to the blackness and he saw a point of light way off in the distance. A moment later Sampson heard loud screaming coming from behind him. He started hurrying towards the light.
After a minute or so of rushing towards the light, Sampson noticed that the light was getting brighter and larger. He began hearing more than just screams. He realized he could hear voices.
“Come on Patty, just a little bit more! You’re so close”
Sampson sprinted for the light. It kept growing bigger and brighter. Finally he burst through the darkness and into the blinding light, and freezing cold.
A moment later he felt himself be lifted up, then wrapped tightly in a blanket; the warmth spreading through his body.
After a minute or so he was set down on something soft, not quite a bed, but warm and comfortable. The light was far too intense for him to be able to see anything but the light.
After a moment he heard, in what sounded like his father’s voice, “You did it Patty! He’s so precious. Our boy, Sampson.”
|
“But...which do I choose...?” I asked, not realizing that this is what I would find on the other side.
“Either. That’s why I gave you the option when you got here.” Said the figure at the desk, pearly annoyed that’s I hadn’t already chosen.
I stood for a moment. *It should be obvious, shouldn’t it?* However, no one from before had ever said that there would be a choice. And now, facing this decision, I couldn’t move a muscle (or whatever I was made up of at this point).
I took a moment and looked around. I one else was in sight. There was any sign of another other being, just me and...wait a minute, I never got their name!
“Um... excuse me.” I sheepishly mumble yo the figure at the table. “What’s your name?”
He looks up at me from his book, with a look that conveys plainly that he cannot believe that I am still standing before him.
“Are the rules too difficult for you to understand?”
“No, I just...”
“There are two doors in front of you. See? As I explained when you got here, one leads to Heaven, the other Hell. Most people just walk through one right away, leaving me to my book!” The last word spoken in a clearly exhausted tone, even though I had only been there a few minutes.
“Okay, well how do they decide?”
“I don’t know! They just walk forward. No one else seems to have a problem with it.”
“I’m sorry but back on Earth, or in life, or whatever you want to call it, I was very indecisive. Most nights I got into an argument with my wife about what we were going to have for dinner because I couldn’t decide what I wanted.”
“That’s a very touching story. However, I am in the middle of something far more interesting, so if you’d please choose that would be great and I can get back to my book.”
I stood there staring from him to the door on the left, then the door on the right, then back to him.
“I’ll go left! I was a pretty good person, so I think that’s the right decision. Although, I did have secrets when I died. Stuff I should have said to people that would have changed things between us.”
*sorry, I can’t write anymore, work is over and I gotta head home, but thanks for sparking something in me. I’ve never written before, you could probably tell, but it was nice to get away for a minute and picture myself in this place. Have a good night everyone!*
| 2019-10-03T17:35:54 | 2019-10-03T16:20:11 | 31 | 11 |
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